LITMIR.BIZ

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too, and his heart unexpectedly lurched. Man, was that glimpse behind the starchy-mannered exterior worth waiting for.

      The now-composed boy grinned. “I won’t hold my breath again. I promise.”

      “We’ll play one more time.” Brett again caught their teacher’s eye. “Then I believe Miss Abby here has a Bible story for us and probably something fun to make to take home.”

      Abby nodded and the kids turned to look at her as if noticing her for the first time. Another round of the game and the kids were settled down enough to focus on a Bible lesson. All except Skyler, that is, who gave Mary’s ponytail a tug. Brett hauled him into his lap and, after a halfhearted struggle, the boy finally relaxed against him, a too-familiar weight and little boy scent that brought back memories. Wrapping his arms around Skyler’s waist, Brett rested his chin atop the soft thatch of hair and nodded for Abby to begin.

      David and Goliath. A bittersweet heaviness settled into Brett’s chest. Wouldn’t you know it? One of Jeremy’s favorite stories. Right up there with Noah and the ark, Jonah and the whale, and Daniel in the lion’s den. Thankfully the Lord had gotten hold of that precious boy’s daddy just in time or he’d never have heard those stories—or about how Jesus loved the little children.

      Brett swallowed, forcing away the past as he concentrated on the woman in front of him. She recited the story slowly, with enthusiastic animation, as she moved magnetic cutout characters across the whiteboard. The gentle voice, tinged with a slight huskiness that lent it a distinction of its own, held the children riveted.

      Brett shifted Skyler on his lap, as captivated as any of the kids. His ex-wife, Melynda, never read Bible stories to Jeremy. She’d wanted no part of God after the cystic fibrosis diagnosis, and no part of her husband, either, once Jeremy passed away. Brett didn’t often allow himself to dwell on those dark times and God had been faithful to ease the relentless, piercing pain of loss. So why today?

      If there was anything he’d learned over the past seven years since losing Jeremy and the shock of his wife’s departure, it was that there were good days and there were bad days. On both, he could only thank God for allowing him to have a wife and a son in his life for as long as He had—and take another step into tomorrow without them.

      * * *

      Abby had never seen anything quite like it. The man had merely entered the classroom and suddenly the world was all about him. Or the children’s world anyway. Even when at the hour’s conclusion they’d gathered up their papers to await their parents, Brett had once again become the focus of their attention and she was all but invisible.

      Had she known Brett went to Canyon Springs Christian, she wouldn’t have been so easily persuaded to take on Meg’s Sunday school class. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate how he’d settled the children down with that clever schoolhouse game of his. She’d been on the verge of panic before his arrival. But really...had he needed to remain through the entire lesson? Help out with the crafts? Not that she wasn’t grateful for the assistance, but his watchful eyes, teasing remarks and knowing smiles had made it harder on her, always wondering what he was going to do next.

      That was one thing she’d appreciated about Gene, her steady-as-he-goes fiancé. Twelve years her senior, the long-widowed university professor was a man of fixed routine and predictability. A creature of habit. No surprises there. Or at least that’s what she’d thought until he broke off their engagement, annoyed that she’d be unable to fulfill her part of the marital bargain and had messed up his carefully laid plans to father a child of his own. He’d acted as if it hadn’t been as equally a painful blow to her.

      Brett saw the last of the kindergartners off with a wave, then turned to where Davy had joined her to help gather materials back into his mother’s canvas bag. Snatching up a roll of paper towels, the cowboy moistened a few in the room’s corner sink, then wiped down the tables with every bit as much enthusiasm as he seemed to lavish on anything he set his mind to. Which, she had to admit, could be irritating. Must be nice not to have a care in the world.

      But why did he keep hanging around? Didn’t he have any place he needed to be?

      Slinging the lesson bag over her shoulder, she patted Davy on the back. “Why don’t you find Grandpa? I’m sure he’ll be expecting you in church.”

      Davy’s brow wrinkled. “You’re not coming?”

      “No, I have a few things to attend to. But I’m sure your grandpa will see that you get lunch and bring you home afterward.” Or at least that’s what he used to do when she was a kid.

      Even though only the Diaz children—not the adults—had actually attended church, Dad enjoyed Sunday family times and they’d given his wife a break from meal preparation. Mom still hated cooking. Dad had done much of it whenever he could, so they’d probably consumed way too many meals prepared on his oversize grill and Sunday specials at Kit’s Lodge.

      “You’ll still be there when I get home, won’t you?” Davy’s eyes sought hers for reassurance. Thank goodness his mother would return this afternoon. Abby was already losing her heart to this little guy and he seemed to be latching on to her, too.

      “I’ll be there. Me and that shoe-chewing pooch of yours.”

      Davy grinned, then with a wave to Brett he disappeared out the door.

      “Good kid.” Brett retrieved his hat from atop the supply cabinet, a version that was in more pristine condition than the one he’d worn at the equine center yesterday. He’d donned his Sunday best, too—well-oiled boots, dark jeans and a crisp white Western-cut shirt. “So how’s his mom and the bambina?”

      So that’s why he’d lingered. He wanted an update on Meg.

      “She and the baby are both stabilized and she’s hoping to come home this afternoon. She can’t return to work, of course, but at least she may be able to wait things out at home.”

      “Glad to hear it.” Rotating his hat in his hands, he didn’t seem in any hurry to be on his way.

      She patted the bun on her head, ensuring it was still secure, then took a step toward the door. “Thank you for helping out. That little red schoolhouse thing is ingenious.”

      “I was more than happy to assist.” He cocked his head, eyes twinkling. “But I thought you librarians knew all the tricks in the book about kid control. Assuming, of course, they still have story hours at libraries these days.”

      Abby shrugged. “I was a high school librarian.”

      “Was?”

      Ugh. He’d picked up on that slip of the tongue.

      “Yes, was.” But she didn’t intend to discuss it. Cutbacks in funding weren’t kind to a private school librarian with a paltry four years of experience. Even with a master’s degree, she’d been among the first to be let go at the end of the spring semester.

      In the weeks since school ended, she had no idea how she’d managed to motivate herself to apply for the few available librarian job openings in the Tucson area, let alone make a good showing in the interviews. Nevertheless, she hoped to hear an affirmative for the fall semester soon. It didn’t much matter which one. With an apartment to maintain and car and education loans to pay off, she couldn’t afford to be choosy.

      Eyeing her curiously, Brett nevertheless didn’t press her for an explanation, for which she was grateful.

      “There you are.” A masculine voice came almost accusingly from the doorway. Her dad. The stocky, mustached Bill Diaz stepped into the room, wire-rimmed glasses perched on his hawklike nose and salt-and-pepper hair highlighted by the fluorescent overhead lights.

      “Hey, Bill.” Brett stepped forward to shake his hand.

      He knew her dad?

      The older man’s smile broadened. “I should have known you’d manage to find the prettiest girl in the building.”

      Brett darted a look in

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