John shrugged. He didn’t like it, but Duke had a valid point. The engagement ring could continue to wait in his pocket until he’d had a chance to square things with Sally’s father. Until he could be sure she loved him for himself—and not as an instant cure for a broken heart.

  “Daddy, I don’t feel good.” Chrissie came slowly into the kitchen, clutching her Pooh bear to her chest. The stuffed animal was a favorite from her preschool days. Now she sought it out only on rare occasions.

  Worried, Mitch slid the casserole into the oven, then pressed the back of his hand against his daughter’s forehead. She did feel warm. Her face was flushed and her eyes were unusually solemn.

  “What’s wrong, pumpkin?”

  She shrugged. “I just don’t feel good.”

  “Does your tummy hurt?” There’d been lots of flu going around.

  Chrissie nodded.

  “Do you have a sore throat?”

  She bobbed her head and swallowed. “It hurts, too.”

  “You’d better let me take your temperature.”

  Her eyes flared wide. “No! I don’t want that thing in my mouth.”

  “Chrissie, it isn’t going to hurt.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t want you to take my temperature. I’ll…I’ll just go to bed.”

  Mitch had forgotten how unreasonable his daughter could be when she was ill. “Don’t you feel like eating dinner?”

  “No,” she answered weakly. “I just want to go to bed. Don’t worry about me. I won’t die.”

  Mitch sighed. He didn’t know if she was being dramatic or was expressing some kind of anxiety about death. She’d known about Catherine’s funeral, and maybe that had made her think about Lori….

  “Will you tuck me in?”

  “Of course.” He followed her down the narrow hallway to her bedroom. While he pulled back her covers, Chrissie knelt on the floor and said her prayers. It seemed to take her twice as long as usual, but Mitch pretended not to notice.

  Once she was securely tucked beneath the blankets, Mitch sat on the edge of her bed and brushed the hair away from her forehead. Her face still seemed a little warm.

  “Stay with me, okay?” she asked in a voice that suggested she was fading quickly.

  Mitch reached for the Jack London story he’d been reading to her. Chrissie placed her hand on his forearm to stop him. “I want you to read the story about the Princess Bride. That’s my favorite.”

  Mitch figured he’d read the book about a thousand times. Chrissie could recite parts of it from memory, and Mitch knew he could repeat whole sections of it himself without bothering to turn the pages. Although his daughter was quite capable of reading on her own, there were certain stories she insisted he read to her.

  He picked up the book and flipped it open. He made it through the first page by merely glancing at it now and then.

  “Daddy.”

  “Yes, pumpkin?”

  “Are we going to Susan’s for Thanksgiving?”

  Mitch closed the book. “Sawyer asked this afternoon if we’d join them for dinner.” Naturally Susan would’ve said something to Chrissie. Sawyer had also let it drop that Bethany would be there, then waited for his reaction. So Mitch had smiled politely and said he looked forward to seeing her again. Actually it was true.

  “Did you tell Sawyer we’d come?”

  Mitch nodded.

  Chrissie’s eyes lit up, as if this confirmation had given her a reason to live. “I hope I won’t be sick then.” She made a show of swallowing.

  “You won’t be.”

  Mitch didn’t know what was wrong with his daughter, but he had a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t nearly as serious as she’d like him to believe. He sat with her for a few more minutes, then moved into the kitchen to check on dinner.

  “Daddy!”

  He made his way back down the hallway and stuck his head in her bedroom door. “Now what?”

  “I want Ms. Ross.”

  Mitch’s heart rate accelerated. “Why?”

  Chrissie nodded. “I just want to talk to her, all right?”

  Mitch hesitated. Of all the things he’d expected Chrissie to ask of him, Bethany wasn’t it. A game of checkers. A glass of juice. Anything but her teacher.

  “Please, oh, please, Daddy. Ms. Ross will make me feel so much better.”

  If Mitch was looking for an excuse to call Bethany, then his daughter had just offered it to him. He and Bethany hadn’t seen much of each other in the past few weeks, but she seemed to be the one avoiding him. Embarrassed by what had happened in his office during Catherine Fletcher’s service, Mitch had decided to leave her alone. He’d done enough damage.

  But it didn’t change the way he felt about her. They couldn’t be in the same vicinity without his heartbeat accelerating frantically. It had been years since he’d felt this vulnerable with a woman, and it made him nervous.

  Since their meeting at Ben’s place, they’d greeted each other cordially—nothing personal. Just noncommittal chitchat, of the kind he might have exchanged with a near stranger.

  None of that, however, was enough for Mitch to forget the feel of Bethany in his arms, Bethany’s lips on his, warm and welcoming. And so blessedly giving that he wanted to kick himself every time he thought about the way he’d treated her.

  “Daddy.” Chrissie gave him a long look. “Will you call Ms. Ross?”

  He nodded helplessly. Walking into the kitchen, he reached for the phone. Chrissie couldn’t possibly realize what she’d asked of him. Even while that thought formed in his mind, he admitted he was grateful for the excuse to call Bethany.

  He punched out the phone number and waited. Bethany answered on the second ring.

  “Hello.”

  Now that he heard her voice, he felt a moment’s panic. What could he say? He didn’t want to exaggerate and make it sound as if Chrissie was seriously ill, nor did he wish to make light of her request.

  “It’s Mitch.”

  No response.

  “I’m sorry to trouble you.”

  “It’s no trouble.” She sounded friendly, but not overly so.

  “Chrissie seems to have come down with the flu.” Then, on a stroke of genius, he invented the reason for his call. “Did she mention not feeling well at school today?”

  “No, she didn’t say a word.” Concern was more evident in her voice than irritation.

  “It’s probably nothing more than a twenty-four-hour virus,” he said.

  “Is there anything I can do?” she asked.

  He’d been born under a lucky star, Mitch decided. Without his having to say a word, she’d volunteered.

  “As a matter of fact, Chrissie’s feeling pretty bad at the moment and she’s asking for you. I don’t want you to go out of your way—”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “No.” He wouldn’t hear of her walking that far in weather this cold. “I’ll come for you on the snowmobile.”

  She hesitated. “Fine. I’ll watch for you.”

  Mitch went back into Chrissie’s bedroom. “I talked to Ms. Ross.”

  “And?” Chrissie nearly fell out of the bed she was so eager to hear the outcome of the conversation.

  “She’ll come, but I didn’t want her walking over here in the cold. I’m going to pick her up on the snowmobile. You’ll be all right alone for five minutes, won’t you?”

  Chrissie’s eyes filled with outrage. “I’m not a little kid anymore!”

  “I’m glad to know that.” If he’d actually been upset about asking Bethany to visit, he might have pointed out that someone who wasn’t a little kid anymore wouldn’t ask for her teacher.

  Mitch called out to Chrissie that he was leaving. He put on his insulated, waterproof jacket and wound a thick scarf around his neck, covering his mouth, before he stepped outside. The snowmobile was the most frequently used means of transportation in the winter months, and he kept his well-maintained. The minute he pulled up outside Bethany’s small house, her door opened and she appeared.

  She climbed onto the back of the snowmobile and positioned herself a discreet distance behind him. Nevertheless, having her this close produced a fiery warmth he couldn’t escape—didn’t want to escape.

  She didn’t say anything until they’d reached his house. He parked the snowmobile inside the garage and plugged in the heater to protect the engine.

  Once in the house they removed their winter gear. Bethany was wearing leggings and an oversize San Francisco Police Department sweatshirt; her feet were covered in heavy red woollen socks. He stared at her, taking in every detail.

  Mitch found he couldn’t speak. It was the first time they’d been alone together since the scene in his office. This sudden intimacy caught him off guard, and he wasn’t sure how to react.

  Part of him yearned to take her in his arms and kiss her again. Only this time he’d be tender, drawing out the kiss with—

  “Where’s Chrissie?” Bethany asked, mercifully breaking into his thoughts.

  “Chrissie…She’s in her bedroom.”

  The oven timer went off, and grateful for the excuse to clear his head, Mitch walked into the kitchen. He opened the oven and pulled out the ground-turkey casserole to cool on top of the stove.

  He entered his daughter’s room and discovered Bethany sitting on the bed, with Chrissie cuddled close. The child’s head rested against Bethany’s shoulder as she read from the story he’d begun himself. When Chrissie glanced up to find Mitch watching, her eyes shone with happiness.

  “Hi, Dad,” she said, craning her neck to look up at Bethany. “Dad usually reads me this story, but you do it better because you love it, too. I don’t think Dad likes romance stories.”

  “Dinner’s ready,” Mitch announced. “Are you sure you won’t try to eat something, pumpkin?”

  Chrissie’s frown said that was a terribly difficult decision. “Maybe I could eat just a little, but only if Ms. Ross will stay and have dinner with us.”

  Before Bethany could offer a perfunctory excuse, Mitch said, “There’s plenty, and we’d both enjoy having you.” He wanted to be certain she understood that he wouldn’t object to her company; if anything, he’d be glad of it.

  He saw her gaze travel from him to Chrissie and then back. He leaned against the doorway, hands deep in his pockets, trying to give the impression that it made no difference to him if she joined them or not. But it did. He wanted her to stay.

  “I…It’s thoughtful of you to ask. I, uh, haven’t eaten yet.”

  “Oh, goodie.” Chrissie jumped up and clapped her hands, bouncing with glee. Then, as if she’d just remembered how ill she was supposed to be, she sagged her shoulders and all but crumpled onto the bed.

  In an effort to hide his smile, Mitch returned to the kitchen and quickly set the table. By the time Chrissie and Bethany joined him, he’d brought the casserole to the table, as well as a loaf of bread, butter and some straight-from-the-can bean salad.

  Dinner was…an odd affair. Exciting. Fun. And a little sad. It was as if he and Bethany were attempting to find new ground with each other. Only they both seemed to fear that this ground would be full of crevices and strewn with obstacles. He’d take one step forward, then freeze, afraid he’d said something that might offend her.

  He noticed that Bethany didn’t find this new situation any easier than he did. She’d start to laugh, then her eyes, her beautiful brown eyes, would meet his and the laugh would falter.

  Following their meal, Chrissie wanted her to finish the story. Since Mitch was well aware of how the story ended, he lingered in the kitchen over a cup of coffee.

  He’d just begun washing the dishes when Bethany reappeared.

  “Chrissie’s decided she needs her beauty sleep,” she told him, standing at the far side of the room.

  Mitch didn’t blame her for maintaining the distance between them. Every time she’d attempted to get close, he’d shoved her away. Every time she’d opened her heart to him, he’d shunned her. Yet when he’d desperately needed her, she’d been there. And although she’d accused him of settling for any woman who happened to fall into his arms, she was the only one who could fill the need in him.

  “I imagine you want to get back home,” he said, experiencing a curious sadness. He dumped what remained of his coffee into the sink. The way her eyes flickered told him she might have enjoyed a cup had he offered one.

  “Stay,” he said suddenly. “Just for a few minutes.”

  The invitation seemed to hang in the air. It took her a long time to decide; when he was about to despair, she gave him a small smile, then nodded.

  “Coffee?”

  “Please.”

  His heart reacted with a wild burst of staccato beats. He poured her a mug, grabbing a fresh one for himself. His movements were jerky, and he realized it was because he felt afraid that if he didn’t finish the task quickly enough, she might change her mind.

  He carried the mugs into the living room and sat across from her. At first their conversation was awkward, but gradually the tension eased. He was astonished by how much they had to talk about. Books, movies, politics. Children. Police work. Life in Alaska. They shared myriad opinions and stories and observations.

  It was as though all the difficulties between them had been wiped out and they were starting over.

  Mitch laughed. He felt warm and relaxed, trusting. Alive. She seemed curious about his past, but her occasional questions were friendly, not intrusive. And she didn’t probe for more information than he was willing—or able—to give her.

  He brought out a large photo album and sat next to her on the sofa, with the album resting partially on his lap and partially on hers. Mitch turned the pages, explaining each picture.

  He wondered what Bethany thought about the gap in his past. It was as if their lives—his and Chrissie’s—had started when they came to Hard Luck. There wasn’t a single photograph taken any earlier than that. Not one picture of Lori.

  He turned a page and his hand inadvertently brushed hers. He hadn’t meant to touch her, but when he did, it was as if something exploded inside him. For long seconds, neither moved.

  Slowly Mitch’s gaze went to hers. Instead of accusation, he found approval, instead of anger, acceptance. He released his breath, tired of fighting a battle he couldn’t win. With deliberate movements, he closed the photo album and set it aside.

  “Mitch?”

  “We’ll talk later,” he whispered. He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and gently pulled her forward. He needed this. Ached for this.

  He kissed her slowly, sweetly, teasing her lips until her head rolled back against the cushion in abject surrender.

  “Mitch…” She tried once more.

  He stopped her from speaking by placing his finger against her moist lips. “We both know Chrissie manipulated this meeting.”

  She frowned.

  “She’s no sicker than you or I.”

  Bethany blinked.

  “Let’s humor her.”

  Her eyes darkened. “Let’s,” she agreed, and wound her arms around his neck.

  “Thank you so much for coming,” Bethany said to Ben. It had taken a lot to convince him to speak to her students.

  Ben had resisted, claiming he wasn’t comfortable with children, never having had any himself. But in the end Bethany’s persistence had won out.

  “You did a great job,” she told him.

  Ben blushed slightly. “I did, didn’t I?” He walked around the room and patted the top of each desk as if remembering who had sat where.

  “The children loved hearing about your job,” she told him. “And about your life in the navy.”

  “They certainly had lots of questions.”

  Bethany didn’t mention that she’d primed them beforehand. She hadn’t had to encourage them much; they were familiar with Ben and fascinated by him.

  Bethany wasn’t especially proud of the somewhat devious method she’d used to learn what she could of Ben’s past. Still, inviting him to speak to her students was certainly legitimate; he wasn’t the only community member she’d asked to do so. Dotty had been in the week before, and Sawyer O’Halloran had agreed to come after Thanksgiving. She found herself studying Ben now, looking for hints of her own appearance, her own personality.

  “Haven’t seen much of you lately,” he said, folding his arms. He half sat on one of the desks in the front row. “Used to be you’d stop in once a day, and we’d have a nice little chat.”

  “I’ve been busy lately.” In the past week, she’d been seeing a lot of Mitch and Chrissie.

  “I kinda miss our talks,” Ben muttered.

  “Me, too,” Bethany admitted. It was becoming increasingly difficult, she discovered, to talk to Ben about personal things. Her fear was that she’d inadvertently reveal their relationship. The temptation to tell him grew stronger with each meeting, something she hadn’t considered when she’d decided to find him.

  Ben stared at her a moment as if he wasn’t sure he should go on. “I thought I saw you with Mitch Harris the other day.” It was more question than statement.

  She nodded. “He drove me to the library.” He’d said he didn’t want her walking. The piercing cold continued, but temperatures weren’t as low as they’d been earlier in the week. Bethany could easily have trekked the short distance; Mitch’s driving her was an excuse—one she’d readily accepted.

  “Are you two seeing each other now?”

  Bethany hesitated.

  “I don’t mean to pry,” Ben said, studying her. “You can tell me it’s none of my damn business if you want, and I won’t take offense. It’s just that I get customers now and again who’re curious about you.”

  “Like who?”

  “Like Bill Landgrin.”

  “Oh.” It embarrassed her no end that she’d had dinner with the pipeline worker. He’d phoned her several times since, and the conversations had been uncomfortable. Not because of anything Bill said or did, but because she’d gone out with him for all the wrong reasons.

  Bethany walked from behind her desk and over to the blackboard. “I don’t know what to tell you about Mitch and me,” she said, picking up the eraser.