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He had that charm thing down pat. She was a sucker for a charmer, but still, no cigar.
“Thank you,” Leslie said with another polite smile.
He shifted from one foot to the other. So did she. The awkwardness was so tangible that Reverend Allan would demand it add money to the collection plate if it hung around much longer.
Of course, it was hard not to notice the palpable awkwardness when the conversations around them had all but ceased, making it painfully obvious that she and Sawyer were the focus of every eye in the church hall.
Where in the heck were her daughters? She needed rescuing from this charming, handsome man before the dozens of people watching them—all of them failing miserably at being covert—got the wrong impression. Leslie knew that if even one person thought there was a spark between her and Sawyer, the sweet, well-intentioned matriarchs of Gauthier would wage an all-out campaign to get the two of them together.
Why couldn’t the people in this town mind their own damn business?
It was as if a green light had been turned on the day after the first anniversary of Braylon’s death. Once the acceptable grieving period had passed, all of Gauthier had been on a quest to find her a man, as if she was on the verge of collapsing from loneliness if she wasn’t paired with someone soon.
Because, of course, she had all the time in the world to be lonely.
She was a single working mother with two daughters determined to take part in every extracurricular activity they could sign up for, and a full-time job that demanded more from her than she had to give. She barely had time to breathe.
But that didn’t stop the fine people of Gauthier from foisting their single friends and relatives on her.
Sawyer Robertson was just one in a passel of men who had been paraded before her, all of them the perfect man to help her raise her poor little fatherless daughters. But Sawyer had proved to be more dangerous than any of the other men thus far. She had been introduced to her share of visiting nephews or friends of a friend of a friend, but the full-court press she’d faced since Sawyer’s return was unprecedented.
And unlike the visiting nephews, Sawyer wasn’t just passing through town. He was in Gauthier to stay. In a house just a few blocks from hers. All of Gauthier was determined to see this love connection happen.
This town! These nosy, prying people! She needed a break from it all.
“Mommy!” Kristi, her youngest, who had just turned five and was no longer her little baby, came running up to Leslie, the front of her white dress stained with purple Popsicle juice. “Mommy, are we still putting the swinging bed in the backyard after church?”
“Yes, we are!” And Kristi would get extra dessert for rescuing her from this painful situation. “Why don’t you get your sister so we can leave?” Leslie turned to Sawyer and explained, “It’s a hammock. I promised the girls we would finally hang it today.”
“Sounds like a lovely way to spend a lazy afternoon.”
Yeah, that smile was really nice. There was no way to deny it.
“Do you need any help hanging the hammock?” he asked.
“Oh, no,” Leslie said quickly. “The instructions are pretty straightforward. My girls and I can handle it.”
A perfectly shaped brow arched before he asked, “Are you sure? I wouldn’t mind coming over to help.”
Leslie heard an excited gasp come from somewhere just over her shoulder. Lord, she needed to leave. Now.
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said.
More silence. More awkwardness. More reasons to get the heck out of here.
She pointed to the double doors of the church hall. “I should probably go.”
Sawyer nodded and stepped aside so she could pass. As she skirted around him, he called, “Uh, Leslie?”
Her eyes darted to him and she held her breath.
Please don’t ask me out. Please don’t ask me out.
Sawyer stuck both hands into his pockets and quickly glanced to the side where Eloise, Clementine and Claudette were staring openly. He lifted one shoulder in an indelicate shrug and said, “I was wondering if maybe you’d like to grab dinner sometime?”
Oh, good God. He asked me out.
The effort to keep the pained expression from taking over her face was a valiant one, but it was impossible to stop it. She mentally cursed every interfering busybody in this town. Sawyer was a perfectly nice man. He didn’t deserve this.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” Leslie said. “I’m so busy with work and my girls, and I’m also president of the PTO at the school this year. I just can’t spare the time. Thank you for the invitation, though.”
He did a fantastic job of hiding his disappointment, but Leslie still caught a glimpse of it in the way his mouth pinched at the corners.
She hated this. She hated being this perpetual stick-in-the-mud who constantly shot down advances from genuinely nice men. But finding a man was the very last thing on her agenda. She didn’t care that the people in this town thought it was time for her to jump into the dating pool again. She was not putting herself out there until she was good and ready.
“Maybe some other time,” Sawyer said.
Leslie didn’t give him an answer, only another of those half smiles before she quickly made her way toward the door. She caught sight of Clementine, Claudette and Eloise standing off to the right. All three looked shocked and agitated, as if she’d messed up their well-laid plans.
That was too bad. She didn’t need a matchmaker.
Unfortunately, she was living in a town that was chock-full of them.
* * *
Hammock hanging was not all it was cracked up to be.
What she’d anticipated to be a quick and easy project had turned into a quiz on deductive reasoning. Leslie lost track of how many times her eyes had darted between the creased instruction guide and the thick trunks of the two elms in her backyard. At one point she had seriously considered jogging over to that cute colonial on Willow Street and taking Sawyer up on his offer to help. But once she figured out the correct height—thus saving her butt from hitting the ground when she lay in it—it had been smooth sailing.
She’d spent the past half hour gently swaying in her newly hung hammock while Cassidy and Kristi attempted to play tennis in the backyard. It wasn’t easy with Buster, the Yorkshire terrier Leslie had been bamboozled into adopting for the girls, stealing the tennis ball whenever she could get her little paws on it.
“You have to be quicker than that,” Leslie called out to Kristi when the dog snagged the ball yet again. Her daughter plopped her hands on her bony hips and gave her a look that screamed Duh, Mom.
Chuckling at their plight, Leslie went back to the novel she’d been reading for the past month. She remembered a time when she could get through a book in a week. These days she was lucky to find twenty free minutes a day to indulge in her old pastime.
She’d become so engrossed in the book that it took her a while to realize that she had been steadily losing light. Leslie looked up through the branches overhead and noticed the ominous cloud directly above them.
“Girls,” she called. “I think it’s time to go inside.”
There was a low rumble, then a loud crack of thunder. Just like that, the sky opened up and a deluge of hot rain poured down. Cassidy and Kristi both squealed as they raced to the back porch. Leslie swung the hammock to the right and tried to climb out, but it flipped over before she could steady herself, planting her right on the ground.
She groaned.
That was her, graceful as a swan.
By the time she made it to the back porch she was soaked. Kristi and Cassidy both pointed and laughed like a couple of hyenas.
“Well, thanks a lot,” Leslie said. She wrung out her soaked shirt and flung the water at them. They both squealed again, jumping away from her. Buster scurried around the porch, trying to become a part of the game.
“Let’s get in the house,” Leslie said. “I’m starving.”
Kristi pointed and giggled. “And wet.”
“Oh, yeah?” Leslie wrapped her arms around her daughter, making sure to get her good and soaked with the dampness from her shirt.
After slipping the casserole she’d made before church into the oven, she, Cassidy and Kristi all took showers and changed into pajamas. It might not have been proper in some households to eat Sunday supper in pajamas, but it certainly was in this one.
As per their Sunday evening ritual, Leslie lifted the dry-erase calendar from the refrigerator and set it on the table. She wiped away the previous week’s tasks and, handing the attached whiteboard marker to Cassidy, went through the schedule for the upcoming week.
“Don’t forget Parent/Teacher Conference night,” Cassidy said. “We get an extra star in English if our parents come.”
The notion of bribing kids with stars in order to get parents involved in their children’s school life was abhorrent, but Leslie knew it was also necessary. After all, just a year ago she had been one of those parents who routinely skipped school activities due to work obligations. Until she’d learned the price her absence had cost her daughters. These days she practically had her own designated parking spot at the school.
“I’ll be there,” Leslie assured Cassidy. She pointed at the whiteboard. “Make sure you have the correct times for softball practice. You don’t want to be late again. And circle the Bayou Campers meeting so we don’t forget.”
Yeah, she had all the time in the world to be lonely.
Once dinner was done and the dishes loaded into the dishwasher, they settled in for their Sunday night movie. It was Kristi’s turn to pick, which meant either Casper the Friendly Ghost or The Lion King. Leslie snuggled on the couch with her girls and watched Casper for the hundredth time. Once the movie was done, she declared bedtime, ushering the girls off the couch.
“It’s Sunday night,” Kristi reminded her. “We get a Daddy story.”
Leslie ruffled Kristi’s natural curls and smiled down at her, praying she was doing a good job of hiding her discomfort.
After going nearly a year hardly uttering her deceased husband’s name, Leslie had slowly started reintroducing Braylon’s memory into her family. It had been more difficult than she’d anticipated, but every Sunday night she shared with the girls a story about their father.
Seated on the edge of Cass’s canopy bed, Leslie cradled Kristi on her lap, rubbing her hand up and down her baby’s arms.
“Have I told you girls about the time your daddy tried to bake me a cake for my birthday?” Both girls shook their heads. “Well, your father was pretty good when it came to cooking hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill, but when it came to baking, he was horrible. He knew that I loved strawberry shortcake—”
“I love strawberry shortcake, too,” Kristi interrupted.
“I know.” Leslie tweaked her nose. “You get it from me. Your dad tried to make me a strawberry shortcake for my birthday once, but he couldn’t find fresh strawberries so he used frozen ones. However, he didn’t let them thaw out before serving me my piece of cake, so when I bit into the frozen strawberry, I hurt my tooth and had to go to the dentist to get it fixed.”
Kristi plopped a hand to her forehead and moaned. “Oh, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.”
“Did the cake at least taste good?” Cassidy asked.
“I told him it did.”
“Because you didn’t want to hurt his feelings,” Kristi guessed correctly.
“Yes,” Leslie said. “But I made sure to order birthday cakes from the bakery every year after that. Aren’t you girls happy I did?”
“Can I get a strawberry shortcake when I turn six?” Kristi asked.
“That’s a year away,” Cass pointed out.
“Wait. I meant tomorrow. Can I get a strawberry shortcake tomorrow?”
“Nice try.” Leslie playfully tugged her curl.
She gave Cassidy a kiss and then carried Kristi to her bedroom. As Leslie tucked her in, Kristi put a hand on her cheek and said, “Thank you for tonight’s story, Mommy. I like hearing stories about you and Daddy.”
Emotion thickened in her throat. “I’m happy you’re enjoying them,” she said. “I know your daddy wishes he could be here to tell you stories, too.”
She kissed Kristi’s palm and then her forehead. Even though there was a night-light, Leslie left a crack in the door.
She made her way across the hall to her bedroom, tears on the brink of falling down her cheeks. But she sucked it up, straightened her spine and demanded they remain at bay.
It had taken a year before she’d stopped crying herself to sleep every night. Once she had, Leslie had made a vow to remain strong for her girls. She’d been on the verge of breaking down more times than she could count, but she was still standing.
And she would continue to do so.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_8462c761-b637-562a-b230-cc2f47d985d4)
Gabriel Franklin stood before the science lab’s Formica-topped table surrounded by nearly two-dozen wide-eyed fourth graders, who all stared intently at the stack of pennies, nickels and lemon-juice-soaked paper squares in the center.
“So, how many of you think we’ve made a battery here?” Gabe asked as he held a length of copper wire just above the stack of coins. Half the students raised their hands.
He eyed the doubters with an upturned brow. “That’s all? The rest of you think I’m wrong?”
Anthony Radcliff’s freckled forehead scrunched in skepticism. “It’s just loose change and paper towels. How can that be a battery?”
Gabe tsked. “Oh, ye of little faith.”
The crease in Anthony’s forehead deepened. “Huh?”
“Never mind,” Gabe said. “Gather around closer, kids.” He touched one edge of the wire to the penny on the bottom of the stack and the other to the nickel on top. “Now, check this out.”
He connected the wire to an LED bulb and thanked the reliability of science when the bulb flickered and then shone with a soft glow.
The students erupted in cheers and excited howls.
“How’d you do that, Mr. Franklin?” Anika Reynolds asked in an awed whisper. “Is it magic?”
“It’s science,” Gabe answered. “It’s exactly what we’ve been talking about for the past week, taking the negative charge of one metal and the positive charge of another, and connecting them with an acid. The penny is made of what?”
“Copper,” the students replied in unison.
“And the nickel?”
“Silver!”
“And that lemon juice is filled with acid,” Gabe said.
“So, can I make my iPod work with pennies, nickels and lemon juice?” Cassidy Kirkland asked.
“That would take a lot of pennies, nickels and lemon juice, but at least you get the idea.” Gabe clapped his hands. “Okay, back to your seats. It’s time to write up what we all just witnessed in proper scientific-method form.”
