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Handprints
MYRNA TEMTE
I DON'T THINK EITHER ONE OF US GOT THIS OUT OF OUR SYSTEM….Jack Granger's reference to a few stolen kisses haunted Abby Walsh. For being with him and his daughter made her feel like a penniless kid with her nose pressed against the toy-store window. Everything she'd ever wanted was right in front of her, but still completely out of reach.Well, Abby could hardly complain; the man was only keeping his promise–keeping their relationship casual. Still, Abby felt a sexual thrill she couldn't ignore. And she'd caught enough heated glances and heard enough strangled sighs to suspect he was suffering as much frustration as she was. Phooey. She'd never been this attracted to anyone. Ever.But there was no future for them. End of story. Right?If only it were that simple….
Abby Walsh was the answer to their problems.
She was warm and nurturing and certainly knew a lot about children. She’d make a terrific mother for his daughter, Kitty, or any other child. All Jack had to do was marry her and his life finally would get back to at least a semblance of normal.
Yeah, that would work. Marry Abby. Solve Kitty’s problems. Solve his own problems and get a sexy wife in the bargain. Even if she did irritate him at times, there was no problem with physical attraction. Not on his part, anyway.
Jack didn’t think Abby was indifferent to him, either, though he couldn’t say whether that was his ego or his instincts talking. It wouldn’t hurt to check it out. Subtly, of course. It might even be fun. What a concept.
He’d be so smooth and charming, Abby would never know what hit her!
Dear Reader,
It’s the little things that mean so much. In fact, more than once, “little things” have fueled Myrna Temte’s Special Edition novels. One of her miniseries evolved from a newspaper article her mother sent her. The idea for her first novel was inspired by something she’d heard a DJ say on her favorite country-western radio station. And Myrna Temte’s nineteenth book, Handprints, also evolved in an interesting way. A friend received a special Mother’s Day present—a picture of her little girl with finger-painted handprints and a sweet poem entitled “Handprints.” Once the story was relayed to Myrna, the seed for another romance novel was planted. And the rest, as they say, is history….
There are plenty of special somethings this month. Bestselling author Joan Elliott Pickart delivers Single with Twins, the story of a photojournalist who travels the world in search of adventure, only to discover that family makes his life complete. In Lisa Jackson’s The McCaffertys: Matt, the rugged rancher hero feels that law enforcement is no place for a lady—but soon finds himself making a plea for passion….
Don’t miss Laurie Paige’s When I See Your Face, in which a fiercely independent officer is forced to rely on others when she’s temporarily blinded in the line of duty. Find out if there will be a Match Made in Wyoming in Patricia McLinn’s novel, when the hero and heroine find themselves snowbound on a Wyoming ranch! And The Child She Always Wanted by Jennifer Mikels tells the touching tale of a baby on the doorstep bringing two people together for a love too great for either to deny.
Asking authors where they get their ideas often proves an impossible question. However, many ideas come from little things that surround us. See what’s around you. And if you have an idea for a Special Edition novel, I’d love to hear from you. Enjoy!
Best,
Karen Taylor Richman, Senior Editor
Handprints
Myrna Temte
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Many thanks to the following people for help with research for this book: Mary Buckham, Teresa Buddington, Brentwood Elementary School; Alison Colson, ASCW; Kathie Hayes, Chase Middle School; Rachel E. Sterett, Deputy Prosecuting Attorney; Laurie Summers, M.B.
This book is dedicated to the loving memory of Pepper, my furry little friend, dear companion and tireless dispenser of unconditional love. I hope you finally get to catch those evil squirrels in doggy heaven.
MYRNA TEMTE
grew up in Montana and attended college in Wyoming, where she met and married her husband. Marriage didn’t necessarily mean settling down for the Temtes—they have lived in six different states, including Washington, where they currently reside. Moving so much is difficult, the author says, but it is also wonderful stimulation for a writer.
Though always a “readaholic,” Myrna never dreamed of becoming an author. But while spending time at home to care for her first child, she began to seek an outlet from the never-ending duties of housekeeping and child rearing. She started reading romances and soon became hooked, both as a reader and a writer. Now Myrna appreciates the best of all possible worlds—a loving family and a challenging career that lets her set her own hours and turn her imagination loose.
HANDPRINTS
You like a shiny, tidy house,
And sometimes I do, too.
But I have lots of things to learn,
Like tying my own shoes.
I hurry to try this and that,
And often make a mess.
But gee, I always have such fun,
’Cause, Mommy, you’re the best.
You always love my pictures,
My mud pies are great art.
So please don’t clean these handprints up,
I made them for your heart.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
Assistant County Prosecutor Jack Granger parked his dark blue sedan in the visitors’ lot at Mountain View Elementary School, muttering, “Why me and why today?” Rubbing the knotted muscles at the back of his neck, he racked his brain for any excuse to leave without seeing his daughter Kitty’s teacher. Unfortunately none existed.
It didn’t matter that it was 6:10 on a Thursday afternoon, or that he’d had a brutal day at work, or that he had a briefcase stuffed with case files he needed to read before morning. Kitty was his responsibility. When Ms. Walsh requested a conference, he felt obligated to be there.
Again. And again. And again.
Any normal teacher would have given up on him and gone home by now, but Ms. Walsh was hardly normal. She was the most frustrating individual he’d ever met; considering he worked in the criminal justice system, that said something about her. Okay, maybe that was too harsh—but having a rational discussion with her seemed about as likely as finding a completely reformed sex offender.
With Ms. Walsh, everything was about feelings, not facts. Jack would rather be locked up in a cell for an hour with an armed serial killer than have to figure out her thought processes. He wondered if even God knew where that touchy-feely little woman’s mind would go next.
To give Ms. Walsh her due, however, Jack admired her dedication to her students. If she said she’d wait until he arrived, she would do exactly that—even on a sunny afternoon in May. Even if she had to wait until midnight.
Resigning himself to another round of aggravation, he straightened his tie and got out of the car. He reached back inside for his suit coat, hesitating while he questioned the need for such formality. On second thought, when it came to dealing with Ms. Walsh, he needed all the formality he could get.
The last time he’d met with her, she’d nearly driven him crazy. With the constant barrage of permission forms, newsletters and requests for money for everything from lunch in the cafeteria to school photos, the paperwork for having one small child in a public school could keep a full-time secretary busy. He did the best he could, but it seemed that he was always missing something.
And then Ms. Walsh would have to point it out and he’d feel like an idiot. She jumped from topic to topic. Every so often she seemed to have forgotten who she was talking to and used a cheery, enthusiastic voice more suited to a first grader than an adult. Jeez. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with her. He didn’t know if he could take her today.
He thrust his arms into his jacket sleeves as he entered the building and strode down the corridor to Ms. Walsh’s classroom. He’d been here enough times to know the way by heart. He paused in the doorway. There she was, sitting behind her desk, using a pencil eraser to flip through a fat stack of papers.
If he hadn’t felt so exhausted, he probably would have chuckled. She was barely five feet tall, blond and cute, with her hair pulled back in a long, curly ponytail. He always thought she looked more like a little girl playing school than an adult, but that was only until she opened her mouth. For such a small person, Ms. Walsh had a large personality.
She looked up, stood and gave him a welcoming smile. He just knew she had to be faking. Yet he still found it appealing. And unsettling. Hell, he was losing his mind. Because the truly odd thing was, in spite of everything she did that bugged him to no end, there was a weird, possibly twisted part of him that actually liked this woman.
“Hello, Mr. Granger. Please, come in,” she said, waving him into the room. “I’m sorry to call you in on such short notice.”
Preferring to keep his contact with her purely professional, Jack squelched an urge to smile in return. Given half a chance, she’d probably start hugging and patting him the way she always did her students. Wishing she wasn’t so damn nice, he walked between the first two rows of tiny desks.
At six-foot-three he’d grown used to being taller than most people. But everything in the first-grade room was built for the convenience of six-year-old children. He always felt like an awkward giant whenever he had to come to the school.
She nodded at the visitor’s chair on the other side of her desk. “Please, sit down.”
He gave the red, battle-scarred plastic chair a dubious glance before carefully lowering himself onto the seat. Ms. Walsh remained standing, and for a moment, she was at eye level with him. He’d never seen anyone with such dark green eyes before. The color of jade, they gazed directly into his, and he felt as if she could see right through him. Putting on his “court face,” he raised his eyebrows, silently demanding that she get to the point.
She sat on her own chair and laced her fingers together on top of the stack of papers, the expression in her eyes serious enough to boost his anxiety level. “Something happened with Kitty today.”
A burning sensation of dread invaded Jack’s stomach. The last time someone had said that phrase to him, he’d lost Gina. Kitty was all he had left now. She was the very best part of his life, and something had happened to her? No. Oh, please, God, no.
He wanted to lunge to his feet and demand an explanation, but he’d learned the hard way that excessive displays of emotion created problems rather than solving them. It took every bit of his willpower to remain seated, ignore the screaming in his head and unclench his jaw enough to speak. “Is she all right? What happened? Why didn’t you call me sooner?”
Despite his effort to hide it, his voice must have given his anxiety away. Ms. Walsh raised her hands, palms out, patting the air in a calming gesture. “It wasn’t that kind of an emergency, Mr. Granger. Kitty’s fine physically. Her emotional state is another matter.”
That was it? Ms. Walsh had made his whole world shudder and it was just this touchy-feely emotional crud again? He should have pretended he hadn’t received her message and stayed at work. But he was here now, and he knew Ms. Walsh would not let the issue rest until she’d gotten it out of her system. He might as well hear her out.
He leaned back in his chair, stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed one ankle over the other. “What’s wrong with Kitty’s emotional state?”
Ms. Walsh raised her chin as if she knew he wasn’t going to take her concerns seriously. “She’s still having problems here at school. We’ve discussed this before.”
Dizzy with relief and irritated at the same time, Jack repeated her standard lecture about his daughter. “Right. She’s too quiet and withdrawn, she doesn’t pay attention in class and I need to spend more time with her. I got all of that the last time I was here, and we’ve done every single thing you’ve said to do. What happened today?”
“We made Mother’s Day gifts.”
Anger roared through him, and he felt a muscle twitch on the side of his jaw. Damn, he should have remembered how close Mother’s Day was. But of all the insensitive stunts for a teacher to pull…. “And you’re surprised that caused a problem? For Pete’s sake, what did you expect?” he demanded. “Her mother is dead.”
Ms. Walsh’s cheeks flushed crimson and her eyes glinted with temper, but her voice remained commendably calm. “I’m aware of that. She’s not my only student who’s missing a parent. I always provide an alternative activity for children who are in that position, but Kitty chose to make the Mother’s Day gift.”
“She did?”
Ms. Walsh nodded. “She was quite insistent about it, in fact. And then—” an expression of deep sadness flitted across Ms. Walsh’s face “—then she tried to give it to me.”
Shocked by the thought of Kitty doing such a thing in the first place, and with her teacher of all people in the second, Jack sat back in his chair and stared at Ms. Walsh. “Did you accept it?”
“I didn’t think that was a good idea,” she said. “I told her she could save it for her grandmother or give it to you.”
“That’s what upset her?”
Ms. Walsh shook her head. “She didn’t get upset.”
Jack frowned. “You called me in here to tell me that you’re upset because Kitty didn’t get upset?”
Ms. Walsh nodded again.
“Why?” he asked, not at all sure he really wanted to hear the answer. Women had such a bizarre sense of logic sometimes, especially when they talked about emotions. Ms. Walsh rolled her eyes at the ceiling as if he were the dimwit, then held out her hands to him in some sort of a plea, the meaning of which eluded him.
Great. Now she’d start waving her hands around like a Shakespearean actor. God, somebody, anybody, please, save him from overly dramatic females.
“If Kitty had cried or acted out in some way, I could have comforted her,” she said, “or we could have talked about her feelings.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
“It would if you had a heart,” Ms. Walsh grumbled under her breath.
“Excuse me, I didn’t hear that.” Of course he had heard the remark, but he wanted to see if she had the nerve to repeat it.
Exasperation entered her voice, faint but still detectable. “It wasn’t important.”
Obviously it was important to her, but he didn’t intend to prolong this conversation one instant longer than necessary. He probably wouldn’t understand the mumbo-jumbo, pop-psychology-ridden explanation she would throw at him, anyway. “I still don’t see the problem. What, exactly, did Kitty say?”
“She didn’t say anything. She just turned away, crumpled up her Mother’s Day gift and dropped it into the trash can.” Ms. Walsh sighed. “I’ve never seen a child look so miserable and resigned. Please, Mr. Granger, believe me when I tell you that Kitty needs professional help.”
Jack wanted to yell, but forced himself to speak softly. At least he knew that emotions belonged under wraps, not cluttering up an important conversation. “Don’t start that therapy nonsense again.” He thumped his forefinger on the desk for emphasis. “I’ve told you before, we tried it after her mother died, and it only made things worse for Kitty.”
“In what way?”
“In every way.” He cast his mind back to the months following Gina’s funeral. Night after night, his daughter had cried herself to sleep, only to awaken in the wee hours, screaming with nightmares. Nothing he’d tried had comforted her, and he’d never felt more helpless, more useless in his life. “It just didn’t work.”
