LITMIR.BIZ

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up Monday after lunch. She left as the bell rang for the next period.

      Students filled the halls, laughing, talking and shoving each other good-naturedly as they went. One or two of the boys gave her the once-over. Ashley had to smile.

      She was almost to the front door when a hand closed around her arm. Every nerve tensed as she jerked free, whirled around, prepared to defend herself. Her jaw dropped.

      “You!”

      “Yep. Sorry if I hurt you.” Brown eyes melting like chocolate in the sun lit up Mick’s face. His mouth tilted into a crooked smile. “I didn’t mean to grip so hard. I called out a couple of times but with this mob I don’t suppose you heard.”

      “No, I didn’t.” Why had he stopped her? “Are you leaving, too?”

      His nose wrinkled. “I wish. I have a class this period.”

      “You’re teaching here?” She couldn’t believe it. The last thing she’d expected Mick Masters to become was a teacher.

      “Started this month. Shop class for grades ten to twelve. You don’t want to know how dangerous it is to pair up a teenager with a saw.” He grinned. “Most of my students are accidents waiting to happen.”

      Ashley honed in on the bandage covering his thumb. “Apparently not only the kids.”

      He had the grace to look embarrassed.

      “A misbehaving chisel. I chastised it thoroughly, don’t worry.”

      “Uh-huh.” She zipped her jacket. “Good to talk to you again, Michael. I’d better not keep you.”

      “You’re not. The kids aren’t allowed to touch anything unless I’m in the room. For that reason I try always to be late.” He said it without any sign of an apology, but his eyes danced with fun. “Can we have coffee sometime?”

      “Why?” She held the door open, wishing her brain would function. She wasn’t prepared for this, not at all.

      “Why?” He frowned, tilted his head to one side. “Well, because I’ve never had coffee with a fashion model and because it would greatly improve my status with the two terrors watching us from upstairs.”

      “I’m not a fashion model.” Ashley glanced up. Both boys were ogling her and Mick.

      She shifted uncomfortably, her fingers tightening against the metal.

      “Besides, I wanted to thank you for going out of your way to make sure no one was hurting my daughter. Not everyone would pay that much attention to a child’s cry,” he said quietly.

      “It was a mistake. I should have minded my own business. I have to go now. Goodbye.” She scooted through the door and strode down the steps toward her car. Seconds later she’d left the school—and Mick—far behind.

      When she saw the sign for Lookout Point, Ashley pulled into the parking area, shut off her motor and sat there, staring across the valley, the sound of her heartbeat echoing in her ears. She hadn’t answered him about the coffee but no doubt he’d gotten the message. Mick wasn’t stupid.

      And yet, it wasn’t Mick she’d met again.

      This was no boy, definitely not the teenage heartthrob she’d spent hours daydreaming about. Michael Masters was a grown man, with a daughter and responsibilities.

      He’d been married once, now he had a child.

      That alone was a good reason not to go with him for coffee. She’d already made two mistakes trying to achieve a relationship where she completely trusted her partner. One where her heart wouldn’t be at risk.

      Young Mick Masters had been anything but safe. Michael Masters the man would be no different.

      “I don’t know how you do it, Mom.” Michael savored the last bite of apple pie his mother had saved for him. “You work a much longer day than I do yet you still manage to make a home-cooked dinner and entertain Tati when I can barely keep one foot in front of the other. Amazing.”

      “No, honey. It’s just years of practice. And owning a restaurant.” She chuckled as she picked up his plate, set it in her dishwasher. “Things will get easier for you, I promise. When you and your sisters were little your father and I were walking zombies. But we learned how to cope. You will, too.”

      “The difference is you had Dad. I sometimes wonder if Tati’s suffering without her mother.”

      “Has she said something?”

      “No. She seems fine at the daycare. But it’s hard to leave her there with strangers all day. Thanks.” He accepted the tea she handed him, watching out the window as Tati climbed the old slide and whizzed down it just as he and his sisters had done.

      “Tatiana is adjusting well. She has a stable home now, a daddy who loves her. That has to be better than gallivanting all over the globe with Carissa. Children need security. You’re providing that. Cut yourself some slack.”

      “I guess.” He mulled that over as he got up, dried the pots and pans she had washed, then resumed his seat. Tati was busy in the sandbox so he had a few minutes to talk. “I wanted to ask you about someone I met. A woman—tall, blond. She looks like a movie star or something. Her name is Ashley—”

      “Adams.” His mother nodded. “You should remember her. She used to live in the Bay. She was in my Bible class before her parents separated. Her mother moved away, but Ashley came back every summer to stay with her father, Regan Adams. Remember him? He died several years ago—a salesman who traveled a lot. Ashley’s a good friend of Piper Langley’s.”

      “Wow. Do you also know her shoe size?” He stared at her in admiration. “Nothing gets past you.”

      “Remember that,” she teased.

      “She was at the school today.”

      “Of course she was. I sent her there to talk to Jillian about showing her art slides.” His mother stored the last of the pots away. “Ashley used to work in a fancy gallery in Vancouver. She keeps a collection of slides from noteworthy work she’s handled. If what I’ve heard is correct, they’re perfect for Jillian to show to her students.”

      “A gallery?” He sat up straight. “You said ‘worked,’ not ‘works.’ She’s not there anymore?”

      “She was in an accident. She came to Cathcart House to stay with Piper and recuperate. I don’t know if she’s going back or not.” His mother gave him “the look.” “If you’d spoken to her, you could have asked her.”

      “I tried. If I’d known about the gallery gig, I might have tried harder.” He checked the backyard, saw Tati hovering by the fence. “Uh-oh, she’s restless, which can only mean trouble. I’d better go. Are you sure she didn’t ruin your tablecloth? That juice is a pain to get out.”

      “After surviving you three my linens are indestructible to childish spills. Besides, it wouldn’t matter a whit if she did,” his mother insisted. “I can buy another tablecloth. But that sweet child will only be four years old for a very short time.”

      “True. The question is whether I can last till five.” Michael rose, massaged the tense cords in his neck. “Thanks again for dinner. I appreciate not having to cook.”

      “Are you going to work tonight?” his mother asked. She tapped one knuckle on the window to get Tati’s attention, shook her head. Apparently Tati obeyed.

      “Tonight I have to check over some homework I stupidly assigned last week.” He groaned. “Teaching takes up so much time. I never imagined I’d be spending so many hours at it. It makes it hard to find time—” A squeal from outside drew his attention. Michael sighed as he went to investigate. “We’d better go. It’s almost bath time.”

      Teaching, Tati and trivialities—that’s what took up his time nowadays. Frustration ate at Michael

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