“I have to finish my calendar for summer. I wrote something about each of the months. Wanna hear?" Nash glanced from the boy to Stephanie who gave him a shrug, as if to say it was his call. When he looked back at Jason, the boy pulled the chair out a little.

What the hell, Nash thought. He crossed to the table and took the seat.

“So your calendar is only three months long," he said.

“Uh-huh. We did pictures. See-I colored fireworks in the sky for July, coz that's when it's the fourth and we always go to the park for fireworks." Jason opened a large folder and withdrew a folded sheet of construction paper as he spoke. Nash admired the crayon depiction of fireworks, then bent close to see what Jason had written underneath.

“It's a poem," the boy said proudly. "The teacher said we could copy it from the board if we wanted. I can read it to you." The last sentence sounded more like a question than a statement. Nash nodded. "Sure. Go ahead." Jason cleared his throat, then read the poem. When he was finished Adam quietly pushed a spelling list toward him.

“I got 'em all right," he said in a low voice. Nash studied the word list, and the big A at the top of the paper.

“You did great. There are some big words here." Adam beamed.

The twins pulled out more papers and talked about their homework. When they'd explained everything they had to do, they started the work. But it wasn't a silent process. They asked questions, shared each step, bickered over the pencil sharpener and asked for more snacks, another glass of milk or even water. Stephanie kept gently steering them back to their assignments.

“They're usually more focused than this," she said as she pulled food out of the refrigerator. "The last couple of weeks of school are always crazy." Nash remembered what that was like-the unbearable anticipation of an endless summer with no homework. Being here with the boys reminded himof a lot of things. How he and Kevin were supposed to do their homework as soon as they got home, but with their mom out working, there was no one around to make sure it happened. Nash had always done his, but Kevin had usually ducked outside to play. Later, when their mom got home, they fought about it. Nash had retreated to his room to get lost in a book.

As he glanced at the three bent heads, he realized he didn't have any children in his life. No kids of friends, no neighbors with little ones running around. He couldn't remember the last time he'd spent any time with a child. It wasn't that he didn't like them; they simply weren't a part of his world. Had someone asked him what it would be like to spend an hour or so with three boys, he would have assumed time would go by slowly, that he would feel awkward and restless. But his usual underlying sense that something was wrong seemed to have faded. The twins were friendly enough and while Brett obviously didn't want him around, Nash understood enough of what he was feeling not to mind. When Nash had been his age, he'd done exactly the same thing.

Stephanie came over and put her hand on Brett's shoulder. "How's it going?"

“Fine." Nash wasn't sure that was true. Brett hadn't written anything on his paper in nearly ten minutes. Stephanie smiled at Nash. "Brett is in an accelerated math group. He's already starting on algebra, and it's a little tough. Unfortunately I was never a math person. Still, he's way better at it than me." Brett winced. "Mo-om, I'm doing fine."

“I know, honey. You're doing great." Nash glanced down at the open book. "I remember algebra," he said.

She drew her eyebrows together. "Let me guess. You were a math person."

“Sorry, yeah."

“Figures."

“The thing I always liked about it was the rules. Once you learn them, you keep applying them. Things need to happen in a certain order, otherwise you get the wrong answer." She shook her head. "That would be me. The queen of the wrong answer. It was all that do-thisfirst stuff that made me crazy. Why can't you just do an equation from left to right, like reading?"

“You can. Sort of. Like this problem here." He pointed. "You do what's in the parentheses first, then go from left to right."

“Why?”

“Because that's how the steps work. If you're building a model car and you glue down the hood before you put in the engine, it's not going to look right." She groaned. "Is this where I tell you I can't put a model together, either?" Brett tapped his pencil on the table. "Can I have my book back, please."

“Sure." Nash handed it over. At that moment Adam claimed his attention to discuss what color green would do best on his mountains for his report on Wyoming. As Nash checked out the various options, he saw Brett read the first problem again, then start writing on his paper. When he'd finished his calculations, he plugged the answer back into the original equation and quickly solved it. His wide smile told Nash that he'd gotten it right.

Nash handed Adam a colored pencil, then caught Stephanie's eyes. She mouthed "thank you." Apparently she'd picked up his attempt to help Brett without actually helping. Her gaze darkened slightly as several emotions skittered across her face.

He tried to read them, but they came and went in a heartbeat. He was left with a sense of sorrow, as if she had something she regretted.

Of course she did, he told himself. Everyone did. Regrets were a part of life. But for the first time in a long time, he wanted to ask another person what was wrong. He wanted to learn more about her, to understand what she was thinking. He wanted to connect.

His interest was more than sexual and that scared the crap out of him. Feeling-getting involved-would be a disaster.

He told himself to get out of there right now. To leave before he got trapped. Before it was too late. But even knowing it was wrong to stay, he couldn't seem to force himself to stand and walk away.

It was just a couple of hours, he told himself. What could it possibly hurt?

Chapter Four

Nash stayed through dinner. Stephanie had no idea why, nor could she decide if it was a good thing or a bad thing. The man was nice enough, the twins already adored him even though Brett remained standoffish. She appreciated the opportunity to converse with an adult for a chance. So the situation should have been a big plus.

Except she didn't know what was in it for him. Why would a good-looking, intelligent man want to hang out with her and her kids? She opened the refrigerator and put the milk and butter back in the door, then frowned. That didn't sound exactly right. Nash's appearance and mental state didn't have anything to do with her confusion. Why would any man not be running for the hills? Weren't guys supposed to hate other men's children in a relationship? Not that he had any designs on her. Despite the fact thathe made her long for satin sheets and champagne, she doubted he saw her as much more than an efficient hostess. After all, her luck just plain wasn't good enough to hope for more.

So why had he stayed? Why hadn't he retreated to the quiet and privacy of his room or gone out somewhere for dinner? You could ask, a small voice in her head whispered.

Stephanie nearly laughed out loud. Sure she could, but that was so not her style.

“We're done," Brett said.

She turned around and saw that the table was indeed cleared, the dishes scraped and neatly stacked by the sink and the table wiped off.

“Very nice job," she said. "Everyone finished his homework, right?" Three heads nodded earnestly.

She smiled. "Then I guess this is a TV night.”

“All right!" Brett pumped the air with his fist. The twins tore out of the kitchen. She heard their footsteps on the hardwood floor and was able to guess their destination.

“Stop right there," she yelled after them. "We have a guest. Use the TV upstairs."

“Why?" Nash asked from where he leaned against the counter.

She turned toward him, ignoring the continual sexual impact of his presence. Not only did she not want to make a fool of herself, but there was still a minor in the room. "The downstairs TV is for our guests." He gave her a slow, sexy smile that could have melted the polar ice cap. "I'm not much of a TV watcher. It won't bother me if it won't bother you." Stephanie figured she wasn't going to fight the point. If the man wanted to be generous, her kids would be thrilled. She smiled at Brett. "Looks like this is your lucky day. Go tell your brothers, and keep the volume down." Brett grinned and raced down the hall. "We can stay down here," he yelled.

“Simple pleasures," she said as she turned toward the sink. "If only life stayed that easy."

“Complicated comes with growing up," Nash said as he also approached the sink. He was closer so he got there first.

As she watched, he turned on the water and began rinsing dishes. Just like that. He even used the sponge to clean off the worst bits.

Stephanie wanted to pinch herself to see if she was dreaming. He was helping again. Helping. Without being asked, without complaining. Just doing it. – Some of her confusion must have shown on his face because he looked at her and asked, "What's wrong?" She wiggled her fingers toward the dishes. "You don't have to do that."

“I don't mind." He didn't mind. Wow. Every time she had asked Marty to help, he'd howled like a wet cat, then had a list of fifty reasons why he couldn't. However hard she pushed, he pushed back harder. He threatened, cajoled, or had a temper tantrum to rival a threeyear-old's. His goal had been to make the experience so miserable that she would stop asking. Eventually it had worked.

“So who trained you?" she asked. "I happen to know that most men aren't born being so handy around the kitchen." He finished rinsing the dishes, then opened the dishwasher and began placing them inside. "I was married for a while, but most of my 'training' as you call it, came from being raised by a single mom. She worked a lot of hours and came home beat. I pitched in to help." Wow times two. "You give me hope," she said. He straightened. "In what way?" For once her reaction wasn't about sex. "You seem like a great guy. Successful, articulate, not a serial killer-at least not as far as I can tell. You didn't have a father around, either. So maybe my boys will turn out okay, too." He gave her another slow smile. "They're going to be great. You're doing a terrific job with them.”

“I try."

“It shows." The compliment left her feeling flustered and fluttery. She had to clear her throat before she could speak again. "If you don't mind me asking, what happened in your marriage?" He put the last three glasses into the dishwasher. "Tina passed away a couple of years ago.”

“I'm sorry." The words were automatic. She figured Nash was in his early thirties, which meant his wife would have been around the same age. What would have taken such a young woman? Cancer? A drunk driver?

“What brought you to Glenwood?" he asked. "Or are you a native?" The not-so-subtle change in subject ended any thought she had of actually asking her questions. "Dumb luck," she said.

Nash picked up the dishcloth and rinsed it, then started to wipe off the counters. She was nearly dumbstruck. Rather than stand around with her mouth open, she forced herself to get the detergent out from under the sink and pour some into the dishwasher.

“We always moved around a lot," she said, trying not to stare as he finished up with the counters. "Marty had wonderful ideas of fun places to live and we wanted to experience them all." Not exactly the whole truth, she thought sadly. This was the made-for-TV version of her marriage. The one she told mostly everyone. Especially her children.

“We spent eight months living in a forest and nearly a year working on a ranch. There was a summer on a fishing boat and a winter in a lighthouse." Nash leaned against the counter and folded his arms over his chest. "With the kids?"

“It was a great experience for them," she said, trying to sound enthusiastic when all she felt was tired. "They have great memories." All good ones. She'd done her best to ensure that. Whatever her feelings about her late husband might be, she wanted Brett and the twins to remember their father with a lot of love and laughter.

“I experienced worlds I didn't know existed." And would have happily died in ignorance of, giventhe choice. She pushed the Delay button on the dishwasher, setting the start time for midnight.

“I'd homeschooled Brett through third grade, which went well. He's very bright. But Marty and I were worried about socialization. We knew it was time to settle down." It hadn't exactly gone that way, she remembered. Marty had wanted to keep moving, but she'd demanded that they settle. Despite having an eightyear-old and four-year-old twins, she'd flat-out told him she would leave him if necessary. The previous winter Adam had spiked a 105-degree fever while they'd been stuck in the godforsaken lighthouse. With a storm raging around them, there'd been no way to get to the mainland and a doctor. She'd spent thirty-six hours in hell, wondering if her son was going to die. In the dark hours before dawn, right before his fever finally broke, she'd vowed she wasn't going to live like that anymore.