school with a leg up toward a career in construction. Their enthusiasm was a joy to behold.
Helping struggling students succeed was the best part of his job.
But if they couldn’t meet their deadline, if the new owners weren’t flexible, he’d have to bring in outside help. His students would still get their credit, but his hard-won project might not be renewed for next year.
Education politics was the worst part of his job.
Footsteps sounded from below.
“Stafford, you here?”
Tod Styles. Getting YOU Home!
He didn’t dislike the man, exactly, but Tod hadn’t made his opinion of this project a secret. He clearly considered his time a precious gift he couldn’t afford, rather than a partial donation to a worthy cause.
The other Styles real estate agent – Tod’s brother or cousin, maybe? – had a similar reputation. Rick, that was his name. He couldn’t imagine how they survived, splitting Marietta’s flat housing market between them.
“Hey, Tod,” he said, descending the stairs.
“There must be a mistake.” He heard a voice from around the corner.
A woman’s voice, melodious, modulated.
Familiar.
A black and white dog bounded up to him then, wagging her tail and slipping on the hardwood steps. “Whoa. Who are you?”
“Bob?” called the woman. “Come on back, girl.”
His mind raced as he walked toward the voice, unable to place her, but aware of a desperate urgency to do so.
Then he rounded the corner to the kitchen and came face to face with her. She stopped short, one arm tightening on a child who clung to her back like a limpet, the other gripping the doorframe so tightly her knuckles were white.
A child.
Then memory snapped into clear focus, shutting down rational thought for an endless split second, allowing emotion to flood in and take over.
Years fell away and he was back in high school, waiting for his calculus class to end so he could run out to their spot, under the bleachers. She would already be there, waiting, her slender form poised with eagerness. He’d watch the tension fall from her face as she broke into a smile. How he’d loved that, being the one who made the new girl smile and laugh.
It couldn’t be her.
It couldn’t be anyone but her.
Apparently she was having a similar reaction. She shifted the kid – a little girl with Asian features – onto her hip, holding her close with both arms.
He shouldn’t be surprised she had a child. But children come with daddies and that thought carried a surprising amount of distaste.
“Logan?” she said, finally, the bell in her voice cracked.
Her face was paler than he remembered, her dark eyes huge. Her slenderness had progressed to the hard thinness he associated with long distance runners. He could see tendons stretching between clavicle and throat and small lines bracketed her mouth.
“Samara.”
He reached back for the teenage agony that had sliced through him when she’d disappeared from his life, wondering if it was still there. It wasn’t.
The only movement she’d made was to blink but he could see a muscle flicker in her jaw. Whatever life had handed her hadn’t been easy. She was still Sam. Guarded, careful, trying to hide her vulnerability. Failing.
He took her hand, pressing it between his like a damn politician, unable to resist touching her more. Her skin, against his. Her small bones, as he remembered.
Then he stepped in for a quick hug, a kiss on the cheek, and then another squeeze. The smell of her hair caught him like a right hook to the jaw, staggering him with a rush of memories.
The new girl, books held tightly against her chest, dark eyes wide and cautious. The first time their eyes met, the flare of recognition that lit up inside him. The sensation of her lips opening against his, yielding, giving, so, so sweet –
The kid in her arms squirmed as if frightened and Sam shifted away.
“I can’t believe it,” she said, her voice steady and impersonal once more. “Is it
Helping struggling students succeed was the best part of his job.
But if they couldn’t meet their deadline, if the new owners weren’t flexible, he’d have to bring in outside help. His students would still get their credit, but his hard-won project might not be renewed for next year.
Education politics was the worst part of his job.
Footsteps sounded from below.
“Stafford, you here?”
Tod Styles. Getting YOU Home!
He didn’t dislike the man, exactly, but Tod hadn’t made his opinion of this project a secret. He clearly considered his time a precious gift he couldn’t afford, rather than a partial donation to a worthy cause.
The other Styles real estate agent – Tod’s brother or cousin, maybe? – had a similar reputation. Rick, that was his name. He couldn’t imagine how they survived, splitting Marietta’s flat housing market between them.
“Hey, Tod,” he said, descending the stairs.
“There must be a mistake.” He heard a voice from around the corner.
A woman’s voice, melodious, modulated.
Familiar.
A black and white dog bounded up to him then, wagging her tail and slipping on the hardwood steps. “Whoa. Who are you?”
“Bob?” called the woman. “Come on back, girl.”
His mind raced as he walked toward the voice, unable to place her, but aware of a desperate urgency to do so.
Then he rounded the corner to the kitchen and came face to face with her. She stopped short, one arm tightening on a child who clung to her back like a limpet, the other gripping the doorframe so tightly her knuckles were white.
A child.
Then memory snapped into clear focus, shutting down rational thought for an endless split second, allowing emotion to flood in and take over.
Years fell away and he was back in high school, waiting for his calculus class to end so he could run out to their spot, under the bleachers. She would already be there, waiting, her slender form poised with eagerness. He’d watch the tension fall from her face as she broke into a smile. How he’d loved that, being the one who made the new girl smile and laugh.
It couldn’t be her.
It couldn’t be anyone but her.
Apparently she was having a similar reaction. She shifted the kid – a little girl with Asian features – onto her hip, holding her close with both arms.
He shouldn’t be surprised she had a child. But children come with daddies and that thought carried a surprising amount of distaste.
“Logan?” she said, finally, the bell in her voice cracked.
Her face was paler than he remembered, her dark eyes huge. Her slenderness had progressed to the hard thinness he associated with long distance runners. He could see tendons stretching between clavicle and throat and small lines bracketed her mouth.
“Samara.”
He reached back for the teenage agony that had sliced through him when she’d disappeared from his life, wondering if it was still there. It wasn’t.
The only movement she’d made was to blink but he could see a muscle flicker in her jaw. Whatever life had handed her hadn’t been easy. She was still Sam. Guarded, careful, trying to hide her vulnerability. Failing.
He took her hand, pressing it between his like a damn politician, unable to resist touching her more. Her skin, against his. Her small bones, as he remembered.
Then he stepped in for a quick hug, a kiss on the cheek, and then another squeeze. The smell of her hair caught him like a right hook to the jaw, staggering him with a rush of memories.
The new girl, books held tightly against her chest, dark eyes wide and cautious. The first time their eyes met, the flare of recognition that lit up inside him. The sensation of her lips opening against his, yielding, giving, so, so sweet –
The kid in her arms squirmed as if frightened and Sam shifted away.
“I can’t believe it,” she said, her voice steady and impersonal once more. “Is it
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