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“We’re talking about a child who’s confused.”
“I know that she’s—”
“This is a child who needs to feel passionate about something. The field trip is to hear an ensemble of National Symphony Orchestra musicians. Do you know how inspiring that could be?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Jaye’s only started to learn and she already loves playing the violin. You’d recognize how much music could come to mean to her if you paid her any attention at all.”
He felt his blood pressure rise and his head pound, the dangerous signs of his own temper about to erupt. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know that Jaye goes to after-school care, which she hates, and that you don’t pick her up until it closes at six o’clock. And that half the time your girlfriend picks her up for you. A girlfriend who told her, incidentally, not to get too comfortable because she wouldn’t be staying with you for long.”
He breathed sharply through his nose. “I can’t believe Isabel said that.”
“How do you know what anybody says to Jaye when you’re never around her?”
“I’m a busy man, Ms. Reed,” he said, holding on, just barely, to his temper.
“Too busy to go on a field trip, obviously.”
“I have a demanding job,” Connor said in his defense.
“Your most important job is to take care of Jaye,” she said and his head spun. His job wasn’t the reason he’d refused to sign the slip.
“I am taking care of her.”
“Not well enough. You should understand that she needs extra attention after losing her mother.”
Connor might have asked how much she knew about Jaye’s situation if her insult hadn’t registered. “I’m doing the best I can,” he said tightly.
“Then help to nurture her interest in music. Jaye’s heading toward trouble. She needs something to care about. That something could be music.”
“I don’t disagree,” he said.
“Then sign the permission slip and chaperone the trip,” she challenged.
The concert was three days from now. That was a Friday, which was no less busy than any other weekday. He’d have to reschedule a business lunch and no fewer than three appointments.
“What’s the matter, Mr. Smith?” she asked. “Are you too busy for Jaye?”
The dare was in her stance as well as her eyes. Somehow he’d failed to convey that he was a well-meaning uncle doing the best he could for a child he loved but hardly knew. He didn’t know why Abby Reed’s opinion mattered so much, but he hated that she thought so badly of him.
He picked up a pen, scribbled his name and handed her the permission slip. “Satisfied?”
She took it without the smile of triumph he’d expected.
“If I let myself become satisfied so easily, Mr. Smith, I hardly would have come to your office. The bus leaves Friday at nine-thirty sharp. Chaperones should arrive at nine-fifteen.”
Without another word, she swept out of the room. The quiet was absolute when she was gone, as though she’d taken all the life and energy of the day with her.
He sat stock still behind his desk, thinking about his jam-packed workweek.
Why, then, had he signed up to chaperone a field trip he hadn’t wanted Jaye to go on in the first place?
ISABEL PENNINGTON WAS a striking woman. Tall, dark and willowy with high cheekbones, an exotic slant to her eyes and a flawless complexion, she’d modeled extensively in her teens and early twenties before opening a boutique in Georgetown.
Connor had started dating her after she’d hired him to build her stock portfolio. In the nine months since then, he’d never seen her look anything but her best.
That included tonight. Despite the pout she wore, along with her beaded, curve-hugging designer dress, she still managed to look beautiful. “What do you mean you can’t go? We’ve been planning this for weeks.”
By this, she meant a two-hundred-dollar-a-plate dinner supporting the D.C. Professional Women’s Association at a venerable downtown hotel. She’d offered to swing by and pick Connor up since his place was en route to the hotel, and she now stood in the foyer of his town house.
She’d arrived at a bad time.
Thirty minutes after he’d told Jaye to pick up her dirty clothes, he’d found his niece lying on her bed listening to her CD player with the clothes still on the floor. She was testing him, he knew. The school guidance counselor had told him to choose his battles. He’d been considering whether this one was worth fighting when the doorbell rang.
“I’m sorry, Isabel.” Connor brought his focus back to her lovely pouting face. “My neighbor just called a few minutes ago to say she can’t babysit.”
“Can’t you call somebody else?” Her voice was persuasive, her smile coaxing. “I was really looking forward to tonight.”
He ran a hand over his smooth-shaven chin. He’d been getting ready for the benefit when he’d gotten the call from Mrs. Piper, a widow in her sixties who lived next door. “I don’t know anybody else to call. I’m lucky to have the one babysitter.”
“So what am I supposed to do?” Her lower lip thrust forward a fraction more. “Go to the dinner by myself?”
“Not if you don’t want to. I already paid for the dinners so we’re covered there. I was going to order out for Chinese for Jaye and me. You could join us.”
She ran a hand down the cloth of her expensive dress. “In this? I don’t think so. I’ll go to the benefit myself and take my chances that someone will want to have dinner with me.”
She knew very well she wouldn’t be dining alone and wanted Connor to know it, too. Wherever Isabel went, men followed. It was a fact of life he couldn’t get worked up about.
“Have a good time, then,” he said, without a touch of the jealousy he suspected she’d tried to arouse.
“Oh, believe me, I will. But before I go, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” She carefully and unnecessarily brushed her hair back from her face with long, slender fingers. He noticed that her nails were tipped with white in what looked like a fresh manicure. Abby Reed’s nails, he remembered, had been unpainted. “How much longer will you be taking care of Jaye?”
He shrugged. “Like I’ve told you before, I don’t know. It depends upon how long it takes Diana to get her act together.”
“What if she never gets it together?”
The question was one Connor hadn’t considered but supposed he should have thought about before now. Diana wasn’t a kid anymore. She was twenty-seven, past the age when he could chalk up her actions to immaturity.
“Then I’ll keep on taking care of Jaye. I’ll become her legal guardian or adopt her if I have to.”
“Are you serious?” Her voice turned disbelieving. “You’d raise somebody else’s child?”
“I’d raise my niece.”
“But why is she your responsibility? You have parents, Connor. Why can’t your mother take her? Or your father?”
He’d explained his family situation to Isabel before. He wasn’t about to do it again. “The best place for Jaye right now is with me.”
“I understand that, and I’m trying to be patient. But can’t you see what a strain this is putting on our relationship? We talked about living together, getting to know each other better, but how can we do that with your niece around?”
“I’m getting to know you better than I want to,” he said in a low voice.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He thought of Abby Reed standing in front of his desk, censure on her face. “Did you tell Jaye she wouldn’t be staying with me for much longer?”
“I thought I was doing her a favor,” she said, pasting on a look of innocence. “I never dreamed her stay here didn’t have an end date.”
Connor shook his head, wondering why he hadn’t picked up on this aspect of Isabel’s character before. Probably because he’d been so blown away by her good looks.
“Jaye can stay here as long as she needs to.” Connor crossed his arms over his chest, wondering what he’d ever seen in her. “You’re the one who should go.”
Her lovely eyes widened. “Are you breaking up with me?”
He didn’t need to think about his answer. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
Isabel even looked beautiful when her mouth thinned. “This is unbelievable. One day you’ll realize that you just threw away the best thing that ever happened to you.”
He let her have the last word. It was the least of his concerns. The angry click of her high heels on the hardwood of the foyer followed by the slam of the door echoed in his ears as he trekked upstairs to deal with Jaye and the pile of dirty clothes.
Isabel was wrong.
He’d never come to believe that a woman who couldn’t open her heart to an unhappy, displaced child was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
He was more likely to think of her as one of his many mistakes.
CHAPTER TWO
ABBY STOOD IN FRONT of the school bus, her arms crossed over her chest, the sole of her right shoe tapping on the pavement. All of her students and two of her three chaperones were on the bus, not so patiently waiting for her signal that they could leave.
She checked her watch, the face of which showed one minute before she’d told her third chaperone the bus was leaving. It was well past the time she’d instructed him to arrive.
Damn it. Where was that arrogant Connor Smith?
She had half a mind to hop on the bus and tell the driver to head out, but the other half warned her of the consequences.
The principal had made it crystal clear that Jaye Smith couldn’t attend the symphony unless Connor Smith chaperoned. If Connor didn’t show and she allowed Jaye to come along anyway, Abby would be in a world of trouble.
She had no intention of denying the child an opportunity to hear the symphony, but she’d prefer accomplishing that without jeopardizing her job.
She leafed through a folder, searching for the emergency care form on file for Jaye. Hopefully it would list a cell-phone number for Connor Smith.
Abby was pulling the form from the stack when a sleek silver sports car slid into the parking lot. She didn’t need to see the driver to know who was behind the wheel.
Blue Moon Elementary School was in Silver Spring, one of the priciest communities in prosperous Montgomery County. A fair number of well-to-do families sent their children through the excellent public-school system, but almost all of them drove sensible vehicles.
A Porsche 911 Turbo was not sensible, but then in her estimation neither was its driver.
She waited impatiently while he unfolded his long length from the car and walked unhurriedly to the bus with a limp so slight she wondered if she imagined it. Probably. He was so perfectly put together, he could have been plucked straight from an ad in a magazine aimed at the young, affluent professional.
She couldn’t recognize brand names but his dove-gray suit was expertly cut to flatter his tall, leanly muscular frame. His burgundy tie—silk, of course—perfectly complemented his dark gray shirt. His leather shoes were a tasteful cordovan.
The wind gently gusted through the parking lot, rustling his coffee-brown hair. It was skillfully cut, not too long, not too short. It looked just right, like the rest of him.
His handsome face—with the requisite square jaw, dark eyes spaced the perfect distance apart and sculpted cheekbones—split into a smile when he spotted her. As he got closer, it surprised her that his grin was slightly crooked and that his nose wasn’t entirely straight. She wasn’t about to give him points for his physical imperfections, though. Especially when they only served to make him more attractive.
“You’re late,” she said.
His smile disappeared, and a crease appeared between his brows. He looked down at his watch, which was probably a Rolex.
“It’s exactly nine-thirty,” he said as he reached her. She expected him to reek of expensive cologne but she smelled soap and warm male skin. “That’s right on time.”
“I told you the bus was leaving at nine-thirty,” she said. “Chaperones were supposed to arrive fifteen minutes ago.”
He shrugged. “As long as I’m not holding anybody up, I don’t see the problem.”
“Are we ready now, Miss Reed?” the bus driver called, his white teeth flashing against his dark skin. His name was Mr. Greeley, and he was a retiree who’d been married for thirty-five years. During the wait, he’d confided that his wife had urged him to apply to drive a bus three months into his retirement because she was tired of him following her around the house.
Abby swallowed the urge to argue with Connor Smith. Although she had a fiery temper, she could usually keep it under control, but this man had gotten under her skin and burrowed.
“We’re ready, Mr. Greeley,” she said.
Connor indicated the school-bus stairs with a sweep of his hand. “After you.”
She trudged up the stairs before he could do some other faux-gallant thing, like offer her a boost. The murmuring on the bus died down and the children, all of them fourth-and fifth-graders, gazed at her expectantly. She smiled at the sight of their eager young faces, her mood instantly brightening.
“Are you ready for some symphony?” she shouted, and at least half of them cheered. “Then let’s go.”
The bus driver chuckled as she settled into the seat behind him. “That was priceless, Miss Reed. You make going to the symphony sound as much fun as a football game.”
“That’s because it is,” she told him, then became aware of Connor hovering over her.
“Mind if I sit down? Jaye’s back there, but she didn’t save a place for me, and I don’t see any other spots.”
Before she could answer, he slid into the seat beside her. She scooted over, the side of her body slamming uncomfortably against the wall of the bus.
“I don’t know about the symphony beating out a good football game,” Mr. Greeley said conversationally, “especially if you drink a couple of beers while you’re watching.”
The bus pulled out of the parking lot onto the highway, and the children resumed their happy chatter. Abby preferred to believe they were in high spirits because they looked forward to the symphony, but realistically knew they’d celebrate any reason to get out of school.
The soft strains of Bach’s Fifth Sonata filled the bus. She’d asked Mr. Greeley to tune the radio to a classical music station before they left, but Bach didn’t have his usual calming effect on Abby. Not with Connor Smith sitting so close that their shoulders almost touched.
“I’m a football-and-beer guy myself,” he announced in a voice loud enough for both her and Mr. Greeley to hear.
She gazed at him, thinking she’d never seen a man who looked less like a beer drinker in her life. “Oh, yeah. Which brand?”
“I usually drink whatever’s on tap,” he said.
“Really? And here I would have guessed you drank a specialty brand from some microbrewery.”
