He turned the truck around and headed back toward the school. When he pulled up in front of Bethany’s little house, she smiled at him.

  “Thanks for the tour and the ride home.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Chrissie,” Bethany said, her voice gentle, “since I’m new here, I was wondering if you’d be my classroom helper.”

  His daughter’s eyes lit up like sparklers on the Fourth of July, and she nodded so hard her pigtails bounced wildly. “Can Susan be your helper, too?”

  “Of course.”

  Chrissie beamed a proud smile at her father.

  “Well, good night, Chrissie, Mitch,” Bethany said, then opened her door and climbed out.

  “Night,” father and daughter echoed. Mitch waited until she was inside the house and the lights were on before he drove off.

  So, he thought, the new schoolteacher has arrived.

  Bethany was even more exhausted than she’d realized. But instead of falling into a sound sleep, she lay awake, staring at the ceiling, fighting fatigue and mulling over the time she’d spent with Mitch Harris.

  The man was both intense and intelligent. That much had been immediately apparent. He stood apart from the others in more ways than one. Bethany suspected he wouldn’t have bothered to introduce himself, which was why she’d taken the initiative. She’d noticed him right away, half-hidden in a corner, watching the events without joining in. When it looked as if the evening would pass without her meeting him, she’d made the first move.

  There was something about him that appealed to her. Having lived with a policeman all her life, she must have intuitively sensed his occupation; she certainly hadn’t been surprised when Sawyer told her. He reminded her a little of her father. They seemed to have the same analytical mind. It drove her mother crazy, the way Dad carefully weighed each decision, considered every option, before taking action. She’d bet Mitch was like that, too.

  It was one personality trait Bethany didn’t share.

  She would’ve liked to know Mitch Harris better, but she had the distinct impression he wasn’t interested. Then again…maybe he was. A breathless moment before she’d introduced herself, she’d recognized some glint of admiration in his eye. She’d been sure of it. But now she wondered if that moment had existed only in her imagination.

  All the same, she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to see his eyes darken with passion before he kissed her.…

  She was far too tired; she wasn’t thinking clearly. Bethany closed her eyes and pounded the pillow, trying to force herself to relax.

  But even with her eyes shut, all she saw was Mitch Harris’s face.

  She hadn’t come to Hard Luck to fall in love, she told herself sternly.

  Rolling onto her other side, she cradled the pillow in her arms. It didn’t help. Drat. She could deny it till doomsday, but it wouldn’t make any difference. There was just something about Chrissie’s father….

  “Ms. Ross?”

  Bethany looked up from the back of her classroom. Chrissie and Susan stood by the doorway, their faces beaming with eagerness.

  “Hello, girls.”

  “Um, we’re here to be your helpers,” Chrissie said. “Dad told us we’d better make sure we are helpers and not nuisances.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be wonderful helpers,” Bethany said.

  The two girls instantly broke into huge grins and rushed inside the room. Bethany put them to work sorting textbooks. This was the first time she’d taught more than one grade, and the fact that she’d now be handling kindergarten through six intimidated her.

  “Everyone’s looking forward to school,” Chrissie announced, “especially my dad.”

  Bethany chuckled. Mitch wasn’t so different from other parents.

  The girls had been working for perhaps twenty minutes when Chrissie suddenly asked, “You’re not married or anything, are you, Ms. Ross?”

  A smile trembled on her mouth. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Leave it to a seven-year-old to ask that kind of question. “I haven’t met the right man,” she explained as simply as she could.

  “Have you ever been in love?” Susan probed.

  Bethany noticed that both girls had stopped sorting through the textbooks and were giving her their full attention. “Yes,” she told them with some hesitation.

  “How old are you?”

  “Chrissie.” Susan jabbed her elbow into her friend’s ribs. “You’re not supposed to ask that,” she said in a loud whisper. “It’s against the human-rights law. We could get charged with snooping.”

  “I’m twenty-five,” Bethany answered, pretending she hadn’t heard Susan.

  The girls exchanged looks, then started using their fingers to count.

  “Seven,” Chrissie breathed, as if it were a magic number.

  “Seven?” Bethany asked curiously. What game were the girls playing?

  “If a man’s seven years older than you, is that too old?” Susan asked, her eyes wide and inquisitive.

  “Too old,” Bethany repeated thoughtfully. She perched on the edge of a desk and crossed her arms. “That depends.”

  “On what?” Chrissie moved closer.

  “On age, I suppose. If I was fourteen and wanted to date a man who was twenty-one, my parents would never have allowed it. But if I was twenty-one and he was twenty-eight, it would probably be okay.”

  Both girls seemed pleased with her answer, grinning and nudging each other.

  Bethany responded to their odd behavior with a joke. “You girls aren’t thinking about dating fourteen-year-old boys, are you?” she asked, narrowing her eyes in pretend disapproval.

  Chrissie covered her mouth and giggled.

  Susan rolled her eyes. “Get real, Ms. Ross. I don’t even know what the big attraction is with boys.” Then, as if to explain her words, she said, “I have an older brother.”

  “Would you tell us about the man you were in love with?” This came from Chrissie. Her expression had grown so serious Bethany decided to answer, despite her initial impulse to change the subject.

  “The man I was in love with,” she began, “was a guy I dated while I was in college. We went out for about a year.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Randy.”

  “Randy,” Chrissie repeated with disgust, turning to look at her friend.

  “Did he do you wrong?”

  Bethany laughed at the country-and-western phrasing, although she was uncomfortable with these questions. “No, he didn’t do me wrong.” If anyone was to blame for their breakup, it had been Bethany herself. She wasn’t sure she’d ever really loved him, which she supposed was an answer in itself. They’d been friends, and that had developed into something more—at least on Randy’s part.

  He’d started talking marriage and children, and at first she’d agreed. Then she’d realized she wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment. Not when she had two full years of school left. Not when she’d barely begun to experience life.

  They’d argued and broken off their unofficial engagement. The breakup had troubled Bethany for months afterward. But now she understood that what she’d really regretted was the loss of their friendship.

  “Do you still see him?” Chrissie asked.

  Bethany nodded.

  “You do?” Susan sounded as if this was a tragedy.

  “Sometimes.”

  “Is he married?”

  “No.” Bethany grew a little sad, thinking about her longtime friend. She did miss Randy, even now, five years after their breakup.

  Both Chrissie and Susan seemed deflated at the news of Bethany’s lost love.

  “Would it be all right if we left now?” Chrissie asked abruptly.

  “That’s fine,” Bethany told them. “Thanks for your help.”

  The two disappeared so quickly all that was missing was the puff of smoke.

  If nothing else, the girls certainly were entertaining, Bethany thought. She returned to the task of cutting large letters out of colored paper.

  The sun blazed in through the classroom windows, and she tugged her shirt loose, unfastened the last few buttons and tied the ends at her midriff. Then she pulled her hair away from her face and used an elastic to secure it in a ponytail.

  Half an hour later, most of the letters, all capitals, for the word September were pinned in an arch across the bulletin board at the back of the room. She stood on a chair and had just pinned the third E when she felt someone’s presence behind her. Twisting around, she saw Mitch standing in the open door.

  “Hi,” she said cheerfully, undeniably pleased to see him. He was dressed in the khaki uniform worn by Department of the Interior staff. His face revealed none of his emotions, yet Bethany had the feeling he’d rather not be there.

  “I’m looking for Chrissie.”

  Bethany pinned the R in place and then stepped down from the chair. “Sorry, but as you can see she isn’t here.”

  Mitch frowned. “Louise Gold told me this was where she’d be.”

  Bethany remembered that Louise Gold was the woman who watched Chrissie while Mitch was at work. She’d briefly met her the day before. In addition to her other duties, Louise served on the school board.

  “Chrissie was here earlier with Susan.”

  “I hope they behaved themselves.”

  Bethany recalled their probing questions and smiled to herself. Pushing back the chair, she said, “They were fine. I asked Chrissie for her help, remember?”

  Mitch remained as far away from her as possible. Bethany suspected he’d rather track a cantankerous bear than stay in the same room with her. It was not a familiar feeling, or a pleasant one.

  “She must be over at Susan’s, then,” he said.

  “She didn’t say where she was headed.”

  He lingered a moment. “I don’t want Chrissie to become a nuisance.”

  “She isn’t, and neither is Susan. They’re both great kids, so don’t worry, okay?”

  Still he hesitated. “They didn’t, by any chance, ask you a lot of personal questions, did they?”

  “Uh…some.”

  He closed his eyes for a few seconds and an expression of weariness crossed his face. He sighed. “I’ll look for Chrissie over at Susan’s. Thanks for your trouble.”

  His gaze held hers. By the time he turned away, Bethany felt a little breathless. She was sure of one thing. If it was up to Mitch Harris, she would never have left San Francisco.

  Well, that was unfortunate for Mitch. Because Bethany had come to Hard Luck with a plan, and she wasn’t leaving until it was accomplished.

  Chapter 2

  Daddy?”

  Mitch looked up from the Fairbanks paper to smile at his freckle-faced daughter. Chrissie was fresh out of the bathtub, her face scrubbed clean, her cheeks rosy. She wore her favorite Beauty and the Beast pajamas.

  His heart contracted with the depth of his love for her. No matter how miserable his marriage had been, he’d always be grateful to Lori for giving him Chrissie.

  “It’s almost bedtime,” he told his daughter.

  “I know.” Following their nightly ritual, she crawled into his lap and nestled her head against his chest. Sometimes she pretended to read the paper with him, but not this evening. Her thoughts seemed to be unusually grave. “Daddy, do you like Ms. Ross?”

  Mitch prayed for patience. He’d been afraid of this. Chrissie had been using every opportunity to bring Bethany into their conversations, and he knew she was hoping something romantic would develop between him and the teacher. “Ms. Ross is very nice,” he answered cautiously.

  “But do you like her?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Do you think you’ll marry her?”

  It was all Mitch could do to keep from bolting out of the chair. “I have no intention of marrying anyone,” he said emphatically. As far as he was concerned, the subject wasn’t open for discussion. With anyone, even his daughter.

  Chrissie batted her baby blues at him. “But I thought you liked her.”

  “Sweetheart, listen, I like Pearl, too, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to marry her.”

  “But Pearl’s old. Ms. Ross is only twenty-five. I know ’cause I asked her. Twenty-five isn’t too old, is it?”

  Mitch gritted his teeth. After they’d driven Bethany home that first night, Chrissie had been filled with questions about the new teacher. No doubt she’d subjected Bethany to a similar inquisition that morning.

  Mitch supposed all this talk about marriage was inevitable. The summer had been full of romantic adventures. Certainly Sawyer had wasted no time in marrying Abbey; it didn’t help that Abbey’s daughter was Chrissie’s best friend. Then Charles had become engaged to Lanni, followed by Pete and Dotty’s recent announcement. To Chrissie, it must’ve seemed as if the whole town had caught marriage fever. Bethany, however, had been hired by the school board last spring and had nothing to do with the recent influx of women.

  “I like Ms. Ross so much,” Chrissie said with a delicate sigh.

  “You hardly know her. You might change your mind once you see her in the classroom.” Mitch felt he was grasping at straws, but he was growing more and more concerned. He could hardly forbid his daughter to mention Bethany’s name!

  He wasn’t sure what the woman had done to sprout wings and a halo in his daughter’s estimation. Nor did he understand why Chrissie had chosen to champion Bethany instead of, say, Mariah Douglas.

  Perhaps she’d intuitively sensed his attraction to the young teacher. That idea sent chills racing down his spine. If Chrissie had figured it out, others wouldn’t be far behind.

  “I won’t change my mind about Ms. Ross,” Chrissie told him. “I think you should marry her.”

  “Chrissie. We’ve already been over this. I’m not going to marry Ms. Ross.”

  “Why not?”

  There was something very wrong when a grown man couldn’t out-argue a seven-year-old. “First, we don’t know each other. Remember, sweetheart, she’s only been in town two days.”

  “But Sawyer fell in love with Abbey right away.”

  “Yes…” he muttered warily.

  “Then why can’t you put dibs on Ms. Ross before any of the other men decide they like her, too?”

  “Chrissie—”

  “Someone else might marry her if you don’t hurry up!”

  Mitch calmed himself. It was clear that his daughter had a rejoinder for every answer. “This is different,” he said reasonably. “I’m not Sawyer and Ms. Ross isn’t Abbey. She came here to teach, remember? She isn’t looking for a husband.”

  “Neither was Abbey. I really want you to marry Ms. Ross.”

  Mitch clenched his jaw. “I’m not marrying Ms. Ross, and I refuse to discuss it any further.” He rarely used this tone with his daughter, but he wanted it understood that the conversation was over. He wasn’t getting married. End of story. No amount of begging and pleading was going to make any difference.

  Chrissie was quiet for several minutes. Then she said, “Tell me about my mommy.”

  Mitch felt like a drowning man. Everywhere he turned there was more water, more trouble, and not a life preserver in sight. “What do you want to know?”

  “Was she pretty?”

  “Very pretty,” he answered soothingly. Normally he found the subject of Lori painful, but right now he was grateful to discuss something other than Bethany Ross.

  “As pretty as Ms. Ross?”

  He rolled his eyes; he’d been sucker-punched. “Yes.”

  “She died in an accident?”

  Mitch didn’t know why Chrissie repeatedly asked the same questions about her mother. Maybe the child could tell that he wasn’t giving her the whole truth. “Yes, your mother died in an accident.”

  “And you were sad?”

  “I loved her very much.”

  “And she loved me?”

  “Oh, yes, sweetheart, she loved you.”

  His daughter seemed to soak in his words, as if she needed reassurance that she’d been wanted and loved by the mother she’d never known.

  After that, Chrissie grew thoughtful again. Mitch returned to his paper. Then, when he least expected it, she resumed her campaign. “Can I have a brother or sister someday?” she asked him. The question came at him from nowhere and scored a direct hit.

  “Probably not,” he told her truthfully. “Like I said, I don’t plan to remarry.”

  “Why not?” She wore that hurt-little-girl look guaranteed to weaken his resolve.

  Mitch made a show of checking his watch. He was through with answering questions and finding suitable arguments for a child. Through with having Bethany Ross offered up to him on a silver platter—by his daughter, the would-be matchmaker.

  “Time for bed,” he said decisively.

  “Already?” Chrissie whined.

  “Past time.” He slid her off his knee and led her into her bedroom. He removed the stuffed animals from the bed while Chrissie got down on her knees to say her prayers. She closed her eyes and folded her hands, her expression intent.

  Mitch could see his daughter’s lips move in some fervent request. He didn’t have to be a mind reader to know what she was asking. If God joined forces against him, Mitch figured he’d find himself engaged to the tantalizing Ms. Ross before the week was out.

  Christian O’Halloran, youngest of the three brothers, walked into the Hard Luck Café and collapsed in a chair. He propped his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands.

  Without asking, Ben picked up the coffeepot and poured him a cup. “You look like you could use something stronger,” he commented.

  “I can’t believe it,” Christian moaned.

  “Believe what?” Ben assumed this had to do with Christian’s secretary. He didn’t understand what it was about Mariah that Christian found so objectionable. Personally he was rather fond of the young lady. Mariah Douglas had grit. She had the gumption to live in one of those rundown cabins. No power. No electric lights. And for damn sure, nothing that went flush in the night.

  “You won’t believe what just happened. I nearly got my head chewed off by some feminist attorney.”