Читать книгу: «Smoky Mountain Reunion»

“I’m really proud of you. I appreciate your willingness to help out.”

The girl he remembered would have stared at the floor in embarrassment. This new Nola didn’t look away, though the tint in her cheeks deepened. “I’m glad. I—I’ve thought about you often.”

He had forgotten the color of her eyes—a pale blue-gray, like shadows on snow. The ash-blond hair he remembered as hanging halfway down her back was now cut in short, tousled wisps that revealed the shape of her head, her small, pearl-pink ears.

“What really brings you back, Nola Shannon? Why are you here?”

She kept her chin up, held his gaze with her own. But she couldn’t answer his question.

Because she couldn’t remember what she’d come for…or what she’d planned to do when, after twelve long years, she once again stood face-to-face with Mason Reed.

Dear Reader,

We hope you already know that Harlequin American Romance publishes heartwarming stories about the comforts of home and the joys of family. To celebrate our twenty-fifth year, we’re pleased to present a special miniseries that sings the praises of the home state of six different authors, and shares the many trials and delights of being a parent.

Welcome to the second book in our THE STATE OF PARENTHOOD miniseries, Smoky Mountain Reunion. Have you ever had a crush on a teacher? Well, what if you met that teacher several years later and you still had feelings for him? And what if it turns out he’s a single father? Lynnette Kent’s book is set in the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina, and I know you’re going to enjoy watching romance blossom in this glorious setting.

There are five other books in the series. Last month (June ’08) Tina Leonard’s Texas Lullaby showed us an irresistible bachelor discovering the joys of fatherhood in his instant family. In August Cowboy Dad by Cathy McDavid tells the story of an ex-rodeo rider and a woman who knows better than to trust any man who’s ever gone eight seconds on a bronc. Watch for more books by authors Tanya Michaels, Margot Early and Laura Marie Altom.

We hope these romantic stories inspire you to celebrate where you live—because any place you raise a child is home.

Wishing you happy reading,

Kathleen Scheibling

Senior Editor

Harlequin American Romance

Smoky Mountain Reunion
Lynnette Kent

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lynnette Kent began writing her first romance in the fourth grade, about a ship’s stowaway who would fall in love with her captain, Christopher Columbus. Years of scribbling later, her husband suggested she write one of those “Harlequin romances” she loved to read. With his patience and her two daughters’ support, Lynnette realized her dream of being a published novelist. She now lives in North Carolina, where she divides her time between books—writing and reading—and the horses she adores. Feel free to contact Lynnette via her Web site, www.lynnette-kent.com, or with a letter to PMB 304, Westwood Shopping Center, Fayetteville, NC 28314.

For Pam, again, because she asks all the right

questions and nags until I uncover the answers.

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

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter One

The bad news glared at her from the computer screen.

With her spine stiff and her muscles tight, Nola Shannon stared at the monitor.

She’d dropped by her office at the university to pick up a couple of books, and made the mistake of answering the phone when it rang. Now…

Was she insane? What had she just agreed to?

“Nola?” A hand jiggled her shoulder. “Nola? You okay?”

She jerked her head around to look at the man standing next to her. “Oh, Ted. Hi.”

He frowned at her, his high forehead wrinkled in concern. “Hi, yourself. I looked in and you were sitting there like you’d been hypnotized.”

“I, um…” She pressed her fingertips against her eyelids for a moment, trying to make her brain work. “I had a phone call.”

Ted braced a hand on the arm of her chair and leaned in to study the Web page. “Hawkridge? What’s that?”

“The Hawkridge School.” Nola leaned against the opposite arm of the chair to give herself some space. “That’s who called. The headmistress asked me to fill in for a teacher on maternity leave.”

Straightening up, Ted propped a hip on the corner of her desk. “Headmistress? What kind of college has a headmistress?”

“Not a college.” Nola eased her rolling chair back from the desk. “I’ll be teaching math to grades nine through twelve.”

“High school? She wants you to teach high school?” He shook his head. “That’s some nerve, asking an Ivy League Ph.D. to fill in as a substitute teacher.”

“I graduated from Hawkridge,” Nola explained. “They sometimes approach alumni to help them out in emergencies like this.”

“I still don’t get it. Most high schools are glad to see the last of their students.”

“Hawkridge is…different. Their students have more at stake than just grades and a diploma.”

Stepping sideways, Ted settled his six-foot-four frame into a spare chair by Nola’s desk. “Explain?”

More than anyone Nola knew, Ted had the right to ask. They’d been friends since graduate school, but over the past few months, their casual evenings together had taken on an aura of romance. He held her hand now, when they went to see a film, put his arm around her as they strolled along the sidewalk. His good-night kisses were lasting longer and longer.

And Nola had recently decided to cooperate. Ted Winfield was a very nice man, a colleague nearly as successful in his field, history, as she was in mathematics. They were both on tenure-track at the university, which would mean employment there for life. Tall and thin, with his blond hair receding slightly but still plentiful, he looked exactly right for the part of a considerate easy-to-live-with husband. Together, they could produce intelligent, easy-to-care-for children.

“Hawkridge is a school for girls with problems,” she told him. “Emotional problems that are leading them into dangerous behaviors.”

“You went there?”

“Yes.” She nodded as he gazed at her, his jaw hanging loose in shock. “By court order. I’d gotten into trouble once too often—cheating, drinking, fighting at school. Shoplifting, driving without a license…” Ted’s blue eyes grew rounder with every word. “My guardians couldn’t control me. The judge ordered me into a rehabilitation program—otherwise I’d have been sentenced to juvenile detention. And so I ended up at Hawkridge.”

“Wow.” He removed his wire-rimmed glasses and cleaned the lenses with a fold of his shirt. “I had no idea.” Replacing them, he took a deep breath. “I guess the program worked, huh? I mean, you’re a model citizen at this point. Not to mention a math genius.” His grin didn’t seem to have changed.

Nola relaxed her weight against the back of the chair. “Hawkridge is a good place. Structured, but caring—they changed my life. If they ask for help, what can I say but yes?”

“I see your point.” He stared at his hands, twiddling his thumbs for a moment, then looked up again. “When do you leave?”

“The girls go on spring break this Friday, so I’ll arrive the following weekend, before school resumes on Monday.”

“Good thing you’re free of classes and working on research this term.” Ted gave her his usual sunny smile. “Where is this place? Can I visit on the weekends?”

“North Carolina, west of Asheville. In the Great Smoky Mountains.”

“On top of ol’ Smoky,” Ted warbled, putting a painful twang into the words. “That’s too far for a weekend jaunt from Boston—except for rich people like you. So you’ll be hanging out with these hillbillies until when?”

Nola managed to swallow her irritation at his narrow-mindedness. There was no sense in starting an argument. “Graduation is the first week in June.”

He sobered, and reached across the desk to take her hand in his. “I’m going to miss you, Nola.” His thumb stroked across her knuckles. “That’s a long time. How about dinner tonight?”

She was glad to think her troubled past didn’t bother him. “That sounds good. Where shall I meet you?”

“Why don’t we eat in, for a change?” The intensity of his gaze, a certain resonance in his tone, conveyed more than the words. “We can relax, be comfortable.”

Nola looked down at their clasped hands. Apparently, he’d decided it was time for them to have sex. Something about her going away had compelled Ted to stake a claim. An hour ago, Nola would have considered that an appropriate next step, too.

An hour earlier, however, she hadn’t been thinking about Hawkridge. About Mason Reed.

She manufactured a sudden gasp of surprise and pulled her hand away to pick up her palm computer. “Ted, I’m sorry. I just remembered, I’ve already set up a dinner meeting with…” She pressed a couple of buttons and discovered she actually did have a dinner meeting scheduled. “With my graduate advisees. Talking over their projects, that sort of thing.”

He groaned. “Using mathspeak?”

An old joke between them. Nola smiled. “I’m afraid so.”

Ted pushed himself to his feet with a sigh. “As you know, I don’t do mathspeak. So I’ll let your students have you to themselves.” He bent down as if to kiss her cheek, but his lips lingered next to her ear. “I’ll call you later tonight, so we can clear the calendar and get together.” She expected a kiss, but he flicked her ear with his tongue instead. Then he left her office, whistling.

Wincing and wiping her ear with her sleeve, Nola got up and closed the door behind him, then returned to her desk and recalled the window on her computer. The Hawkridge Web site filled the screen again, with its faculty photograph and list of corresponding names. Among the faces of thirty or so women was one masculine countenance. Mason Reed.

He’d been a first-year teacher during her senior year of high school, advising her as she worked through college applications and acceptances. She hadn’t seen him since her graduation day. But the torch she’d carried for him had burned brightly for a long, long time.

“He’s a ghost, that’s all,” she told herself throughout the following week while choosing clothes and packing suitcases. “A phantom from the past. You’ll see him, put the memories to rest, then get on with your life. In a few months, you could have a wedding to plan.”

Despite her resolution, however, she somehow managed to evade Ted’s attempts at seduction every night before she left.

And yet he woke up at 4:00 a.m. on Friday to drive her to the airport. “Don’t work too hard,” he said in a hoarse voice, looking rumpled and grouchy and sweet all at once.

“I won’t.” She kissed him, out of guilt and gratitude. “Go home, get back in bed. I’ll call you tonight.” He backed up several steps, waving feebly, then turned to trudge toward the parking lot.

In the next moment, he’d vanished from her thoughts. Briefcase in hand, Nola headed toward the security checkpoint, already bracing herself for the return to Hawkridge.

Bracing herself for the ordeal of facing Mason Reed.

IN HER DREAM, they sat on a stone wall near the top of the mountain, staring into the mist that cloaked their view of the valley below and talking about colleges she might choose. He’d given her his perspective on the pros and cons, but the choice was hers. Where would she go when she finished high school?

After a long silence, she finally said, “I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here.” Swallowing hard, she kept her gaze on his face. “With you.”

His dark brown eyes widened and he gazed at her for a stunned moment. Then his fingertips touched her cheek. “Darling…” His southern accent dropped the g. “I was afraid to ask. You shouldn’t sacrifice a brilliant career for me.”

She covered the back of his hand with her palm. “You’re all I want. You’re all I need.”

In the next instant, he pulled her against his chest and took her lips with his. She kissed him back with all her heart, locked her arms around his waist and swore she’d never let him go…

“Ms. Shannon?” An unfamiliar voice wove its way into the scene. “Ms. Shannon? We’ve arrived.”

Nola blinked, then pried apart her scratchy eyelids. “Um…thank you.” Her dream vanished like mountain mist under a summer sun, and she was relieved to let it go. Who could spare the time for useless dreams?

Speaking of time, a glance at her watch showed that her appointment with Jayne Thomas, the headmistress of Hawkridge, was scheduled for twenty minutes from now. Immediately afterward, Nola would attend her first faculty meeting, which meant she’d be introduced to the other teachers and staff. Some of them were new since her days as a student, but others she knew quite well. Including Mason Reed.

Was he still so charming, so courtly? Would he still make her laugh even while making her think? Maybe he’d gotten fat—or bald. Maybe he was tired, boring, dull.

Or he might still be damn near perfect.

Nola realized her hands were shaking. She gripped them together and stared out the window of her hired car, trying to divert her thoughts with the scenery. All along the winding mountain road, white dogwood flowers fluttered around the tall pine-tree trunks, and patches of purple rhododendron blossoms brightened the dappled shade. Some long-gone gardener had planted drifts of daffodils in the grass at the edge of the forest, and now their cheerful yellow trumpets nodded in the breeze. As a teenager, Nola had spent hours wandering these woods in all seasons and weathers. Judging by today, spring was still her favorite time of year.

The mileage signs on the narrow road up to the school were falling behind, but not fast enough. Nola leaned forward and put her hand on the front seat, but before she could ask the driver to speed up, the car decelerated. In another moment, they’d stopped altogether.

She changed the question. “Is something wrong?”

The driver turned around, looking past her through the rear window. “There’s a kid back there on the side of the road.”

Nola shifted to follow his gaze. “He’s walking oddly. Do you suppose he’s hurt?”

“If you don’t mind waiting a minute, I’ll go and check.”

“That will be fine.”

The worry on his grandfatherly face eased into a smile. “Thanks.”

Nola watched as he walked back down the road. The boy came to a stop as soon as he saw the man approaching. There was a moment of hesitation as they faced each other. Then the driver returned to the car alone.

Nola rolled down her window. “Is he all right?”

Taking off his cap, the man scratched his head. “He’s carrying a huge turtle. That’s why he’s walking strangely.”

“A turtle?”

“This big.” He rounded his hands, indicating a circle at least a foot in diameter. “But he won’t talk to me at all. Won’t say a word. Backs away, if I come closer.” Smoothing down his thick gray hair, he replaced his cap. “I guess he’s been told not to talk to strange men in cars. My kids and grandkids always were.”

“Oh.” She looked at the boy again, seeing how he struggled to keep hold of the agitated turtle. To judge by the size of that shell, the animal had to be heavy. “Do you think he would talk to a strange woman?”

The driver looked worried again. “I don’t…”

A glance at her watch told her they couldn’t afford much more delay. “Let’s find out.” She released the door latch and the driver jumped forward to pull it open for her. Together, they headed toward the boy and the turtle.

The day was warm for March in the mountains, the sunlight strong. A light breeze stirred her hair and cooled her cheeks. Nola stopped about ten feet away from the unlikely pair. “Are you okay?”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” Dark, silky hair fell across his forehead and into his brown eyes. His cheeks and arms were pale and freckled, his jeans, shirt and boots, filthy. “Just trying to get this fella home.”

The turtle’s arms and legs flailed, exposing sharp claws that came close to scratching the boy’s hands. Its head and tail poked out and retreated into the shell repeatedly, and with each move the boy was forced to adjust his stance to compensate.

The driver glanced at the forest surrounding them. “Couldn’t you just put him down in the woods somewhere along here?”

“I found him down on the highway. He almost got runned over twice before I could pick him up. He needs water and someplace safe. We have a pond out back of the house I think he’ll like.”

“How far do you have to go?” Nola asked.

“Coupla miles.”

“What are you doing so far from home? And on Hawkridge property? This is private land, you know.”

“My dad works at Hawkridge. He’ll take me and Homer to the pond.”

“I’ve never heard of homer turtles.” Nola glanced at the driver, who shrugged.

“Me neither.” The boy flashed her an amused look, displaying a deep dimple near each corner of his mouth. “This is Terrapene carolina carolina. A common box turtle. Homer’s his name. After the Greek poet.”

With its black-and-gold patterned shell and wizened, enigmatic face, the creature was, in its own way, fascinating. “How do you know it’s a male?”

“Males have red eyes.” Closing the distance between them, the boy lifted the turtle toward Nola’s face. “See? Females have brownish eyes.”

“Ah.” She had a feeling he could give her a college-level lecture on the habitat and habits of the box turtle. And she might have been willing to listen, but then she’d be late for her appointment. “Well, if you’re okay…” She turned toward the driver. “We should be on our way.”

He touched the brim of his hat. “Yes, ma’am.” But then he looked at the boy again. In a low voice, he said to Nola, “I hate to leave him alone out here.”

Nola looked at her watch again. “He’s perfectly safe.” She always had been.

The driver wasn’t convinced. “Two miles is a long way to walk for a young kid.”

She took a deep, calming breath. “You want to give him a ride?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, ma’am. Since we’re going to the same place.”

“Fine.” Anything to simply get going. She looked back at the boy. “Would you like a ride to the school?”

He grinned. “Sure!” But then his face fell, as he appeared to reconsider. “Uh…I’m not supposed to ride with strangers.”

Nola stared at him, not sure what to do next. “I’m Nola Shannon. I’ll be teaching at Hawkridge for the next two months. So I’m not exactly a stranger.”

Relief brought out another dimpled grin. “I’m Garrett. If you’re a teacher, then it’ll be okay.” He marched forward, his flailing burden held in front of him. “Let’s go. My arms are getting tired.”

“You don’t want that animal in the car with you,” the driver told Nola as they followed the boy. “It’s filthy.”

She nodded. “We’ll put him in the trunk.”

With the trunk of the limousine open, however, Nola experienced second thoughts. So, evidently, did the turtle’s rescuer. “Homer might get hurt if a suitcase fell on him,” he said. “It would be good if we had something safe to put him in.” He scrutinized Nola’s luggage. “Can we take the stuff outta that little bag and put Homer in there?”

The driver gasped. “Absolutely not!”

But Nola, looking at the boy’s worried face, said, “I guess so.” It’s just my Louis Vuitton lingerie case.

With her underwear tucked into a different bag and Homer installed in French leather, she and Garrett got into the backseat. Still shaking his head, the driver restarted the engine and resumed their course.

“Would you like something to drink?” Nola opened the limo’s small refrigerator.

“Awesome.” The boy sat forward, his eyes wide. “Is this your car?”

“I rented it at the airport. Soda, juice or water?”

He pointed to a can of soda. “Have you got food, too?”

At the touch of her fingers, a sliding panel above the refrigerator revealed crackers, nuts, chips and candy. “Be my guest.”

“Oh, wow.” He took a bag of chips and scooted back against the seat, munching and sipping. “Where are you from?”

Nola settled into the corner with a bottle of water. “Boston.”

Garrett nodded. “I’ve been there. My mom and dad went to college in Boston. We used to visit sometimes.” He stopped chewing, and his gaze turned inward. “She died.”

“I’m sorry.” Losing a parent was hard, Nola knew from experience—she’d lost both of hers before she was eight years old. But he’d get over it, just as she had.

His shoulders lifted with a deep breath. “My mom liked animals a lot. They have a good zoo in Boston. Have you been there?”

“No, I haven’t.”

His brown eyes reproached her. “Why not? They have a great zoo in New York, too. And the one in Washington, D.C.—have you been there?” When she shook her head, he stared at her in shock. “Why not? Don’t you like zoos?”

“I—I just never think of going, I guess.” She’d been to the Boston zoo once on a school field trip, she remembered. And gotten in trouble for climbing into the giraffe enclosure on a dare. The animals hadn’t cared, but the chaperones had been furious.

“What do you do for fun?”

“I…” She had to stop and think. “I read and…and do word puzzles.” If you could call the New York Times crossword a mere puzzle.

“That’s all? Don’t you go out with your friends or anything?”

“I have a lot of work to do.” She didn’t want to admit how few people she could call “friend.”

Shaking his head, Garrett ploughed into the bag for more chips. “My dad says the same thing. We used to have people over all the time, before…” He sighed again. “He doesn’t feel much like seeing anyone these days. Says he’s tired.”

Nola didn’t know what to say, but Garrett didn’t seem to require a response, although he did ask politely for another bag of chips. He’d hardly stopped chewing long enough to breathe before the car emerged from the shady forest into bright afternoon sunlight. Just ahead, the road split to form a circular driveway leading up to the front door of the Victorian mansion that housed the Hawkridge School.

Nola chuckled. “I’d forgotten. It looks like a castle, doesn’t it?”

Garrett nodded and swallowed at the same time. “Some of the girls call it Hawkwarts. You know, like Hogwarts in the Harry Potter books?”

“There is a resemblance.” Built by railroad magnate Howard Ridgely in the late nineteenth century, the brick-and-stone house possessed its share of pointed turrets, plus acres of diamond-paned glass in its casement windows and hundreds of feet of iron railing around its porches and balconies. The overall effect should have been forbidding, like the setting for a gothic novel.

But instead, after twelve years away, Nola had the strange impression that she’d been on a long, difficult journey and had now, finally, come home again.

The car stopped beside the entrance. As Nola stepped onto the cobblestone driveway, girls’ voices floated through the open doorway from the main hall, competing with the sounds of birds twittering in the trees.

Garrett scrambled out behind Nola and went immediately to the rear of the car. “I need to get Homer to some water.”

Lifting the lid of the trunk, the driver said, “I’ll bring your bags in, Ms. Shannon. Just have someone tell me where I should put them.”

She turned to him and extended her hand. “I will. Thank you for everything. You’ve been a good sport.”

He grinned. “Hey, it’s not my suitcase that turtle’s been traveling in.”

Nola rolled her eyes. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

Garrett started up the steps, but then hesitated and turned back to wave at the driver. “Thank you for the ride,” he said, his cheeks flushed. “Me and Homer woulda had a long walk.”

The driver returned a two-fingered salute. “No problem.”

Nola joined Garrett on the steps. “Where do you think you’ll find your father?”

“In his office or at a meeting or something.” The boy picked up Nola’s case and climbed the remainder of the stone stairs, leaning a little to the side with the weight of the turtle. “He said he’d be done about four o’clock.”

“That gives you at least an hour to wait.” As they stepped inside, the tall case clock by the door began to play the Westminster chimes, a sequence as familiar to Nola as her own breath. The huge entry hall—fifty feet square, according to the Hawkridge Student’s Manual—had always been an afternoon gathering place for students, and nothing had changed there, either. Singles, pairs and groups of girls sat cross-legged on the black-and-white marble floor tiles, leaned against mahogany-paneled walls or perched on the steps of the circular staircase with its wrought-iron banister, studying and gossiping, arguing and laughing, as they’d done for more than forty years.

To the casual observer, the scene suggested a very expensive, very elegant private school for girls. But Agatha Ridgely, Howard Ridgely’s only child, had dedicated the estate and her fortune to a special cause. For most of these students, the Hawkridge School was the last resort, a final chance to turn their lives around before their behavioral problems—and the criminal-justice system—took over.

Having rung the chimes, the clock gave three sonorous strikes—marking the time for Nola’s appointment with the headmistress. Before the last note died away, a door on the right side of the hall opened. The woman who stepped out smiled as the entry hall instantly went silent.

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice low but clear. “I won’t start cracking the whip until Monday morning at eight.”

Judging by their laughter, the girls did not feel particularly threatened.

When she saw Nola, the other woman quickly crossed the floor. She wore a white shirt, dark blue slacks and sensible shoes, but her colorful sweater was decorated with cartoon characters—a crazy rabbit and his roadrunner pal, plus a wise-cracking duck and a bald little man with a rifle.

Her smooth skin revealed she was younger than she’d first appeared. Her chestnut-brown hair, combed back to fell in waves over her shoulders, showed not a single strand of gray.

“Nola, there you are! Welcome to Hawkridge. I’m Jayne Thomas, the ringmaster of this circus. Please forgive the noise—spring break has just ended and the girls are catching up on each other’s lives.” She took Nola’s hand without really shaking it, then looked down at Garrett. “Helping with the luggage, Garrett? That’s nice of you.”

“Uh, not exactly.” He shifted Nola’s case to his other hand. “She let me borrow it.”

The headmistress widened her eyes. “For what?”

“Homer,” Nola said. “A turtle he found on the road.”

“Oh, Garrett.” The headmistress now looked quite distressed, indeed. “Tell me you didn’t put a turtle in that beautiful suitcase.”

“He was gonna get hurt in the trunk,” Garrett explained. “Ms. Shannon said I could.”

“Oh, dear.” Jayne Thomas placed a hand on Nola’s shoulder. “Garrett’s well-known for his collecting habits. He keeps an entire menagerie of injured animals.”

“I’m glad I could help.” Nola smiled. “I hope his father won’t mind one more addition to the collection.”

“Dad doesn’t care.” Garrett glanced up at the curved balcony running around three sides of the entry hall. “There he is now. Dad! Hey, Dad!”

He ran to the circular staircase and started up, lugging the suitcase with him, dodging the girls who lounged on the steps, talking and laughing. “Come see what I found, Dad. It’s the coolest box turtle, ever!”

Somewhere out of sight, a man said, “A box turtle, so early in the spring? I guess this warm spell has brought them out of hibernation.”

His voice hadn’t changed, and Nola would have recognized it anywhere. The years rolled back, and she was eighteen again…

…standing at the foot of the staircase on a hot August afternoon, when a gorgeous guy wearing jeans and a navy sports jacket stepped through the front door. He slipped his backpack off his shoulder, looked in her direction and grinned.

“I’m Mason Reed,” he said in a delicious southern drawl. “The new physics teacher. And you are…?”

In love, Nola answered silently. Totally and forever in love. With you.