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Forever with You
Farrah Rochon
New life. New love? The tranquil bayou town of Gauthier is the perfect place for widowed single mother Leslie Kirkland to raise her two daughters. Until she's elected president of the elementary school's Parent-Teacher Organization. Caught in a clash between the community and progressive science-teacher-turned-assistant-principal Gabriel Franklin, Leslie vows not to take sides. But it's hard to be objective when a sexy younger man is awakening such an irresistible desire.Years ago, a teacher saved Gabriel from a one-way path to destruction, and now he is dedicated to his students and the Louisiana town he calls home. But the chemistry sizzling between him and Leslie could ignite a scandal. And when the gathering firestorm threatens both their dreams, Gabe is ready to take a stand. Can he convince Leslie that it's time to move on and make a bright future…with him?


New life. New love?
The tranquil bayou town of Gauthier is the perfect place for widowed single mother Leslie Kirkland to raise her two daughters. Until she’s elected president of the elementary school’s Parent-Teacher Organization. Caught in a clash between the community and progressive science-teacher-turned-assistant-principal Gabriel Franklin, Leslie vows not to take sides. But it’s hard to be objective when a sexy younger man is awakening such an irresistible desire.
Years ago, a teacher saved Gabriel from a one-way path to destruction, and now he is dedicated to his students and the Louisiana town he calls home. But the chemistry sizzling between him and Leslie could ignite a scandal. And when the gathering firestorm threatens both their dreams, Gabe is ready to take a stand. Can he convince Leslie that it’s time to move on and make a bright future...with him?
“Do you mind company?” Gabriel asked.
Leslie’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.
He put both hands up. “I swear I just want to help.”
“Fine. You can help,” she said. “Just remember that there’s a gymnasium full of students just steps away, so no funny business.”
“I promise,” he said, a wickedly seductive smile tipping up the corners of his lips. The moment they entered the school’s storage room, Gabriel caught her wrist and spun her around, pinning her to the door.
“I didn’t realize you were so gullible,” he whispered against her lips.
Leslie returned his smile. “It looks as if it worked to my advantage.”
Amusement glittered in his eyes as he brought his chest flush against her breasts. He lowered his head and took her lips in a kiss that had every fiber of her body humming with need.
If not for the door holding her up, Leslie would have melted into a puddle right on the floor. She pressed her body into his as he pushed his tongue into her mouth.
The moan that climbed from her throat was drenched with want.
“Gabriel, we need to stop,” she murmured against his lips, but it was the exact opposite of what she wanted.
Dear Reader (#ulink_0873c413-7bb1-5adb-a81d-4412d2336a3f),
Have you ever visited a place and fallen instantly in love with it? So in love that you find yourself wanting to visit over and over again? And each time you visit you discover something new, exciting and unique that makes you want to keep coming back for more?
Well, that’s exactly the way I feel about the fictional town of Gauthier, Louisiana. With every new book I write in my Bayou Dreams series, I find yet another thing to love about this charming town and its nosy, but well-meaning, residents.
Readers will recognize the heroine of Forever with You, Leslie Kirkland, from Forever’s Promise. This widowed single mother definitely deserves her happily-ever-after, and I believe the young, handsome Gabriel Franklin is the perfect man to help her find it.
I hope you enjoy this latest glimpse into the lives of the people of Gauthier.
Happy reading,
Farrah Rochon
Forever with You
Farrah Rochon


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
FARRAH ROCHON had dreams of becoming a fashion designer as a teenager, until she discovered she would be expected to wear something other than jeans to work every day. Thankfully, the coffee shop where she writes does not have a dress code. When Farrah is not penning stories, the USA TODAY bestselling author and avid sports fan feeds her addiction to football by attending New Orleans Saints games.
For you, Mama.
Thank you for teaching me to trust and have faith.
Some trust in chariots and some in horses,
but we trust in the Lord our God.
—Psalms 20:7
Contents
Cover (#u0071ae2f-dd74-5188-852e-cba356071617)
Back Cover Text (#uccb22e99-fae7-5b9e-ac15-a69105cff4b1)
Introduction (#u8b055313-5942-5485-bcc4-dca66ba73cd4)
Dear Reader (#ulink_7c46ee79-7fb5-5cad-bac9-a346e020b162)
Title Page (#u31045325-563e-5ea9-b86f-295d64a0bd70)
About the Author (#u0bfccf3b-19fd-5058-aef9-0f4d64d4ed95)
Dedication (#u394f303a-6f78-5cac-8752-39279fa5a88c)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_4f869056-3568-5568-91f3-e3306f72a8c6)
Chapter 2 (#ulink_cae38c7e-2028-5128-a83d-28d9c1423467)
Chapter 3 (#ulink_9046bd7f-1154-5ea2-b730-6dc29c3c936f)
Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_81192515-a04f-5c5f-983b-abb68cbdc7b0)
The frenetic whir of post-Sunday-service gossip floating through the Mop & Glo–scented air of the New Hope Baptist Church hall intensified the throbbing behind Leslie Kirkland’s eyes. She slid into a cubby between the water cooler and a multitiered plant stand, her cheeks demanding a respite from the constant smiling at well-meaning church members determined to impart their gratitude for her singing at this morning’s service.
Leslie took a sip of lukewarm fruit punch, the drink of choice during the church’s fellowship hour, and glanced at her watch. She was counting down the seconds until she and her girls could leave without garnering judgmental stares from the deaconesses, who considered the fellowship hour sacred. She’d faced her share of raised penciled-in eyebrows when she walked into the sanctuary this morning after being absent the past two weekends. That was more than enough censure for one day, thank you very much.
“Leslie Kirkland, I swear you are an angel sent down from heaven.”
Frustration at being discovered tightened the skin around her mouth, but her expression softened when she saw it was Nathan Robottom, owner of the hardware store in Gauthier, the tiny dot on the Louisiana map that Leslie had called home for more than a decade.
Nathan clasped her hands between his roughened palms and gave them a gentle squeeze. “That solo this morning was the loveliest thing I’ve heard since the last time you sang a solo in church.”
“That’s so nice of you to say, Mr. Nathan,” Leslie said, her lips stretching into a genuine smile. It was impossible not to love this old man. “How is Ms. Penelope? I noticed she didn’t join you this morning. I hope everything is okay.”
“Aw, she’s fine,” he said, waving off Leslie’s concern. “Her gout flared up and she didn’t want to come limpin’ in the church. She’ll be sorry she missed your pretty singing.” He gave her hands a good-natured pat before heading to the other side of the church hall where day-old doughnuts were doled out after Sunday service.
Leslie glanced at her watch again and decided that twenty minutes of fellowshipping should more than satisfy the deaconesses. She left her safe cubby in search of Kristi and Cassidy. Based on the trouble her daughters had given her when she’d woken them for church this morning, they should have been scratching at the doors to leave. As usual, they’d met up with friends and now she had to play Find the Kirkland Sisters.
As her eyes roamed the crowded hall, Leslie spotted Clementine Washington and Claudette Robinson sitting at the church ministries sign-up table. She averted her gaze, trying not to make eye contact, but she wasn’t quick enough. The Two Cs rose from the table simultaneously and started straight for her.
What would happen if she made a run for it? Just dashed right through the doors?
“Leslie!” Claudette called, waving her arms to get her attention.
Too late.
“Ms. Clementine. Ms. Claudette,” Leslie greeted with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. “How are you two doing this morning?” Please don’t ask me to join the Ladies’ Auxiliary. “I hope you’re both doing well.”
“Oh, yes. And especially after hearing you sing,” Claudette said. “Girl, I know the spirit was moving in you.”
“Amen,” Clementine added.
“Thank you.” She smiled. Leslie just knew her cheek muscles were on the verge of staging a revolt after the workout she’d put them through today. “Well,” she said, clamping her hands in front of her, “I really need to find my girls. We have plans for this afternoon.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’re out there with the youth ministry,” Claudette said. “Marsha and Lewis Marcel donated Popsicles for the little ones.” She slid a step closer to Leslie and leaned toward her. “And speaking of people who live out on Willow Street...”
Confusion tugged at the corners of Leslie’s mouth. Huh?
“Did you notice the way Sawyer Robertson was looking at you while you sang this morning?” Clementine asked.
Leslie couldn’t prevent her eye roll even if the Eye Roll Prevention Wizard had granted her special powers. And her eyes were rolling. Hard.
She should have known these two had something much more intrusive up their sleeves to ask her than joining the Ladies’ Auxiliary. In the month since Sawyer Robertson had moved into the charming colonial on Willow Street—only a few streets from where she lived in the residential area of downtown Gauthier—Leslie had encountered no less than a dozen people who were all too eager to make introductions.
According to the gossip she’d overheard while browsing the produce section at the supermarket last week, the handsome divorcee, who had left Gauthier about three years ago, had just started a job with the state, though the gossipers had not been sure in what capacity. He hailed from one of Gauthier’s more prominent families, and both of the ladies had agreed that he probably didn’t have to work if he didn’t want to.
Despite the town’s small size, Leslie had never had much interaction with Sawyer in the years before he’d hightailed it out of Gauthier. She hadn’t seen him much in the month since he’d returned, either, though she sure had heard his name enough.
“Sawyer comes from good people,” Claudette said. “Rich as sin, but not uppity.”
“Nope, never was uppity,” Clementine agreed. “I went to high school with his mama, Cheryl Ann. Cancer took her a while back.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that,” Leslie said. “Didn’t his father die of cancer, too?”
She knew at least that much about him.
Clementine nodded. “Sawyer took care of Earl until he passed, then he sold the house, married that girl from New Orleans and moved somewhere up north.” Clementine clucked her tongue. “Don’t know what happened, but that marriage sure didn’t last long.”
“You know what I heard,” Claudette started.
Leslie held up her hand. “This really isn’t the place for that, is it? And I should really go—”
Claudette’s face brightened. “Well, speak of the devil.”
Leslie turned and just barely held in her groan at the sight of Eloise Dubois—another pillar of the church—and Sawyer Robertson walking toward them. Sawyer looked as though he’d been hit by a hurricane.
Or three very determined deaconesses.
“Look who I found in the parking lot,” Eloise said.
“Why, Sawyer, you remember Leslie Kirkland, don’t you?” Clementine asked in the most pathetic attempt at subtly known to mankind.
If only the floor could open up and swallow me...
Or, better yet, let it swallow up the deaconesses.
Leslie hid her frustration behind a smile as she stuck out her hand. “Nice to see you again, Sawyer.”
The shimmer of understanding that flashed in his eyes put Leslie at ease. He sympathized. Of course he sympathized. They were in the same boat, being thrust together by a community of meddlesome, though well-meaning, people.
“It’s nice to see you, as well,” he said.
So, he had a really nice voice. And strong, yet soft hands. He wasn’t bad on the eyes, either. His smooth dark skin was practically flawless, and those obsidian eyes practically dared you to look away from him.
But a pretty face had never been a selling point for her.
“I was sorry to hear about Braylon,” he said. “All of Gauthier was proud of him when he joined the military. He served our country well.”
Leslie nodded and smiled. The old nod and smile had become her rote response whenever talk veered in the vicinity of her deceased husband.
“I really enjoyed your singing this morning,” Sawyer added, his tone lighter. “It’s been a long time since I stepped foot in a church. Your voice was a lovely homecoming.”
He had that charm thing down pat. She was a sucker for a charmer, but still, no cigar.
“Thank you,” Leslie said with another polite smile.
He shifted from one foot to the other. So did she. The awkwardness was so tangible that Reverend Allan would demand it add money to the collection plate if it hung around much longer.
Of course, it was hard not to notice the palpable awkwardness when the conversations around them had all but ceased, making it painfully obvious that she and Sawyer were the focus of every eye in the church hall.
Where in the heck were her daughters? She needed rescuing from this charming, handsome man before the dozens of people watching them—all of them failing miserably at being covert—got the wrong impression. Leslie knew that if even one person thought there was a spark between her and Sawyer, the sweet, well-intentioned matriarchs of Gauthier would wage an all-out campaign to get the two of them together.
Why couldn’t the people in this town mind their own damn business?
It was as if a green light had been turned on the day after the first anniversary of Braylon’s death. Once the acceptable grieving period had passed, all of Gauthier had been on a quest to find her a man, as if she was on the verge of collapsing from loneliness if she wasn’t paired with someone soon.
Because, of course, she had all the time in the world to be lonely.
She was a single working mother with two daughters determined to take part in every extracurricular activity they could sign up for, and a full-time job that demanded more from her than she had to give. She barely had time to breathe.
But that didn’t stop the fine people of Gauthier from foisting their single friends and relatives on her.
Sawyer Robertson was just one in a passel of men who had been paraded before her, all of them the perfect man to help her raise her poor little fatherless daughters. But Sawyer had proved to be more dangerous than any of the other men thus far. She had been introduced to her share of visiting nephews or friends of a friend of a friend, but the full-court press she’d faced since Sawyer’s return was unprecedented.
And unlike the visiting nephews, Sawyer wasn’t just passing through town. He was in Gauthier to stay. In a house just a few blocks from hers. All of Gauthier was determined to see this love connection happen.
This town! These nosy, prying people! She needed a break from it all.
“Mommy!” Kristi, her youngest, who had just turned five and was no longer her little baby, came running up to Leslie, the front of her white dress stained with purple Popsicle juice. “Mommy, are we still putting the swinging bed in the backyard after church?”
“Yes, we are!” And Kristi would get extra dessert for rescuing her from this painful situation. “Why don’t you get your sister so we can leave?” Leslie turned to Sawyer and explained, “It’s a hammock. I promised the girls we would finally hang it today.”
“Sounds like a lovely way to spend a lazy afternoon.”
Yeah, that smile was really nice. There was no way to deny it.
“Do you need any help hanging the hammock?” he asked.
“Oh, no,” Leslie said quickly. “The instructions are pretty straightforward. My girls and I can handle it.”
A perfectly shaped brow arched before he asked, “Are you sure? I wouldn’t mind coming over to help.”
Leslie heard an excited gasp come from somewhere just over her shoulder. Lord, she needed to leave. Now.
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said.
More silence. More awkwardness. More reasons to get the heck out of here.
She pointed to the double doors of the church hall. “I should probably go.”
Sawyer nodded and stepped aside so she could pass. As she skirted around him, he called, “Uh, Leslie?”
Her eyes darted to him and she held her breath.
Please don’t ask me out. Please don’t ask me out.
Sawyer stuck both hands into his pockets and quickly glanced to the side where Eloise, Clementine and Claudette were staring openly. He lifted one shoulder in an indelicate shrug and said, “I was wondering if maybe you’d like to grab dinner sometime?”
Oh, good God. He asked me out.
The effort to keep the pained expression from taking over her face was a valiant one, but it was impossible to stop it. She mentally cursed every interfering busybody in this town. Sawyer was a perfectly nice man. He didn’t deserve this.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” Leslie said. “I’m so busy with work and my girls, and I’m also president of the PTO at the school this year. I just can’t spare the time. Thank you for the invitation, though.”
He did a fantastic job of hiding his disappointment, but Leslie still caught a glimpse of it in the way his mouth pinched at the corners.
She hated this. She hated being this perpetual stick-in-the-mud who constantly shot down advances from genuinely nice men. But finding a man was the very last thing on her agenda. She didn’t care that the people in this town thought it was time for her to jump into the dating pool again. She was not putting herself out there until she was good and ready.
“Maybe some other time,” Sawyer said.
Leslie didn’t give him an answer, only another of those half smiles before she quickly made her way toward the door. She caught sight of Clementine, Claudette and Eloise standing off to the right. All three looked shocked and agitated, as if she’d messed up their well-laid plans.
That was too bad. She didn’t need a matchmaker.
Unfortunately, she was living in a town that was chock-full of them.
* * *
Hammock hanging was not all it was cracked up to be.
What she’d anticipated to be a quick and easy project had turned into a quiz on deductive reasoning. Leslie lost track of how many times her eyes had darted between the creased instruction guide and the thick trunks of the two elms in her backyard. At one point she had seriously considered jogging over to that cute colonial on Willow Street and taking Sawyer up on his offer to help. But once she figured out the correct height—thus saving her butt from hitting the ground when she lay in it—it had been smooth sailing.
She’d spent the past half hour gently swaying in her newly hung hammock while Cassidy and Kristi attempted to play tennis in the backyard. It wasn’t easy with Buster, the Yorkshire terrier Leslie had been bamboozled into adopting for the girls, stealing the tennis ball whenever she could get her little paws on it.
“You have to be quicker than that,” Leslie called out to Kristi when the dog snagged the ball yet again. Her daughter plopped her hands on her bony hips and gave her a look that screamed Duh, Mom.
Chuckling at their plight, Leslie went back to the novel she’d been reading for the past month. She remembered a time when she could get through a book in a week. These days she was lucky to find twenty free minutes a day to indulge in her old pastime.
She’d become so engrossed in the book that it took her a while to realize that she had been steadily losing light. Leslie looked up through the branches overhead and noticed the ominous cloud directly above them.
“Girls,” she called. “I think it’s time to go inside.”
There was a low rumble, then a loud crack of thunder. Just like that, the sky opened up and a deluge of hot rain poured down. Cassidy and Kristi both squealed as they raced to the back porch. Leslie swung the hammock to the right and tried to climb out, but it flipped over before she could steady herself, planting her right on the ground.
She groaned.
That was her, graceful as a swan.
By the time she made it to the back porch she was soaked. Kristi and Cassidy both pointed and laughed like a couple of hyenas.
“Well, thanks a lot,” Leslie said. She wrung out her soaked shirt and flung the water at them. They both squealed again, jumping away from her. Buster scurried around the porch, trying to become a part of the game.
“Let’s get in the house,” Leslie said. “I’m starving.”
Kristi pointed and giggled. “And wet.”
“Oh, yeah?” Leslie wrapped her arms around her daughter, making sure to get her good and soaked with the dampness from her shirt.
After slipping the casserole she’d made before church into the oven, she, Cassidy and Kristi all took showers and changed into pajamas. It might not have been proper in some households to eat Sunday supper in pajamas, but it certainly was in this one.
As per their Sunday evening ritual, Leslie lifted the dry-erase calendar from the refrigerator and set it on the table. She wiped away the previous week’s tasks and, handing the attached whiteboard marker to Cassidy, went through the schedule for the upcoming week.
“Don’t forget Parent/Teacher Conference night,” Cassidy said. “We get an extra star in English if our parents come.”
The notion of bribing kids with stars in order to get parents involved in their children’s school life was abhorrent, but Leslie knew it was also necessary. After all, just a year ago she had been one of those parents who routinely skipped school activities due to work obligations. Until she’d learned the price her absence had cost her daughters. These days she practically had her own designated parking spot at the school.
“I’ll be there,” Leslie assured Cassidy. She pointed at the whiteboard. “Make sure you have the correct times for softball practice. You don’t want to be late again. And circle the Bayou Campers meeting so we don’t forget.”
Yeah, she had all the time in the world to be lonely.
Once dinner was done and the dishes loaded into the dishwasher, they settled in for their Sunday night movie. It was Kristi’s turn to pick, which meant either Casper the Friendly Ghost or The Lion King. Leslie snuggled on the couch with her girls and watched Casper for the hundredth time. Once the movie was done, she declared bedtime, ushering the girls off the couch.
“It’s Sunday night,” Kristi reminded her. “We get a Daddy story.”
Leslie ruffled Kristi’s natural curls and smiled down at her, praying she was doing a good job of hiding her discomfort.
After going nearly a year hardly uttering her deceased husband’s name, Leslie had slowly started reintroducing Braylon’s memory into her family. It had been more difficult than she’d anticipated, but every Sunday night she shared with the girls a story about their father.
Seated on the edge of Cass’s canopy bed, Leslie cradled Kristi on her lap, rubbing her hand up and down her baby’s arms.
“Have I told you girls about the time your daddy tried to bake me a cake for my birthday?” Both girls shook their heads. “Well, your father was pretty good when it came to cooking hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill, but when it came to baking, he was horrible. He knew that I loved strawberry shortcake—”
“I love strawberry shortcake, too,” Kristi interrupted.
“I know.” Leslie tweaked her nose. “You get it from me. Your dad tried to make me a strawberry shortcake for my birthday once, but he couldn’t find fresh strawberries so he used frozen ones. However, he didn’t let them thaw out before serving me my piece of cake, so when I bit into the frozen strawberry, I hurt my tooth and had to go to the dentist to get it fixed.”
Kristi plopped a hand to her forehead and moaned. “Oh, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.”
“Did the cake at least taste good?” Cassidy asked.
“I told him it did.”
“Because you didn’t want to hurt his feelings,” Kristi guessed correctly.
“Yes,” Leslie said. “But I made sure to order birthday cakes from the bakery every year after that. Aren’t you girls happy I did?”
“Can I get a strawberry shortcake when I turn six?” Kristi asked.
“That’s a year away,” Cass pointed out.
“Wait. I meant tomorrow. Can I get a strawberry shortcake tomorrow?”
“Nice try.” Leslie playfully tugged her curl.
She gave Cassidy a kiss and then carried Kristi to her bedroom. As Leslie tucked her in, Kristi put a hand on her cheek and said, “Thank you for tonight’s story, Mommy. I like hearing stories about you and Daddy.”
Emotion thickened in her throat. “I’m happy you’re enjoying them,” she said. “I know your daddy wishes he could be here to tell you stories, too.”
She kissed Kristi’s palm and then her forehead. Even though there was a night-light, Leslie left a crack in the door.
She made her way across the hall to her bedroom, tears on the brink of falling down her cheeks. But she sucked it up, straightened her spine and demanded they remain at bay.
It had taken a year before she’d stopped crying herself to sleep every night. Once she had, Leslie had made a vow to remain strong for her girls. She’d been on the verge of breaking down more times than she could count, but she was still standing.
And she would continue to do so.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_8462c761-b637-562a-b230-cc2f47d985d4)
Gabriel Franklin stood before the science lab’s Formica-topped table surrounded by nearly two-dozen wide-eyed fourth graders, who all stared intently at the stack of pennies, nickels and lemon-juice-soaked paper squares in the center.
“So, how many of you think we’ve made a battery here?” Gabe asked as he held a length of copper wire just above the stack of coins. Half the students raised their hands.
He eyed the doubters with an upturned brow. “That’s all? The rest of you think I’m wrong?”
Anthony Radcliff’s freckled forehead scrunched in skepticism. “It’s just loose change and paper towels. How can that be a battery?”
Gabe tsked. “Oh, ye of little faith.”
The crease in Anthony’s forehead deepened. “Huh?”
“Never mind,” Gabe said. “Gather around closer, kids.” He touched one edge of the wire to the penny on the bottom of the stack and the other to the nickel on top. “Now, check this out.”
He connected the wire to an LED bulb and thanked the reliability of science when the bulb flickered and then shone with a soft glow.
The students erupted in cheers and excited howls.
“How’d you do that, Mr. Franklin?” Anika Reynolds asked in an awed whisper. “Is it magic?”
“It’s science,” Gabe answered. “It’s exactly what we’ve been talking about for the past week, taking the negative charge of one metal and the positive charge of another, and connecting them with an acid. The penny is made of what?”
“Copper,” the students replied in unison.
“And the nickel?”
“Silver!”
“And that lemon juice is filled with acid,” Gabe said.
“So, can I make my iPod work with pennies, nickels and lemon juice?” Cassidy Kirkland asked.
“That would take a lot of pennies, nickels and lemon juice, but at least you get the idea.” Gabe clapped his hands. “Okay, back to your seats. It’s time to write up what we all just witnessed in proper scientific-method form.”
He fully expected the grumbles and groans his statement elicited. He was only in his second semester of teaching at Gauthier Elementary and Middle School, but students were students no matter the school, and none of them enjoyed paperwork.
Using the electronic Smart Board that had replaced the green chalkboards he’d grown up with, Gabe went through the scientific method, going over the initial question he’d posed, the research the students had conducted, the hypothesis they all had agreed upon and the multitude of tests they’d run in order to investigate it.
He glanced over his shoulder and grinned at the sight of the twenty-two heads bowed over notebooks, their hands scribbling diligently. He required his students to take notes, even though the Smart Board allowed him to email whatever was written on it directly to their parents, which he also did at the end of every week.
The bell signaling the end of third period rang just as the students were finishing up.
“Remember your final topics for the science fair are due tomorrow,” Gabe called above the bustle of zipping backpacks and desk chairs scraping against the tiled floor. “And if you’re working with a partner, you both will need to turn in forms. It’s not cool to have one person do all of the work, is it?”
That garnered mumbles and a few wisecracks. Also expected.
While the students filed into the hallway, Gabe returned to the rear of the classroom where the small but functional lab was located. He cleared the remnants of today’s science experiment, washing the coins and leaving them to air-dry. Once the station was cleared, he packed up the battered leather messenger bag he’d been carrying around since his freshmen year of college, killed the lights and locked up behind him.
The teaching portion of his day was done. It was time to switch to his second role, interim assistant principal of Gauthier Elementary and Middle School—GEMS for short. The school officially had been renamed The Nicolette Fortier Gauthier Elementary and Middle School after the wife of the town’s founder, but in the eight months that he’d lived here Gabe had yet to hear anyone call it by that name.
A month into his second semester as the fourth-and fifth-grade science teacher at GEMS, the school’s assistant principal abruptly resigned. Gabe had earned his master’s in education administration last summer, which put him in the perfect position to take over as interim assistant principal.
As much as he loved the classroom—seeing the kids’ faces light up when he introduced them to yet another cool science construct was better than sinking a three-point winning shot at the buzzer—he loved this new role just as much. It wasn’t as hands-on as teaching, but the opportunity it provided to affect the lives of an even greater number of students was worth the trade-off. He was in a position to change lives in the same way his own life had been change, but on an even larger scale.
The weight of all those tremendous possibilities being within his control was awe-inspiring. To anyone who had known him back in his early teen years, the idea of Gabriel Franklin even making it out of high school with a diploma would have been unfathomable.
But he was here. This was his life. He’d worked for it, reached for it, had done every single thing right for the past decade to make this happen.
The next step? Make that interim title a thing of the past.
Gabe had come up with a plan on how to do just that and in the past week had begun to put that plan in motion.
Just as he entered the suite of offices that housed the principal, assistant principal, school counselor and secretary, Ardina Scofield thrust a stack of folders into his chest. The secretary, whom Gabe had to admit kept this place running like a well-tuned engine, returned to her computer without a word of greeting. Gabe had learned the hard way that when you moseyed over to Ardina’s bad side it was hell to get off of it. He’d found himself there after accepting an invitation from her to dinner and then backing out.
He should have known better than to encourage her advances, but she had approached him on the same day he’d struck out with the one woman—the only woman—who’d caught his eye since he’d moved to Gauthier.
Actually, to say he’d struck out wasn’t entirely accurate. When it came to Leslie Kirkland, he hadn’t managed to step up to the plate yet. Every time he even thought about broaching the subject of seeing his most dedicated parent volunteer outside of school, something told him to back off. It just never seemed like the right time to approach her.
He was tired of waiting for the right time.
And having dinner with Ardina in the meantime definitely would not have been the answer to his dating woes. Muddying the waters with a workplace affair was not on his agenda.
But Gabe knew he would have to figure out a way to get back into Ardina’s good graces, because anyone who had worked in a school environment for any length of time knew that it was the school secretary who ultimately ran the show. They were the glue that held the multitude of parts together.
Gabe stared at her rigid back and considered clearing the air, but he’d tried that several times this past week and had only received the stink-eye in return. Until he came up with a better tactic, he’d steer clear of her.
Instead, he went the opposite way, backing into the office that still had Assistant Principal James’s name etched on the cheap plastic nameplate above the door.
Not for long, Gabe mouthed at the nameplate.
He deposited the stack of file folders on the desk and, after popping open one of the energy drinks he kept in his messenger bag, started on the mountain of paperwork that was an unfortunate part of his new job. Unfortunate but necessary. Every form he filled out was yet another opportunity to bring some much-needed changes to GEMS.
After a half hour of reading through proposals for new playground equipment, Gabe welcomed the knock on his door.
“Come in,” he called.
Tristan Collins’s face peeked through the narrow opening in the door. “You got a minute?”
“Sure. What’s up?” Gabe asked his old college roommate, who was currently the band teacher at both GEMS and Gauthier High School. Tristan also had been the one to encourage Gabe to apply when the teaching position had opened up here just before the start of the current school year.
“I’m on my way to the high school, but I need to talk to you first,” Tristan said. He looked over his shoulder before stepping into the office and closing the door behind him.
Gabe took note of the huge worry line creasing his friend’s forehead. An uncomfortable feeling weaved its way through his gut.
“What’s up?” Gabe asked again.
Tristan blew out an unsteady breath. “I overheard something in the teachers’ lounge a few minutes ago. If it’s true, you’ve got a problem on your hands. A big one.”
* * *
“Something has got to be done about Gabriel Franklin.”
Celeste Mitchell accentuated each word with a thump on the table, her balled fist rattling the collection of mismatched mugs of tea and coffee that had been consumed over the past hour. The treasurer of the GEMS Parent Teacher Organization, Celeste had called this emergency board meeting to discuss “alarming” news she’d just heard regarding the school’s new interim assistant principal.
Simone Parker, the PTO secretary, hooked her thumb toward Celeste. “Look how this one’s tune has changed. Just the other day she was talking about how cute Mr. Franklin’s butt looked in his khaki pants, and now she’s ready to run him out of town.”
“He may be cute and all, but when he starts messing with my Lock-In, he’s gone too far,” Janice Taylor, the vice president, said.
“And there’s nothing wrong with looking,” Celeste argued. “I can be happily married and still look. Hell, sometimes Charles points them out to me.”
“Can we get back to the discussion at hand?” Leslie asked.
She’d come straight from work to The Jazzy Bean, the coffee shop her sister-in-law, Shayla, had opened two years ago on Gauthier’s Main Street. It quickly had become one of the most popular hangouts in town, and the normal meeting place when the PTO’s board needed to discuss important topics outside the regular PTO meeting. Leslie wasn’t sure when Gabriel Franklin’s nice butt had made the important-topics list.
Not that she hadn’t noticed the young teacher’s nice butt. She had noticed it way more than she dared admit.
Leslie figured she was just one in a growing contingent of Gauthier females who had a crush on GEMS’s newest teacher. As far as she was concerned, her little cougar crush was the safest crush in the history of all crushes. Not only was she too old for Gabriel Franklin, but there was also that other fact that could not be overstated. He was her daughter’s teacher. Her. Daughter’s. Teacher.
Safest crush ever.
“The Lock-In is our biggest fund-raiser of the year,” Celeste said. “Do you know how tight our budget would be next year if Mr. Franklin canceled it?”
“And just what makes him think he has the right to cancel it?” Simone asked. “He got here all of two minutes ago and has the nerve to try to change the way we do things? I don’t think so.”
“I liked him better when he was just a teacher,” Janice said. “It’s when they put him in that assistant principal position that he lost his mind. Give a person a little bit of power and they think they run the place.”
“You’re right about that,” Celeste said.
“I see it all the time,” Simone added.
“Ladies, please.” Leslie held up her hands and spoke as calmly as possible in an attempt to stave off the bevy of complaints being hurled at lightening speed. She waited until the other three ladies seated around the table quieted before continuing. “Everyone feels passionately about this subject, but if we all continue to talk over each other, we’ll never get this figured out.”
“What’s there to figure out?” This from Celeste. “We all can see what’s going on here. Mr. Franklin has decided that he knows what’s best for our children. Barely a child himself,” she finished with an aggravated huff.
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Simone pointed her mug at Celeste. “He can’t be more than twenty-five. What makes him think he knows better than the rest of us?”
“I heard that he taught for a few years in New Orleans before coming to Gauthier,” Leslie said. “He has to be older than twenty-five.”
“Fine, twenty-six, then,” Simone retorted after taking a sip of tea.
“I don’t care how old he is or how cute he is,” Janice said. “What I care about is the Lock-In. I’ve personally worked my butt off to make it a success, and I don’t appreciate someone who just moved here thinking he can come in and change the way we’ve been doing things for years. We need to figure out how to handle this problem.”
“First, we need to make sure there actually is a problem,” Leslie reminded them. “It’s all hearsay at this point.”
Although, if the news Celeste had shared turned out to be true, they definitely had a problem on their hands. Actually, GEMS’s interim assistant principal was the one with the problem. Threatening the PTO’s major fund-raiser was the equivalent of swinging a bat at a nest of angry hornets.
“Well, someone needs to approach Mr. Franklin so that we can get to the bottom of this.” Janice pointed to Leslie. “I think you should do it.”
“Me?” Leslie yelped. “Why me?”
“Because you’re the PTO president. It’s your job.”
Great.
Leslie wouldn’t say she’d been railroaded into the PTO president position, but she had not been the most willing candidate. She’d caved under the mountain of guilt at having missed so many volunteer days last year. She’d accepted the position because, for the most part, being the PTO president at Gauthier Elementary and Middle School was an easy job.
Until Gabriel Franklin had decided to rile up every parent in the entire school.
Leslie splayed her fingers over her forehead and massaged her temples.
“So, when are you going to meet with him?” Simone asked.
“Yeah, Leslie, when?” Janice piped in. “It needs to be soon, before he decides to change something else.”
“Exactly!” Celeste pounded on the table for emphasis. “You need to tell Mr. Franklin how we do things around here.”
There was a light rapping on the wall before Leslie’s sister-in-law, Shayla, peeked around the divider that had been added to the rear section of The Jazzy Bean to create the illusion of a separate meeting room.
“Excuse me, ladies,” Shayla said softly. “I hate to intrude, but do you mind keeping it down? A few of the college kids are studying. It’s midterms.”
“We’re sorry,” Leslie said. “Please apologize to them. We promise not to get too loud again.”
Shayla sent her an understanding smile before going back into the main part of the coffee shop.
“Look,” Leslie said. “Before I approach Mr. Franklin I will need all the facts surrounding the supposed cancellation of the Lock-In. Nothing official has been sent home with the students.”
“But Ardina said she heard Mr. Franklin and Mr. Williams talking about it in his office.”
“We can’t rely on Ardina’s word alone,” Leslie said.
“Why not?” Celeste asked. “Ardina knows everything that goes on at that school. Nothing gets past her.”
“I think Leslie is right,” Janice said. “The PTO shouldn’t approach Mr. Franklin with this until there’s some type of official announcement.”
Finally, someone talking some sense!
Janice turned to her. “But you can still approach him off the record. Tomorrow night is Parent/Teacher Conference night. You need to take Mr. Franklin aside and find out exactly what he’s up to.”
“That’s a good idea,” Simone said.
“Yes, do it,” Celeste added.
“Wait, wait, wait.” Leslie’s hands went up again. “Didn’t we just agree that we shouldn’t do anything until we’re sure he’s made an attempt to cancel the Lock-In?”
“You know how these people operate,” Janice said. “He and Mr. Williams are probably scheming behind the scenes this very second, coming up with a bunch of reasons to cancel it. They’re going to just throw it on us at the last minute without giving us a chance to make our case.”
“I can’t believe Mr. Williams would go along with this,” Celeste said. “He knows how much the money we make from the Lock-In helps with the activities the PTO puts on throughout the year.”
“I don’t want to sound disrespectful or anything,” Simone said. “But Mr. Williams is getting up there in age. Who knows what kind of fast talk Gabriel Franklin is using on him?” She turned to Leslie. “You need to take care of this.”
“Why do I have to be the one who approaches Mr. Franklin if it isn’t in an official PTO capacity?” Leslie asked. “Any one of you can do it.”
“Because you’re better at this than we are,” Simone said.
If that isn’t the biggest load of bull.
“And you have to meet with him anyway since Cassidy is in his class,” Janice said.
“So is Willow,” Leslie pointed out, speaking of Janice’s daughter, who was also one of Cassidy’s best friends.
“Yeah, but she’s struggling in science. Our conversation will be uncomfortable enough as it is.”
“Come on. You can do this, Leslie,” Celeste encouraged. “We need the lowdown on his motives.”
“Yeah, who knows what he’s trying to do. He may be—”
Leslie put up a hand, cutting off Simone before she could voice whatever nefarious plot had popped into her head. “I think we’ve had enough speculation for one night,” she said. If they weren’t careful, by tomorrow there would be a rumor that Gabriel Franklin was trying to dismantle the entire PTO.
“I’ll talk to him.” Leslie finally capitulated.
“While you’re at it, ask him about these drills he’s set up for the fourth-grade class, too,” Janice said. “The kids have enough homework.”
“That’s to help them prepare for the state test,” Leslie said. “You can’t fault him for wanting the kids to be extra prepared.”
Shayla peered around the dividing wall again.
“We were just wrapping up,” Leslie told her before she had the chance to speak. “No need to throw us out.”
“I wasn’t going to throw you all out,” Shayla said with a laugh.
“You have Zumba tonight, don’t you?”
The Zumba lessons Shayla began teaching at The Jazzy Bean last year had become so popular that a third night had to be added to meet the huge demand.
“So maybe I was coming to throw you all out,” her sister-in-law said. “But I also wanted to make sure no one needed anything from the kitchen. Lucinda is shutting down in just a few minutes, so if you have any requests this is your last chance to get them in.”
“I need to get home and do some cooking of my own,” Simone said. “My boys will be getting in from baseball practice soon, and if the steaks I left defrosting aren’t cooked, they’ll eat ’em raw.”
“Teenage boys are ridiculous, aren’t they?” Celeste said. “Our monthly grocery bill is almost as much as the mortgage. Be grateful you have girls, Leslie.”
“My problem is getting my five-year-old to eat anything, but I don’t want your problems, either.”
Leslie remained seated at the table they’d occupied for the past hour while the other three ladies packed up their things. Once they were gone, she dropped her head on the lightly distressed wood and thumped it several times.
“Why? Why? Why?” she said over and over again.
“Aw, you poor thing.” Shayla said. “If the volume of their voices was any indication, it sounds as if things got a bit heated. What’s going on?”
“GEMS’s new assistant principal is making a nuisance of himself.”
“I didn’t even know there was a new assistant principal. What happened to Mr. James?”
“He’s off to Australia. You didn’t hear about that?”
“No,” Shayla said, taking the seat Celeste had occupied. “When did this happen?”
“About a month ago. Where have you been?”
A lazy smile stretched across Shayla’s lips.
“Never mind.” Leslie laughed. “I know where you’ve been. The honeymoon phase is nice, isn’t it?”
“Heavenly,” Shalya said. “If I had known married life was so nice I would have tried it years ago. But back to Mr. James. What’s he doing in Australia?”
“His wife got a huge job promotion but it required her to transfer to Melbourne. Mr. James put in his resignation and they were gone within days. They’ve moved the new science teacher into the assistant principal position for now. He’s doing double duty, because he’s still teaching.”
And making her life more complicated than necessary.
“That’s Mr. Franklin, right? Cassidy loves him. She was just telling me about some experiment they did using balloons and empty water bottles.”
“He’s a great teacher, but he’s not making many friends as an assistant principal. There are rumors that he wants to cancel the school Lock-In,” Leslie explained. “It’s the PTO’s biggest fund-raising event and, needless to say, some parents are not happy about this.”
“Back up a sec. What’s a lock-in?”
“You really are out of touch, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been in the coffee business for the last twenty years. I am completely clueless when it comes to this stuff. Now, what’s this lock-in thing?”
“It’s an event at the school where students are locked in the gymnasium overnight. There’s food, movies and games. Many of the kids stay up the entire night.”
Shayla grimaced and scrunched her shoulders in an exaggerated shudder. “Sounds noisy.”
“It is.” Leslie laughed. “But the kids love it. And they spend lots of money in that twelve-hour period. The money raised from last year’s Lock-In accounted for over half of the PTO’s funds last year.”
“So why does Mr. Franklin want to cancel it?”
“I don’t know if he wants to cancel it or not. Until I hear it directly from him it’s still just a rumor. But I need to find out if there is any truth to it.” Leslie sighed and took a sip of her caramel latte. “As president of the PTO, the other members of the board expect me to approach Mr. Franklin.”
“Ah.” Shalya nodded, then frowned. “How did you become PTO president again?”
“Don’t ask.”
Shayla barked out a laugh. “You poor thing. Why don’t you let me treat you to an early dinner? It sounds as if you’ve earned it.”
“Thanks, but I can’t. The girls’ babysitter asked me to be home by seven.”
“Oh, how is she working out?”
“She’s only watched them a couple of times, but Kristi is already in love with her. Cass, on the other hand, misses coming over to her auntie Shayla’s after school.”
Shayla slapped a hand to her chest. “Don’t. I feel guilty enough as it is that I can no longer watch them after school.”
“Oh, stop it,” Leslie said. “You know I’m just teasing. You’ll be able to watch them for me tomorrow, though, right? It’s Parent/Teacher Conference night at the school.”
“Of course,” Shayla said. “Xavier is more excited than I am. He just bought a bunch of board games. He’s going to be so disappointed when all Kristi and Cass want to do is watch YouTube videos of cats doing tricks.”
Shayla had married Dr. Xavier Wright a few months ago. A transplant from Atlanta, Xavier had settled into life in Gauthier much easier than Leslie had when she’d first moved here. He’d charmed the pants off everyone in town, including her sister-in-law.
Shayla plopped an elbow on the table and rested her chin in her upturned palm. “Sooooo,” she said, stretching the word out in a singsongy voice. “What’s this I hear about you and Sawyer Robertson chatting after church?”
“Oh, please don’t start,” Leslie said. She pushed up from the table.
“I just want to know what was said.” Shayla whined. “Come on, Leslie. This is huge.”
“No, it’s not. And I hope the nosy, meddling people in this town will just let it go.”
Shayla caught her wrist, halting her exit. She waited until Leslie turned to face her before she asked, “Is it that you’re just not ready to date yet?”
Leslie’s eyes fell shut. “I just...” But she didn’t know how to put what she was feeling into words. So she went with the easiest cop-out. “Yes. I want to take my time,” she said. “And I don’t need the pressure of knowing that everyone around here is looking at my every move.”
“Okay, okay,” Shayla said. “I will put the word out that everyone needs to back off.”
“Including my well-meaning sister-in-law?”
“Do I have to?” Shayla pouted. Leslie just stared at her. “Oh, okay,” Shayla grumbled. “No more talk about Sawyer, even though he was at one time considered the biggest catch in Gauthier. Used to drive us girls crazy back in high school. He’s also—”
“Shayla!”
“Sorry,” she said. “Anyway, since you won’t allow me to take you out to dinner, at least let me order a pizza so you don’t have to cook tonight.”
“I can order a pizza.”
“Can I at least pay for it?”
Even though their once-stony relationship had vastly improved over the past year, there was one area where she and Shayla still butted heads. Leslie had lost count of the number of times she had to remind her sister-in-law that she and the girls were not her financial responsibility. They both knew that her late husband’s pension from the Army didn’t cover much. And, even though she made decent money as a financial analyst, raising two daughters on her own was an expensive undertaking.
But they were not in dire straits. Not even close. She’d saved well over the years, and because they lived in Braylon and Shayla’s childhood home, she didn’t have a mortgage. She could pay for a pizza.
But she didn’t want to argue with Shayla, and Leslie knew if she turned down her sister-in-law’s offer it would turn into a skirmish.
“Make sure you order one half with just cheese,” she told her. “Kristi has decided she no longer eats meat.”
“I love that kid,” Shayla said.
“And thanks again for putting up with our little impromptu meeting.”
“You know you all are welcome anytime. Just tell Celeste to use her inside voice next time.”
Laughing, Leslie hugged her good-night before Shayla retreated behind the counter. Leslie picked up a couple of oatmeal-and-cranberry cookies from The Jazzy Bean’s healthier sampling of baked goods. If they were having pizza tonight she might as well go all out and let the girls have dessert, too.
Even though she lived within walking distance of Shayla’s coffee shop, she had driven here straight from the office. She backed out of the slanted parking spot and in less than five minutes pulled into the driveway of the house she’d lived in since marrying Braylon eleven years ago. A part of her was happy to have her daughters growing up in their father’s childhood home, but there was another part of her that dreaded walking through the door.
It had been an ongoing struggle for nearly two years. Being in that house surrounded by memories of a husband who was no longer here, a life that no longer existed, was nothing short of torture. Some nights it took every ounce of strength she possessed just to find the courage to fall asleep in her own bed.
Which was why Leslie had finally decided to put action to the thoughts that had been swirling in her brain for the past couple of months. She had requested a meeting with her boss and was going to ask for a transfer to the company’s Houston office.
Leslie closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. “The girls will like Houston,” she said to the empty car.
It would be nice if she really believed that.
She had grown up in Houston, and even though it was only six hours away by car, she only went home about once a year. It hadn’t always been easy growing up in those rough inner-city streets. But at least Houston wasn’t filled with so many heartbreaking memories. Braylon’s death had created a pall over just about everything that she had grown to love about Gauthier over the years. She needed to break free from it all.
Leslie grabbed her laptop bag from the trunk and entered the house through the side door that led to the kitchen. The moment she walked in, her legs were surrounded by bony five-year-old arms.
“Mommy!” Kristi exclaimed. She pulled away and looked up at Leslie with those deep brown eyes that looked so much like Braylon’s. “Why are you just getting home? It’s already dark.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie.” Leslie pulled at one of her bouncy curls. “Mommy had a late meeting at work, and then I had to meet with a couple of other mommies at Auntie Shayla’s restaurant.”
“Cassidy said it’s a coffee house and café, not a restaurant.”
“Well, excuse me,” Leslie said. “I had a meeting at Auntie Shayla’s coffeehouse and café. Where’s Cass?”
“In the living room. She’s teaching Brittany how to twerk.”
“What?”
Leslie tossed her bag on the kitchen table and rushed to the living room. She found Cassidy and Brittany Meyer, the sixteen-year-old babysitter she’d hired a few weeks ago, in the middle of the living room with their hands on their thighs and their rear ends in the air, gyrating like a couple of washing machines. Buster made figure eights between their legs.
“Excuse me, but what is going on here?” Leslie called over the music.
“Hey, Mom,” Cassidy said.
“Hi, Mrs. Kirkland,” Brittany said with a wave.
“What’s going on here?” Leslie asked again, pointing to the television that had a YouTube video of someone giving instructions on how to do the dance move that Leslie had expressly forbidden either of her girls from doing.
She turned to face the girls and folded her arms over her chest. “You know the rules, Cassidy. This is a no-twerking household.”
“But Brittany said that white girls can’t twerk, so I wanted to show her that she could learn to twerk if she really wanted to.”
Lord, help her.
“Sorry, Mrs. Kirkland,” Brittany said. She pointed the remote at the TV and the screen went black. “I didn’t know about the no-twerking rule.”
“No twerking and no playing with the stove,” Kristi said, eating the oatmeal cookie that was supposed to be dessert.
“It’s okay,” Leslie said, waving off Brittany’s concern. “I didn’t think I needed to say anything, since these two already knew about the rule.” She gave Cassidy and Kristi another stern look as she handed Brittany a twenty-dollar bill. “Thanks for staying a little later today.”
“No problem. I’m sorry I can’t watch them for you tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry about it. The girls will be going to their aunt’s.”
“We’re going to Aunt Shayla’s tomorrow?” Kristi asked, jumping up and down in excitement.
Leslie walked Brittany to the front door just as the pizza deliveryman was pulling up. There were more excited screams at having pizza for dinner.
Other than the dozen times Leslie had to reprimand Kristi for trying to feed Buster pepperoni—she’d apparently turned back to a carnivore overnight—dinner went off without incident. By the time they were all fed and showered, Leslie was dead on her feet, but it still would be a few hours before she could crawl into bed. She had a ton of work she’d been forced to bring in from the office.
She was so determined to do it all, but Leslie knew this superwoman thing was nothing but a facade. She couldn’t do it all. And if she didn’t slow down, sooner or later, she was going to pay for it.
Chapter 3 (#ulink_e649fafe-4b83-500b-8b83-5ac06d8ea436)
Her arms crossed over her chest, Leslie meandered around the science lab as she waited her turn with Cassidy’s science teacher at GEMS’s Biannual Parent/Teacher Conference night. The first conference of the year, which had been scheduled in the fall, had been preempted by a tropical storm that veered toward the Mississippi coastline just before making landfall, but still caused heavy flooding in Gauthier and surrounding towns. For some parents tonight would be the first time they got the chance to meet with teachers this school year.
An official event wasn’t necessary for parents and teachers to meet and discuss school happenings. Leslie would guess that most parent/teacher conferences took place in the grocery store or the bank or the pharmacy. The majority of the teachers at GEMS had lived in Gauthier their entire lives. They’d gone to high school with Braylon, or they attended the same church, or they were regulars at Shayla’s coffeehouse. It was the nature of living in a small town.
And then there was Gabriel Franklin. The outsider.
He wasn’t the first nonlocal to teach at GEMS, but the handful of teachers who had come to Gauthier from other cities had blended in rather easily and didn’t make many waves.
Mr. Franklin had begun procuring his reputation as a skilled but demanding teacher just a few days into his first week at GEMS. He had challenged the students—and thus the parents—by requiring more time at the dinner table doing homework. It had been a shock to everyone’s system.
Some parents had complained, but others had agreed that Mr. Franklin’s way of teaching would help the children in the long run. The fact that he was a bit of a charmer hadn’t hurt, either. He’d won over half the hearts in Gauthier during the first PTO meeting of the year, when he’d given an impassioned plea to the parents, daring them to push their children so they could meet their fullest potential.
That was probably the same time Leslie’s little harmless infatuation with him had begun. She figured it had started because he’d come along around the same time she had made the decision to become more active at the school. His enthusiastic teaching style and the devotion he showed to each student were inspiring. This was not just a job to him. Gabriel Franklin cared about the work he did. He was everything Leslie wanted her daughter’s teacher to be.
He was also smart and cute and young and off-limits.
She had never been bold enough to ask, but Leslie figured he had to be in his late twenties. A smart, cute twentysomething-year-old teacher who probably spent his weekends partying in New Orleans didn’t go for a midthirtysomething-year-old widow with two children and a dog.
So, yes, her silly little crush on the cute Mr. Franklin was also a very safe crush, because Leslie knew she could never date her daughter’s teacher.
She glanced toward the front of the classroom where he was currently speaking with Sadie and Michael Crumb, parents of Gauthier’s infamous set of triplets, Micah, Michelle and Michael Crumb Jr. From what Leslie had heard, the triplets were a handful. According to Cassidy, the Crumb children thought they were hot stuff because they had made it into the local paper. Her daughter was now determined to do something even grander than being born on the same day as her siblings so that she could have her picture in the paper, as well.
If the intense body language was any indication, Mr. Franklin and the Crumbs would not be done anytime soon, so Leslie continued her tour of the classroom. It looked as if there had been a lot more activity since she last visited a couple of weeks ago.
Her eyes wandered over the collection of petri dishes, each with various amounts of bacteria growing inside of it. She suspected that this project was the reason behind Cass’s sudden insistence that everything in the bathroom and kitchen be wiped down completely before they went to bed at night. Mr. Franklin had put the fear of mold spores into her daughter’s heart, and everyone in the house had to suffer the consequences.
Leslie ambled over to the rear of the classroom where glossy posters of the steps of the scientific method, the effects of erosion and diagrams of the food chain hung on the wall next to several snapshots of the students exploring the boggy edges of the Bogue Falaya River during last month’s field trip. She had joined them as a chaperone for that adventure. She was still finding mud in places where mud shouldn’t be.
She peered inside the huge terrarium on the counter that spanned the back wall and jumped back when a praying mantis poked his head out from behind a rock.
“Mrs. Kirkland?”
Leslie jumped again. She pivoted and found Gabriel Franklin right behind her. She took a startled step back and nearly lost her footing.
“I’m sorry.” He reached out and grabbed hold of her arm. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“That’s okay.” Leslie flattened her palm against her chest and sucked in a deep breath. “Just give me a minute.” Straightening, she expelled a shaky laugh. “I was so engrossed in looking around the classroom. A lot has changed since my last visit.”
“That’s right. You haven’t been here in a few weeks. Remind me to show you the new microscope once we’re done. By the way, I’m sorry about that last meeting running a little long,” he said over his shoulder as they walked back to the front of the classroom.
“There’s no need to apologize. I can understand why the Crumbs need a little extra face time.”
“Yes, the Crumb children.” He shook his head and let out a deep chuckle. “They are a rather, uh, unique bunch.” Perching a hip on the edge of his desk, he motioned for her to take a seat in one of the plastic blue desk chairs.
As she slid onto her seat, Leslie reminded herself that this very nice man with this very nice smile was her daughter’s very young teacher. Her daughter’s teacher.
But he did have a very nice smile. He had a slightly crooked front tooth that gave his face just the right touch of personality. His gold-toned skin stretched over enviably high cheekbones and a strong, square chin. And that wavy jet-black hair looked so soft that her fingers itched with the need to run through it. Between Sawyer Robertson and Gabriel Franklin she was racking up the encounters with pretty men this week, wasn’t she?
He cleared his throat and said, “Uh, Mrs. Kirkland?”
Leslie’s neck stiffened in shock as she tore her attention away from his full lips—lips that were now curved in a slight grin.
Had he caught her staring?
His dark brown eyes sparkled with amusement as he cleared his throat again. Yes, he had. The faint blush that stole over his fair skin erased all hope that she had not embarrassed the both of them by ogling his lips as if they were a dessert buffet.
No words could describe this level of mortification. She would trade her entire James Lee Burke hardback collection in exchanged for a chilled towel to cool her heated cheeks.
Leslie curled her fingers around the edge of the desk and forced herself not to find something else in the room to stare at. If she didn’t maintain eye contact she would only look guiltier.
“You were saying?” she asked.
The amusement lingered on his lips, which did not ease her discomfort level in the least. How had she let herself get caught staring at him? She’d become an expert at covert crush tactics.
“I was saying that I’ve been waiting for you to return to the school so I could talk to you about Cassidy. It’s not something I felt comfortable discussing via email.”
Whatever embarrassment she’d felt just a minute ago evaporated as Leslie’s stomach tanked. “What’s going on with Cass? Is something wrong?”
“No, no, no.” He put both hands up. “It’s nothing to get too alarmed about. I don’t have to tell you that Cassidy is one of my standout students. You’ve seen her in action on the days you’ve volunteered.”
Leslie eased back in her seat, the knot that had instantly formed in her stomach unfurling. “What I’ve seen is that she turns into a show-off when I’m here.”
“That is true.” He chuckled. “But in a good way. Her enthusiasm is exactly what I want to see from my students. She comes up with the most thought-provoking questions during class discussions. I was surprised when the third-grade teacher told me that Cassidy barely said a word last year.”
“Cass has been slowly coming out of her shell,” Leslie said. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed the faint marking on her arm, but she used to have a rather large birthmark on her arm and back that made her very self-conscious. She’s been undergoing treatment to get it removed.”
Her daughter had inherited the port-wine-stain birthmark from Braylon, who’d had a similarly large marking on the side of his face. Cassidy’s birthmark had been a contentious subject that nearly drove a wedge between Leslie and Shayla last year after Shayla had spoken to Cass about having it removed without consulting Leslie first.
Leslie had been against it, fearing that her daughter was getting rid of one of the biggest reminders of her father. She had not considered how embarrassment over the birthmark had been holding Cassidy back. Since she’d started treatments to have it removed, Cass had blossomed, going from a child who barely spoke to one who now came home with reprimanding notes from teachers for talking too much in class. The turnaround had been remarkable.
“And here I thought it had something to do with my stellar teaching skills,” Gabriel said.
She grinned at his joke. One thing she’d learned in these months since Gabriel Franklin arrived at GEMS was that he was the complete opposite of arrogant. Leslie figured that played into the infatuation, as well. She’d never been one for giant egos.
“You’ve certainly made an impact on her,” she said. She folded her hands on the desk. “I don’t know if you realize just how much Cassidy enjoys your class, Mr. Franklin. Not a day goes by that she doesn’t have something to say about a science fact she’s learned or an experiment you performed. It’s a relief to see her so excited about school. She wasn’t always this way.”
Genuine gratitude cloaked his features. “You have no idea what it means to me to hear that,” he said.
He stood and smoothed his hands down the sides of his khaki pants. Now all she could think about was last night’s discussion of how cute his butt looked in them.
“Thank you for taking such an interest in our children,” she said, reminding herself of why she was here. “And for working so hard to make learning enjoyable.”
He shrugged, that humility once again on display. “The more interesting you keep it, the better the students will retain it. At least that’s my philosophy.”
“It’s a good philosophy,” she said with a gentle smile. “It’s working.”
She became acutely aware of the quickening of her pulse as his steady gaze found a home on her mouth and remained there. The faint makings of a grin edged up the corner of his lips once again, and Leslie had to glance away to catch her breath.
Okay. So this turn of events was a bit unsettling.
It had been a while since she’d had a safe crush, but she was certain one of the tenets was that the safe crush should not become privy to her feelings. Gabriel Franklin’s knowing smile and penetrating stare indicated that he was all kinds of privy to what she was feeling right now. This could not be good.
“How about that new microscope?” Leslie pointed over her shoulder toward the back of the classroom.
“Yes. It’s nice,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets and leaning a hip against the desk.
“You promised you would show it to me,” she said.
That didn’t sound nearly as innocent coming out of her mouth as it had when she’d said it in her head.
And now he was blushing, too.
Oh, God, could I be more mortified?
“The microscope,” Leslie prompted. “You promised you’d show me the new microscope.”
Several beats pulsed by as he continued to stare at her, his gaze tracing over her face. Finally, he said, “I did, didn’t I?”
He pushed away from the desk and headed for the rear of the classroom. Leslie sucked in a steadying breath before following him.
“I really appreciate the cookies you donated for the bake sale,” Mr. Franklin called over his shoulder. “Between the money that raised and the donation from the PTO, I was able to purchase the microscope months earlier than I thought I would be able to. It’s been a great addition to the classroom. The students love it.”
He’d already fixed a slide in place by the time Leslie arrived at the piece of equipment.
“This is water that I scooped up from Ponderosa Pond.” He motioned for her to look into the eyepiece, his eyes brightening with the enthusiasm she so often witnessed when she volunteered in his class. He was such a science geek. Lord, help her, but it only enhanced his sexiness.
“Don’t expect Cassidy to go swimming in it anytime soon,” he added with a chuckle. “All the kids were horrified.”
Leslie lowered her right eye to the eyepiece and grimaced. “I don’t blame them. I don’t swim, but if I did I wouldn’t swim in there, either.”
“Why don’t you swim?” he asked.
She looked up and realized just how close he was standing to her. Only inches separated them.
Breathe, girl.
She shook her head. “I just...don’t like it. I grew up in the city. I never learned how to swim.”
“You should learn.” Had his voice dropped an octave? “You might find that you enjoy it.”
Yes. Yes, it had.
Standing this close, her eyes were drawn back to the attractive way his upper lip dipped in the center. Leslie ordered herself to look away, but then his tongue swept out, glided over his lips, and looking away became next to impossible. She was momentarily mesmerized by the smooth, glistening skin. When she finally drew her eyes back to his, they no longer bore the trace of humor they’d held the first time he caught her staring. This time his gaze was measured, potent and concentrated directly on her.
“You’re standing really close,” Leslie said.
He nodded. “I realize that.”
“Mr. Franklin—”
“You can call me Gabriel, you know,” he said, the pitch of his voice still on the husky side. “We’re at school, but technically it’s after hours.”
Leslie swallowed. Then she swallowed again.
“I...I, uh.” She slipped away from the microscope and took several steps back. “I’m not sure that’s appropriate.”
Appropriate? What was she? Her mother?
Taking yet another step back, Leslie asked, “Can we get back to discussing Cassidy?”
Tilting his head to the side, he rubbed the back of his neck and let out a deep breath. When his gaze returned to her, disappointment was evident in his brown eyes.
“You’re right. I apologize if you found anything I said inappropriate, Mrs. Kirkland.”
Mrs.
Great. Now she really felt like her mother.
“I didn’t mean to—” Leslie started, but he held his hand up, staving off further comment.
“No, you were right. We’re here to talk about Cassidy.” He expelled another deep breath and continued, “As I was saying earlier, for the most part Cassidy is doing great in class. I do, however, have a couple of issues I wanted to discuss with you.” He held up one finger. “Give me just a moment.”
Leslie remained at the rear of the classroom while he dashed to the front. She used the brief respite to regain control of her own breathing and to remind herself yet again why it was just plain wrong to nurture any improper feelings toward her daughter’s very young science teacher.
A very young science teacher who had asked her to call him by his first name.
Gabriel—Mr. Franklin. Mr. Franklin—returned with a set of manila folders. He flattened one open on the counter.
“As you can see by her quiz scores, Cassidy has definitely grasped the concepts. Her explanations are thorough and well thought out.” The prideful smirk that crossed Leslie’s lips died a swift death when he continued, “But lately she has displayed an unsettling behavior that is all too common, especially at this age.”
“What type of behavior?”
“Cassidy tends to rush through her work so that she can be the first to finish, and she sometimes misses things. Back when I was in school, teachers would reward the kids who finished early, but they don’t do that anymore because it’s obvious how it can backfire. But many students, especially the competitive ones, still see it as a race.”
“Competitive. Yes, well, even though the middle name on her birth certificate is Elizabeth, I think Cass believes it’s actually Competition. You should see her on the softball field.”
“I can only imagine,” he said with a laugh.
His deep chuckle triggered those inappropriate tingles, and suddenly all Leslie could think about was the need to speed up this meeting. She had to put some distance between herself and Gabriel.
Mr. Franklin.
“Cass and I will have a discussion on the importance of taking her time in class,” Leslie assured him. “You said you had a couple of issues? What’s the second?”
“Homework assignments,” he said. “They’re not always complete. When I asked Cassidy about it, she said that she tries to get her work done but doesn’t always have help.”
Shock sent Leslie’s brows shooting upward. “I can’t believe she said that. Cassidy knows that I’m there to help her with homework. We’re sometimes up until after nine o’clock working on her assignments.”
He put both hands up. “You don’t have to convince me,” he said. “You’re one of the most engaged parents I’ve met since I started teaching here, but you’re also a single, working parent. You can’t devote all your time to making sure Cassidy does her homework, and you shouldn’t have to. She’s nine years old. This is the age when she should start becoming accountable for her work.” His brow dipped in a frown. “I hope I didn’t offend you with that.”
“With what?”
“Saying that you’re a single, working parent.”
Leslie let out a soft laugh. “I am a single, working parent,” she pointed out. “And while it certainly isn’t a walk in the park, it’s my job. If Cassidy is having problems completing her assignments, I want to know about it so I can figure out a solution.”
“I may have a solution,” he said. “Well, not necessarily a solution, but something that can lighten the load.” He retrieved another manila folder from the set he’d brought with him. “As one of my best volunteers and the president of the PTO, I want to know what you think about it.”
Leslie moved in closer, but made sure not to stand too close. She could not handle the nearness right now.
“I’ve proposed a new afternoon homework help program in conjunction with Gauthier High School,” he began. “The high school students need to earn community service hours, and it would also be a big help to working parents.”
“Tutoring?” Leslie asked as she scanned the flyer advertising the program.
“Not exactly,” he said. “If the high school student notices that the kid they’re trying to help just isn’t grasping the information, they can alert the teacher and we can get the student the proper tutoring they need. This program will be strictly homework help. Like I said, it’s meant to lighten the load for parents.”

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