LITMIR.BIZ

      2

      IT WAS NEARLY EIGHT that evening when Trevor rang Jamie’s doorbell. She lived only a few blocks away, though her little bungalow was considerably smaller than the two-story, four-bedroom house he’d purchased after moving back to Honoria ten months ago.

      He had never expected to find himself on her doorstep.

      He rang the bell again. He could hear music playing inside. Loud, pulsing rock music. No wonder she couldn’t hear the bell. Maybe he should just forget about this, he thought, glancing toward his car. But she had saved his son’s life. The very least he owed her was a thank-you. He pressed the bell again. The music abruptly stopped.

      “All right,” a woman’s voice called. “I’m coming. Keep your pants on, okay?”

      She opened the door. After only a moment’s pause, she cocked her head and planted a hand on her slender hip. “Why, Trevor McBride. Fancy finding you here.”

      The last time Trevor had last seen Jamie, she had been a sophomore in high school, he’d been a senior. Despite her instant recognition, he knew he’d changed a great deal since then. With the exception of her hair color, he couldn’t see that Jamie had changed much at all. The years had been extremely kind to her.

      He took a moment to study her. Looking as though she had just run her hand through it, her dark red hair stood in damp spikes around her face, which was flushed and beaded with perspiration. She wore a towel around her neck, a turquoise T-shirt, black shorts, baggy socks and expensive-looking athletic shoes. Several stud earrings decorated each of her ears, but he didn’t see any other jewelry. If she had worn any makeup earlier, it was gone now.

      The grubby look had never particularly appealed to him. But on Jamie, it was most definitely appealing. He had always found himself drawn to her, even when he’d made every effort to resist the attraction.

      That was something else that hadn’t changed, apparently.

      He lifted his gaze to her face, seeing himself reflected in her vividly green eyes. “Did I interrupt something?”

      “Tae-Bo.” She wiped her face with one corner of the towel. “Wanna join me for a quick punch-and-kick?”

      “No, thank you,” he answered politely.

      She grinned. “The last time we talked, I think I asked if you wanted to duck behind the gym for a little kiss-and-grope,” she mused. “And I’m pretty sure you took me up on it.”

      He cleared his throat, refusing to be drawn into his youthful indiscretions. He definitely remembered when he had first kissed her behind the gym. And he remembered just as clearly telling her it couldn’t happen again. Even though it had on an occasion or two. “The reason I’m here…”

      She laughed…exactly the same way she’d laughed at him almost fifteen years ago. And it made him feel as awkward and self-conscious now as it had then. How could she still do that to him? “I know why you’re here,” she said. “And it has nothing to do with a stroll down memory lane.”

      “No. I wanted to…”

      She moved out of the doorway. “Come in, Trev. I need a drink.”

      No one else had ever called him Trev. He wouldn’t have let anyone else get away with it. Somehow, it had always sounded sort of natural coming from Jamie. “I can’t stay long,” he said, glancing at his watch. “My mom’s sitting with the kids and—”

      “We’ll just have a quick drink,” she said over her shoulder.

      He could either follow her or be left standing alone on her porch. With a rather wistful glance back at his car, he stepped through the doorway and closed the door behind him.

      It was no surprise to discover that Jamie’s decorating was as vivid and unconventional as she was. An almost dizzying array of fabrics and colors clashed and competed with a number of objects Jamie had collected. His gaze slid from a six-inch plastic Statue of Liberty to a porcelain figurine of Marilyn Monroe, then paused for a moment on one of the dozens of framed photographs in the room. This one showed Jamie snuggled up to a man who looked suspiciously like a famous television comedian. Next to it was a shot of Jamie mugging with an Academy Award–winning actress.

      There were others, but he didn’t take time to study them all. Nor would he allow himself to be impressed. After all, Jamie’s New York acting career had lasted less than ten years, and now she was teaching drama at the local high school. Like him, Jamie had ended up right back where she had started.

      He wondered if her return had been any happier than his own.

      Without bothering to ask if he wanted anything, Jamie poured bottled water over two glasses of ice and pressed one into his hand. She drank half her own without pausing for air, then set the glass on the counter, her full, unpainted lips glistening with drops of moisture. “Before you launch into the speech I’m sure you’ve carefully prepared, I just want to say that there’s really no need. I happened to be close by when your son fell into the pool this afternoon and I jumped in to pull him out. Anyone else would have done the same thing.”

      “But no one else did,” he replied. “You saved Sam’s life, Jamie. There’s no way for me to adequately express my gratitude.”

      “Let’s just stick with ‘thank you’ and ‘you’re welcome,’ shall we?”

      His lips twitched, though he was trying not to smile. This was too important. “Thank you.”

      She nodded briskly. “You’re welcome.”

      “It isn’t enough, you know. Not for what you did.”

      She shrugged. “I’m just glad I was there.”

      “So am I,” he agreed, his tone heartfelt.

      She picked up her glass. “Let’s take these into the living room.”

      Once again, he had to follow or be left behind. He took a sip of his water, then left the full glass on the counter as he trailed her into the other room. “Jamie…”

      She kicked off her shoes and curled up on her jewel-tone striped couch, waving him into a nearby chair. “Your kids are adorable, Trevor.”

      “Thank you.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. He had expressed his gratitude—at least, as much as she had allowed him to—which was all he’d intended to do. He hadn’t planned on an extended visit. After all, despite a couple of memorable past encounters, he and Jamie Flaherty were basically strangers.

      “How old are they?”

      “Sam turned five last month. Abbie’s fourteen months.”

      “I

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