Книга - Under An Adirondack Sky

Under An Adirondack Sky
Karen Rock


Can he juggle everything…including her?After raising his siblings and running the family pub for more than a decade, Aiden Walsh has set his own dreams aside. Until the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen stumbles into his bar, and his arms. Too bad Rebecca Day is the school psychologist in charge of his brother’s future. Who’s he kidding? He doesn’t have room in his full life for romance anyway. But forced to join Rebecca and her group of troubled teens on an Adirondack retreat, he realises keeping his family afloat isn’t enough for him…not by a long shot.







Can he juggle everything...including her?

After raising his siblings and running the family pub for more than a decade, Aiden Walsh has set his own dreams aside. Until the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen stumbles into his bar, and his arms. Too bad Rebecca Day is the school psychologist in charge of his brother’s future. Who’s he kidding? He doesn’t have room in his full life for romance anyway. But forced to join Rebecca and her group of troubled teens on an Adirondack retreat, he realizes keeping his family afloat isn’t enough for him...not by a long shot.


“I don’t want to like you.”

Rebecca peeked up at Aiden. The air seemed to crackle between them, as if charged by an electric current.

“Me neither,” he said.

“Nothing can come of this,” she told him.

“Probably not.”

“I can’t be last on your priority list.”

“And I don’t have room to add you.” He raked a hand through his hair and released a shaky breath. “Back to reality. The one where we’re wrong for each other. Where none of this—where we don’t work.”

He turned on his heel and trudged away.

If they were so wrong for each other, why did it feel so right?


Dear Reader (#ulink_1c8e4639-2eba-5df9-97af-1fb8c933773e),

Before I became a full-time writer, I was fortunate to work as an educator. One of my favorite parts of the job was interacting with at-risk youth. These students tend to be the most resistant, the most likely to act out and disrupt and the least likely to pay attention or participate. I chose to focus on their potential rather than their behavioral problems. I wanted to relate to and connect with them. Many didn’t have the best home lives, weren’t successful in school, didn’t feel in control of their world or themselves. I hoped that if I believed in them and provided a safe place where they felt accepted, they would see that they could change old habits and become the best versions of themselves.

I love hearing from former at-risk students that they’ve graduated high school, are attending college, finishing a trade program or employed. Without the dedication of my colleagues, these children might not have had the bright future they deserved. Programs such as wilderness retreats take kids from their harmful routines and behaviors and help them reconsider themselves and their world. I’ve seen this powerful transformation time and again, and it inspired me to use such a program as the backdrop in Under an Adirondack Sky. I hope you find this story as uplifting to read as it was to write! I’d love to hear from you anytime at karenrock@live.com (mailto:karenrock@live.com).

Karen




Under an Adirondack Sky

Karen Rock







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


KAREN ROCK is an award-winning young adult and adult contemporary author. She holds a master’s degree in English and worked as an ELA instructor before becoming a full-time author. Most recently, her Mills & Boon Heartwarming novels have won the 2015 National Excellence in Romance Fiction Award and the 2015 Booksellers’ Best Award. When she’s not writing, Karen loves scouring estate sales, cooking and hiking. She lives in the Adirondack Mountain region with her husband, daughter and Cavalier King Charles spaniels. Visit her at karenrock.com (http://www.karenrock.com).


To all of the education professionals and parents of at-risk youth—thank you for your dedication, your compassion, your faith, your support and the strength and conviction you have that every person can make a difference in a child’s life, especially you.


Contents

COVER (#u6b976f4c-11ce-5ff3-9d70-a537f9c513fe)

BACK COVER TEXT (#ud166ad2b-5c6b-5499-a254-8392ec42781c)

INTRODUCTION (#u9101af0f-7c32-5593-9623-26e291beed18)

Dear Reader (#ulink_2a27efcd-3e31-5a9a-9d3c-ab0bf521228e)

TITLE PAGE (#ua6e7fb0e-a27a-5195-9a79-f1092092b141)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#u045ab7ce-c040-58b8-9520-0c22d2dfeef5)

DEDICATION (#u139210c5-bb46-5fc2-894e-2e9eb3835451)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_ebcfa1ec-4acb-5273-b70c-24157aff4732)

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_1904202a-716b-5c6f-8d4d-0cdedb39ce9e)

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_b27a3319-f325-5761-8075-dea1cd7d7f4e)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_18f8dbd8-16f3-59d9-b62f-3689037d8420)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EXTRACT (#litres_trial_promo)

COPYRIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_dda60aea-09dd-5126-abd9-1edac223d58a)

REBECCA DAY SHRUGGED on her raincoat and eyed the rain tapping against The Koffee Kat’s storefront window. It turned SoHo’s block-paved streets into an impressionistic blur, the sidewalks uncharacteristically empty of tourists, the iron-trimmed buildings seeming to slide down like melting wax. A cab lurched along the road, sending up fans of dark spray.

Should she splurge and grab one instead of taking the subway? Given her crazy end-of-spring cold, it’d be justified. Given her overdrawn bank account, however, she knew better. A heavy rush of air escaped her.

“Toots, we need to talk.”

At her boss’s voice, Rebecca’s fingers stilled on her top button. So close to a clean getaway. After her twelve-hour shift, she needed a bowl—no, an IV bag—of chicken soup. Stat. Tomorrow she’d return to her primary job as a school psychologist after the district’s spring break vacation. Ten days off and she could use ten more, though she didn’t dare ask for sick time, not with her overdue tenure still an undecided question by the stalling school board.

Were they planning to let her go?

She swallowed painfully and forced her mind off of possibly losing the dream job she’d sacrificed so much to finally land.

“Sure. What’s up?” She eyed her employer’s hangdog expression and tried to ignore the flutter of nervousness in her stomach. Given the steadily dwindling business this past month, accompanied by her boss’s grumps and his wife’s sighs, she’d been preparing herself for what could be bad news.

“You’ll need a seat for this.” Mr. Roselli’s baritone echoed in the now empty coffee shop. How many customers had she served today? Fifty? Seventy-five? Not even close to their usual draw. Since the Death Star of all cafés—JavaHut—opened across the street, the mom-and-pop SoHo business at which she moonlighted had been hemorrhaging clients.

“Sure.” She reopened her coat, pulled out a chair and glanced up at a Leaning Tower of Pisa wall clock. Midnight. “Is something wrong?” Once she sat, she dabbed at her running nose and clamped a hand on her jittering knee. Counted the black-and-white hexagon floor tiles. Tried not to look scared.

Mr. Roselli let out a long, deep breath. “Rebecca. We’re closing The Koffee Kat.”

Her mouth dropped open. No. Mr. and Mrs. Roselli had owned this establishment for over forty years and his father another fifty before that. She glanced at the framed pictures of their hometown in Italy and generations of family members. This was more than a business. To her and to them.

A faint waft of fresh roasted beans whispered through the air as a painful silence descended. She struggled to speak and, despite the remnants of warmth coming from the bakery ovens, she shivered. Now that she thought about it, she should be tasting the first batch of lemon-almond biscotti Mrs. Roselli baked for the morning rush. But instead of pans clanging, she heard a muffled sob from the kitchen.

Her heart broke. Why would this happen to such kind people? For a fleeting moment she imagined calling her Fortune 500 CEO aunt for help. It wouldn’t be breaking the moral code about taking favors she’d made for herself when she’d left her guardian’s privileged nest. This was aid for someone else. A very good cause. And so deserving.

“Mr. Roselli, I’d like to help.” Rebecca’s words ended in a coughing fit that she muffled with the crook of her arm.

The older man’s weathered face creased in a sad smile. “I know you would, sweets.” His thick eyebrows knitted. “But me and the missus have made up our minds to buy one of those Florida condos. Our daughter lives there in a gated community. Keeps out the riffraff.”

Rebecca imagined living in such a safe, predictable environment and suppressed a shudder. She liked chaos. Choices. Freedom to live by her own rules rather than the constrictive ones she’d grown up with in her aunt’s Upper East Side penthouse and elite world. Despite Aunt Kathryn’s infrequent appearances in Rebecca’s childhood, her caretaker had known of each of Rebecca’s infractions, especially the one that’d nearly landed her in jail and destroyed her life...

“But you’ll be losing your home, your friends, everything...” Her aching throat closed. NyQuil. She should have paid closer attention when she’d grabbed it instead of DayQuil when she’d sprinted to the convenience store earlier to replenish her supply.

Would another dose of it hurt? She’d already thrown back a mouthful of the chalky cherry goo a half hour ago. It couldn’t be worse than the way she felt. Her body ached, temples throbbed, throat felt scraped by glass, and her nose was so raw she flinched when she touched it. She never would have come to work today if she hadn’t needed the money so badly.

The gray-haired owner shook his head. “The only thing I’ll miss are wonderful friends like you. The rest is always replaceable.”

Rebecca smiled at his brave words and agreed. And then it hit her. She’d need another job. Since her ex-roommate Laura, an old college friend she’d reconnected with when she started working at the Koffee Kat, moved out, Rebecca had been struggling to manage the rent on her illegally sublet SoHo loft. Losing was more like it. The extra income from her second job at the coffee shop was the difference between home and homeless. But more importantly, she needed these warmhearted people who made her feel like family—or what she imagined a family would feel like.

But looking into Mr. Roselli’s weary face, Rebecca realized that she wasn’t the victim. Her eyes narrowed at the glowing orange and green neon lights across the street’s shining pavement. She’d be darned if she’d apply for a position at the new JavaHut. In fact, she’d boycott the whole chain—and avoid the one in her neighborhood, too.

Goodbye to the part skim milk, part half-n-half mocha latte with extra caramel and whipped cream she ordered every morning on her way to school. Somehow she’d find a way through her fifteen-hour workday without a bag of chocolate-dipped espresso beans. Think of the money she’d save... It’d be a tough day without it, but she’d make a clean break from her habit if it killed her. Her stomach lurched. Maybe it would.

“I’m so sorry. When are you closing?” After reaching into her purse, she gulped more medicine and set down the bottle. It toppled on the granite-topped table, empty, and panic seized her. She’d drained it in—what—two hours? Three? Was that too much? She’d been so determined to return to school healthy and finally get some answers on the timing of her tenure decision that she’d lost track. Plus, hadn’t her pharmacist showered doom and gloom about mixing meds when he’d dispensed the muscle relaxers she’d been prescribed after pulling her hamstring during a martial arts class? How many of those pills had she taken to keep moving today? Her brain fogged as she fought to concentrate.

“Actually, this is our last day.” The white metal chair beside Rebecca protested as Mrs. Roselli joined them. She smoothed her floral skirt and lifted watering eyes to her. “We would have told you sooner but we didn’t think the place would sell so quickly—or that they’d want us out right away.”

Mrs. Roselli’s eyes flitted outside and Rebecca’s stomach twisted as she followed the other woman’s gaze. “They bought it, didn’t they? JavaHut?”

Mr. Roselli harrumphed and passed his wife one of Rebecca’s tissues. “What’s important is that we got a fair price and Margaret can finally retire. See the grandkids. Right, my love?”

She managed a tiny smile and gripped his hand in a way that made the familiar emptiness in Rebecca swell. Would she ever have a relationship like that? A family? Whenever she pictured it, she imagined her own, lonely version, where she’d been the last entry on her aunt’s priority list. A tax write-off each year when her relative insisted Rebecca attend expensive business trips on the pretext of “celebrating” her birthday. She’d never accept a serious relationship where she was less important than a career or a bank account.

Mr. Roselli was right. What mattered was that they were leaving together. She should be happy for them. Was happy for them. For herself? Not so much. Who did she have left? Her chubby pug, Freud, was the only plus-one in Rebecca’s life, though she loved her little mouth-breather with a passion.

She closed her raincoat and returned their hugs, careful not to get too close in case they caught her nightmare of a cold. Gratefully, she accepted the white envelope they slid across the table, then walked out into the humid, glistening world that was a spring-soaked Manhattan night. Taxis and buses flashed by in lighted, swishing blurs; though if the out-of-focus effect was from her own tears or the rain, she wasn’t sure. Either way, life was misery.

It wasn’t until she’d walked for over ten minutes, deep in thought, that she realized she’d missed her subway entrance. That figured. Could the night get any worse?

She pulled out her cell and asked her neighbor, Marcy, to take out Freud. Since Marcy had a parrot Rebecca watched when Marcy went on business trips, they’d worked out a trade once Laura left.

After the call, she contemplated her contacts list and scrolled to her aunt’s number. Kathryn Lindon. How easy it’d be to press that dial button and see if her connected relative could help her find a second job. She owed her aunt a thank-you for the gifts she’d sent while on a recent Paris trip—something she always did when traveling—an expensive raincoat and purse delivered yesterday. They were the kinds of items she tried never to sell in a consignment shop, since her aunt would consider that the ultimate insult.

Yet if Rebecca phoned, she’d only get Kathryn’s voice mail, followed by a call tomorrow from the cowed assistant through which Rebecca and her aunt usually conversed.

Nope.

No support there, unless the expensive flowers and a card bearing the generous check her aunt used to discharge (pay off?) her obligations would suffice. The cash would help. The I-told-you-so’s that’d come with it...not so much.

No doubt Aunt Kathryn would repeat the doom-and-gloom prophecies she’d made when Rebecca graduated from her master’s program three years ago.

“Use your head,” Rebecca could hear her aunt say over a glass of pinot. “You’re working a low wage job and spending nearly all of it to share a space slightly bigger than a walk-in closet. Start a private practice and move home where you belong.”

And the worst thing? It’d been tempting. Taking the hard road was...well, hard, and getting more difficult by the day. Especially with her school dragging its feet on granting her a permanent position. Denial of tenure was a scarlet letter D on your résumé, alerting every other district that you weren’t good enough. Made even getting an interview near to impossible.

If she didn’t get tenure at her current school, she’d fail at her bid for independence and not have the life she’d dreamed of, one filled with people who made time for her...put her first. Was that too much to ask? Laura had joked that Rebecca’s expectations were so high no one could reach them, but she’d rather be alone than compromise, even when her chances looked worse by the minute. Somehow, loneliness was more bearable when you were actually alone.

Rebecca sighed and shoved her phone back in her pocket.

No. She wouldn’t call.

Aunt Kathryn’s way of helping was money. Rebecca, on the other hand, wanted to make a difference by doing—exactly why she used her psychology degree to work in a public school system with at-risk teenagers. She didn’t want anyone else growing up feeling as though their problems didn’t matter...that they didn’t matter.

She’d just lost one job that mattered a lot to her. Tomorrow, when she confronted her principal about why the school board still hadn’t voted to grant her tenure, something they always did months earlier, in January, would she discover she might lose two?

Suddenly the rain picked up and a gust flipped her umbrella backward. If the car heading Rebecca’s way hit the huge puddle beside her, she’d be—

She shook her drenched self.

—a drowned rat.

Gross. How many toxins swam in that street soup? She mashed her broken umbrella closed and took deep, calming breaths. Guess this night could get worse. What she really needed was a friend. When a rivulet of cold water snaked down her back, she ducked beneath the nearest awning, and her breath caught at the bright sign in the window.

The White Horse Tavern.

She’d heard of it...but where?

The place looked friendly enough, at least, and was a good spot to take temporary refuge from the storm. Rebecca reached for the wrought iron handle and her hand slipped, missing it completely. She stepped closer and wobbled, tilting to the left. Why was she so woozy? A couple whisked open the door and paused, eyes wide as they took in her weaving form.

“Sorry,” she muttered, and stumbled to the side. The berth they gave her spoke volumes. If only they knew cold medicine was her drink of choice—the effects of which, combined with her muscle relaxers, were kicking in with a vengeance. Everything seemed fuzzy. She needed to get her bearings before heading home. Maybe she should splurge and grab a cab. Rebecca felt less and less sure she’d make it on her own, after all.

* * *

AIDEN WALSH RETURNED the departing couple’s wave and leaned against the wooden bar. It was 12:40. A little early for closing time, but this was Sunday. His younger siblings returned to school from their break tomorrow. Besides, it’d be just like rebellious Connor, his fourteen-year-old brother, to still be on the Xbox. With a superintendent’s meeting tomorrow, Connor’s expulsion on the table for a school yard brawl that’d happened the day before vacation, the kid needed to toe the line. Help, not hinder, what was already an impossible family situation.

Aiden squeezed out a washcloth over the cleaning fluid pail, hard. If his brother wasn’t readmitted, how would Aiden pay for private education, or worse, home school the kid? Money and time. Two things always in short supply.

“Excuse me,” a young woman’s voice called from the open door. “Are you still open?”

With a suppressed sigh, Aiden glanced up and spied an unsteady woman bracing herself in his doorway. He tried not to stare, but she looked like she’d face-planted in a puddle then fallen asleep in it. With her eyes at half-mast, her nose and cheeks red, and the ends of her blond hair dripping, she reminded him of his cat, Grinch, when he got caught in the rain: woeful and bedraggled in a way that made Aiden chuckle and then scold himself...and want to make it better.

“Come in.” He strode forward, his pace quickening as she swayed. No one passed out in his bar. Especially not a lady. His hand snaked around her waist and held fast as her exotic scent washed over him.

There was no other way to describe it: she looked and smelled expensive, from the satiny feel of her coat to her leather purse. In fact, noticing the designer plate plastered across the top of the bag, he remembered seeing the same kind in a Fifth Avenue window, a purse his sister had pointed out. Three thousand bucks. Enough to pay for Connor’s braces, Ella’s much begged for dance classes, or remodeling the bathroom with safety gear for his Alzheimer’s-afflicted mother.

Pick a bill, any bill, he’d often thought, after his father had died ten years ago and Aiden started struggling to keep the family and their business afloat as the eldest of seven children. Sometimes it seemed like he was the one drowning; his feverish, crazy work schedule was all that kept him and his family above water.

The woman blinked up at him with wet-spiked lashes and the sudden flash of blue eyes knocked the wind out of him. “I need to dry off.” Or at least he thought that was what she said. She slurred slightly, enough to make him wonder how many bars she’d visited before wandering into his. Uptown girls didn’t usually venture into a small operation like the White Horse.

“This is the place for it.” He helped her to a wooden bar stool, the dampness of her coat seeping through his shirt and slacks.

She blew her nose and swiped at the water dripping down her cheeks. “I look like a drowned rat.” Was it his imagination, or were there tears in her eyes? He’d seen plenty of people weep into their cups at his tavern, one of the many reasons he never imbibed himself. Yet her sorrow looked deeper than that.

“Here.” He handed over a bar towel and squinted at her. “And you don’t resemble a rat. A cat maybe,” he mumbled to himself, then clamped his lips shut. What an idiot. “I’m Aiden.” He flicked his eyes her way, but she seemed lost in her own world, running the cloth over her hair and face. In her state, she’d never remember what he said.

“I’m Rebecca. So how do I look then?” She shoved back her hair and peered at him with questioning eyes.

Under the soft glow of the antique light fixtures, her skin gleamed, her heart-shaped face prettier than he’d first thought. Her small nose flared above a mobile mouth with a generous upper lip. And those eyes. He couldn’t look away from them. “Fine,” he blurted, then hustled behind the bar.

“Loose lips sink ships,” his grandmother had always said. And his life was already the Titanic. He needed distance from his new customer. She was short-circuiting his brain, one already over-taxed with handling his chaotic family and hectic business.

He had no room in his life, or thoughts, for romance. Letting himself imagine otherwise was a fool’s path he’d gotten lost on once before. He’d never risk it again. But a lost girl caught in the rain had a way of making a lonely man dream.

He pulled out two mugs and filled them with coffee, a warm mist washing over him as he poured the black brew. Rebecca needed the wake-up before he settled her in a cab heading for home and out of his complicated life.

“How do you take your coffee?” He passed a mug her way and reached into the mini fridge below for the milk.

“Caramel and whipped cream.”

His chin slammed into the bar edge. “What?”

When she shook her head, a long lock of hair fell across her high forehead. Fetching.

“Something sweet then.”

He pushed a sugar jar her way. “Help yourself.”

“I’m trying.” Her words came out in a half sob, half laugh.

He threw back a gulp of the bitter brew and burned his throat. How long had that pot been sitting? Mary Ann usually came down after tucking in their siblings and changed it before heading home on the weekends. But he hadn’t seen her in hours. And he could use her right now. Rebecca looked seconds away from inviting him to her pity party and he had no intentions of RSVP’ing.

She leaned over and slurped from her overflowing mug, the quantity of milk and sugar she’d added making it spill on the newly wiped counter. She wasn’t kidding about wanting a fancy concoction. Where she came from, they probably served it on a china saucer instead of a soaked cocktail napkin. The light gleamed on her golden hair as she straightened and suppressed a grimace with pressed lips.

“Tastes good. I work in a coffee shop. The Koffee Kat. Have you heard of it?”

“I’ve seen it. Nice place.” Aiden switched off the coffeepot and grabbed a cleaning rag for the counter.

He stopped wiping the spill when Rebecca’s narrow shoulders sagged and she set down her cup. “The owners are moving to Florida. They’re like family to me. Now I’ll have no one.”

Her lonely expression softened him. Being surrounded by a large family—barraged by them, really—didn’t stop him from feeling alone, too. “What about your relatives? Friends?” He cleared his throat. “Boyfriend?”

Her laugh sounded as bitter as the coffee. “A boyfriend. Hah. That’d be the day.”

The weird tightness in Aiden’s chest loosened and he released a breath. He needed to get a grip. Her dating status was none of his business.

Rebecca brought her arm up to her mouth and coughed into it. “Laura’s gone, so that takes care of my close friends list. And as for my family...well...they’re, uh, not around much.”

He hung a mug and looked at the downcast woman, his sympathy about her family turning to guilt. Was this how his relatives viewed him? But to fill his father’s big shoes, he had to work sixteen hour days, seven days a week...and even that didn’t seem enough. How had his father managed the business and family so effortlessly?

“I’m sure lots of people care.” Aiden began lining up the wineglasses on a mirror-backed shelf, his gaze drifting to the beautiful woman’s reflection. “They just might be busy. Not have time to show it.” He peered into her eyes, then looked away, her sun-ray smile piercing his closed-off heart.

“‘How’s your day’ takes only a minute to ask.” She began sorting the remaining glasses on the counter according to size. “Maybe a couple more to listen to the answer.”

Aiden plucked a few mugs from the drier and stacked them below the bar. She had a point...only where to find those precious minutes when work demanded every second?

“At least you care,” she continued. “No one’s listened to me since my roommate Laura left.” Her brow furrowed and her smile vanished. “But that’s your job, right? To listen? So... I’ll take a—a beer.”

She swiped at her nose, then twisted her hands together atop the counter. With her eyelids drooping after drinking half a cup of coffee, she must be more intoxicated than he’d thought. And it looked like she was fighting a whopping cold. “I don’t think that’s for the best, ma’am.”

Her jaw clenched. “You said you were still open.” She glanced up at the wall clock, then pulled out a twenty.

He leaned forward. “My bar, my rules.” She might be used to giving orders wherever she came from, but this was his world.

“But the customer’s always right.” Her unsteady squeak tugged at him.

“When the patron acts appropriately.”

Suddenly her face contorted. “I just need to talk. Please.”

For the love of all—where was Mary Ann? The tear that rolled down the woman’s cheek broke through his resistance.

He poured himself another cup of caffeine and forced a weary smile. She was right. This was his job. Would always be, he thought with a pang. If given a choice, would he have picked it? He shoved down the image of the engineering school’s acceptance letter he’d received after his father died. “Fine then. Happy to listen, Rebecca. What’s the trouble?”

For the next few minutes, she unleashed a torrent of woes that ranged from problematic coworkers trying to make her lose tenure—whatever that was—to her out-of-control canine, her lost coffee shop job, not being able to make this month’s rent and, oddly enough, the torture of control-top hosiery. He struggled to keep his expression sympathetic as he nodded along to that one.

“You’re laughing at me,” she declared, her face scrunching.

“Only on the inside,” he said solemnly, then gave in and chuckled, pleased when her bell-like laugh rang out. He topped off her coffee and dodged her playful swat. “No, really. I’m listening.”

Despite Rebecca’s erratic rant, he found her charming and entertaining, even if she didn’t mean to be. Somehow closing up no longer mattered, and for the first time in a while he heard himself laugh. He enjoyed watching her large, mobile mouth, her expressive eyes, and the way she squeezed his hand for emphasis. It’d been a while since someone outside his family touched him and he was surprised at the feelings she stirred. Dangerous ones.

“Aiden,” Mary Ann called. “Connor won’t get off the Xbox, Mom wants to know when Dad is coming upstairs, Ella’s wet her bed and Daniel’s having those nightmares again. I thought you’d be up by now, and—oh...”

Spotting Rebecca, his sister pulled up short on the staircase from their upstairs apartment.

“Hey.” Rebecca waved, and then, with a clunk, passed out, her head hitting the bar.

Aiden rushed around the counter and Mary Ann flew to the girl’s side.

“Ouch. Why didn’t you cut her off?” Mary Ann scolded, her expert nurse’s hands—from training he’d made sure she received—running over Rebecca’s temples and prying open her shut eyes. As the second oldest, Mary Ann had always been one to challenge his authority...and the only one he could turn to when he dared admit to a problem.

“She came here this way.” Aiden held up a mug. “And I’ve been trying to get her to drink this.” Luckily, she hadn’t hit the hot liquid. He should have noticed she was close to passing out. Mary Ann was right; he’d been distracted by Rebecca and had dropped the ball. “I was going to call her a cab.”

“In this condition? You can’t let a woman travel alone like that. Remember what happened to Gemma after the family reunion?”

Aiden shook his head. “I didn’t go to the reunion.”

Mary Ann’s harsh expression softened. “Right. You had to work. Sorry, Aiden.”

He shrugged. “Goes with the territory.” He’d spent so much of his life in the pub, it barely registered anymore. Though he would like to get out. Meet someone like Rebecca...

“Come on. Lock the door and help me.” His sister already had his client’s lolling head on her shoulder, her flame-red hair bright against Rebecca’s gold. “We’ll put her to sleep in the office. She won’t be any threat to the family in this state.”

Aiden turned the bolts, then scooped up Rebecca and carried her upstairs. She weighed no more than a crate of Guinness and felt as soft as a down pillow. For a moment he fantasized what it would be like to take her to his room, but swerved into the office and the futon that awaited.

“I’ll get some sheets to make it up.” Mary Ann shot him a narrow-eyed look as he sat at his desk chair and held Rebecca tight. He wouldn’t risk her slipping and hitting her head again.

“Who’s that pretty lady?”

He glanced up, hearing his youngest sister’s voice. “A new friend who’s not feeling very well. And you should be in bed, Ella. School’s tomorrow.”

“I had an accident.” Her thin frame was wrapped in a towel, her hair wet, her mouth trembling.

Aiden mustered a reassuring smile. “Well, you’ve gone a long time. It’s been months...so things are looking up, aren’t they?”

Ella’s dark hair, similar in wave and thickness to his, slid in a tangle as she bobbed her head. Her long face transformed into a relieved grin. “Not since February.”

Aiden angled his body around an inert Rebecca and held out an arm for the little one. “There you have it. I’m proud of you, Ella.”

She smelled of soap and toothpaste as she nuzzled her head in the crook of his neck. “I love you, Aiden,” she whispered, then took off in a flash, passing their wandering mother in a series of twirls.

“Ellison!”

Aiden flinched, hating it when she mistook him for his look-alike father.

“What are you doing with this woman?”

“Mom. It’s me. Aiden. And this is a customer who’s had a few too many.”

“Is it Mildred again?” His mother’s anger faded to confusion and her hand wandered up to tangle in her white, shoulder-length hair. “For an Irishwoman, she can’t hold her liquor. Your father adds water to her whiskey, you know.”

“Oh, there you are, Mother.” Mary Ann entered with linens, dropped them on the futon and put an arm around their parent. “Let’s get you off to sleep now. I’ve got your pill and no spitting it out this time.”

Their voices faded and Aiden shifted Rebecca on his lap, gazing down at her peaceful, angelic face. If only his life was as worry-free as she looked, and that he could get to know a girl like this. But no woman would ever take on his responsibilities, and he’d never give them up. Didn’t have time to pay attention to one more person in his life on top of his family. And families stuck together, no matter the sacrifice.

A nightmare-induced shriek, Daniel’s by the sound of it, made Rebecca murmur and twine a hand in Aiden’s hair, her body snuggled so tightly against him he couldn’t breathe. He stood and gently laid her on the futon, savoring this quiet moment before dealing with Connor’s Xbox defiance and whatever other family crisis-of-the-moment waited—the worst of which would come tomorrow morning at the hearing.

For this moment at least, he’d be selfish. It felt good to imagine what life with a woman like Rebecca would have been like, before reality’s undertow sucked him under.


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_8ab37440-2feb-5920-a894-0dfa3e87d8a4)

“AHHH, THERE’S MY elusive tenant.” Rebecca’s foot froze on the top step to her loft’s landing. Darn. First she’d woken in a stranger’s apartment, realized her cold was replaced with a pounding headache only caffeine could cure, except that she’d boycotted JavaHut, and now this. Her landlord.

She turned and forced a smile. “Good morning, Mr. Trotsky. I’m actually running a bit late. School’s back in session today.” And she hoped to arrive early and speak to her principal about her tenure...

The man peered up at her with eyes as black as the mustache he smoothed. A nervous tick that she and Laura had nicknamed “the groom of doom.” Her heart pinched at the thought of returning to her lonely loft. Would she ever get used to her friend’s absence?

“Have you got rent for me?” His fingers glided over his top lip once more. When a door opened behind him, his comb-over lifted in the stale breeze.

“I have something better,” she temporized. How much money did she have? Her fingers delved into her purse. Twenty bucks from last night’s tip jar and her white envelope from the Rosellis. Not even close. And she didn’t dare sell her aunt’s latest gift. The purse would be expected to make an appearance at their weekly luncheon, its presence debatably more important than hers. “How about those raisin oatmeal bars Laura taught me how to bake?”

“So you have money for groceries and—” he gestured to her rumpled outfit “—going out all night, but nothing for Trotsky, eh?”

Perspiration beaded her brow as she remembered her wretched evening capped off by a surprisingly nice end. She’d opened up to a warmhearted barkeep, a man who’d listened to her rattle on for an embarrassingly long time.

She wished she was back at the White Horse, making a fool of herself in front of the overworked man who’d made time for her. Now, there was no more charming her landlord. If she confided she’d lost her second job and was in danger of losing her first, too, he’d probably evict her on the spot. Not that she could blame him. He was running a business, not a charity. And she never wanted to be considered that.

“When my paycheck comes on Friday, I’ll sign it over to you. So sorry for the delay.”

How many more paychecks would she get? If the board denied her tenure, she’d have to leave at the end of the school year and then where would she go? Tenure meant a permanent position. It safeguarded against arbitrary firing. She could stay on and hope they’d grant it to her in year four, but typically educators were either “counseled out,” meaning convinced to resign, or fired before another vote was ever taken. A chill finger-walked up her spine and she shivered.

Mr. Trotsky’s mouth twisted to the side and his narrow eyes studied her. After a long, breathless moment, he nodded, his teeth appearing in a beaver’s smile.

“You’ve always been a good renter, Rebecca. And I’ll have that check, and the cookies, by Friday. Good day.”

With a sharp turn on polished dress shoes, he disappeared in a cloud of Old Spice.

She sagged against her wrought iron railing. Phew. That at least settled the potential homelessness problem...for now. But how would she pay the rest of her bills or eat for the next two weeks if she didn’t find another job, stat? As if on cue, her stomach rumbled.

A scratch at her door and a low, wheezing woof had her scrambling for her key. Poor Freud. Eating would have to wait until she took care of her pug’s needs.

Minutes later she was out in the morning sunlight, its pale gold gilding the brick, pre-war era buildings on her cobblestone SoHo street. A stream of chatting customers flowed in and out of JavaHut, she noticed, her grip tightening on Freud’s lead. The aroma of hazelnut and cinnamon buns floated across the street and Freud began to pull, his nails scrabbling on the pavement.

“No more banana walnut muffins for you.” She gazed down at her pet’s wet, bulging black eyes and felt the familiar heart tug that’d made her snap him up at a pet-shelter street fair last year. “The doctor says you need to lose a few pounds anyway, though I think beauty comes in all sizes,” she added then clamped her mouth shut when a passing couple looked from her to her pet, agog. Oops. When would she learn to muzzle herself around her pug in public? At least she’d be with kids soon...no judging there.

And an hour later that’s where she found herself, in the middle of a group hug as students streamed through Washington Irving High’s front door after their week off.

“Ms. Day, what’s up?”

“Look, I got braces, Ms. D.”

“I went to band camp and almost drowned.”

“Do you have more Skittles?”

The bell shrilled and she herded the group inside, promising to set up this week’s lunch group visits and her candy jar right away. How good it was to be here. She felt warmed to her toes, her heart full. She was accepted. Loved even. She hoped, as a school psychologist, that she gave back a fraction of the happiness the children gave her. She could not lose this job.

This was what she’d wanted last night when she’d stumbled into the pub and lingered, reluctant to leave such an understanding listener. If Rebecca had waited, she would have found the understanding she needed right here at school.

Of course, then she would have missed out on a surreal encounter with a man whose hazel eyes had hijacked her thoughts all morning... Her disorientation on waking earlier had turned to horror when she realized she’d passed out at the bar and slept in the pub owner’s apartment. Luckily, it’d been an early enough hour to escape without running into anyone.

Her principal’s unmistakable heel clack sounded in the now empty hall ten minutes later. The diminutive woman, whose teased brown updo strategically added a few inches, appeared. “Rebecca, I know this is early, but we have a readmit hearing in five minutes. Can you pull Connor Walsh’s file and join us in the conference room?” Mrs. Carpenter made a face, her bright red lips twisting. “The superintendent’s already here,” she whispered in warning, then clattered back down the hall before Rebecca could request a meeting about her tenure.

Whoa. So much for easing back into her routine after working double shifts this break. Rebecca hustled to her office, breathed in the clean scents of freshly waxed floors and polished counters, and crossed to her file cabinet. Connor Walsh...he’d caused trouble the day before their break. A fight, if she recalled...

She’d been working with the bright loner on his impulse control and anger issues for a few weeks prior to the incident. When he’d failed to make progress with the other school psychologist, Mr. Miller, they’d transferred Connor to her. Despite it tipping her strained relationship with the traditional-minded, senior therapist into cold war status, she’d been proud and excited to see what she could do with the boy.

In three weeks...not much. Not yet, anyway.

Some of the teachers tossed Connor out of class at the first sign of trouble, but she liked the kid. Saw some of herself in him, especially when he’d admitted to being on his own a lot at home, his guardian mostly absorbed in his job. Since the man had evaded her recent attempts to meet with her, claiming work obligations, she imagined him to be some career-obsessed suit. Definitely not a fatherly type. She already couldn’t stand him.

She scooped up a mug of coffee she’d made earlier in the teacher’s lounge and gulped. Not bad. Not latte. But it was better than supporting JavaHut. As for Connor, he deserved better, too. If the school didn’t grant readmission, she wouldn’t be able to help him with his disruptive behavior and make him discover his self-worth the way she had.

In fact, she and fellow area psychologists had designed an innovative intervention program that’d be perfect for him and other students with behavioral issues—if only he’d have the chance to take part. She wished she had time to peek in his file and familiarize herself again with his background specifics, having met with him only a few times prior to his fight. But with the superintendent already here, Rebecca had to rush.

She grabbed his folder, tucked it under her arm and speed-walked as fast as her narrow heels allowed. “It’s nice to see you, Rebecca. How was your vacation?” boomed the superintendent, Mr. Williams, as she took her seat at the conference table. He smoothed his red tie over a trimmer waistline than she remembered, his gray goatee also new.

The narrow room overflowed with staff members, paperwork and coffee cups. To her left sat Connor’s guidance counselor who advised on academic rather than behavioral issues. To her right sat Mr. Anderson, the math teacher who’d broken up the fight before vacation. Both looked at her with barely disguised disapproval, judging her, as they sometimes did, when one of the students she counseled acted out.

Did they think she had a magic wand hidden in her desk? A Taser? As for the inconvenient, first-day-back-from-vacation timing of the meeting, she had no control over that, either. Another black mark. Would it tip the scales about her tenure? She knew the board strongly considered the staff’s opinions when they made such decisions. Could her disapproving colleagues be part of the reason it hadn’t been granted in January? Was a plan in place to let her go at the end of the school year?

Given that schools typically did their firings over the summer, to minimize any disruptions to students, it was a possibility.

“Great,” she fibbed, as a flashback to double shifts at the coffee shop and the calluses left on her feet came to mind. Not to mention getting laid off... “And yours?”

“We vacationed in Hawaii,” piped up his wife, the high school’s assistant principal. Her clipped hair looked freshly frosted at the tips, though her green eye shadow sparkled as bright as ever. “And put away your iPhone, Jim. Rebecca doesn’t need to see you dancing with hula girls, for heaven’s sake.”

Her superintendent slipped his phone into his suit pocket just as a knock sounded on the door. The secretary’s short perm peeked around the frame.

“The family is here. Shall I send them in?”

“Please, Martha, before Jim starts showing us more video of his dolphin swim,” sighed his wife.

“I’d like to see it later, Mr. Williams,” the principal, Mrs. Carpenter, said, then nudged Rebecca’s toe beneath the narrow table.

Rebecca fought back a smile that faded when a tall, dark-haired man with broad shoulders and hazel eyes filled the doorway. Eyes she remembered...

She nearly spit out her coffee. Last night’s handsome bartender. Her cheeks warmed as she took in the muscular forearms exposed by the rolled up sleeves of his dress shirt. He’d carried her upstairs; she remembered it vaguely now, along with the fairy-tale feel of his heart against hers. What must he be thinking as his gaze traveled the room and stopped on her, his eyes suddenly wide?

“Welcome, Mr. Walsh. Connor.” The principal smiled and gestured, her long, French-tipped nails pointing to empty seats in the middle of the conference table. “Please sit and we’ll begin with introductions.”

As the staff took turns giving their name and position, Rebecca ducked behind the file. She perused the cover sheet, noting with disappointment that this was Connor’s guardian, his older brother, Aiden. The neglectful workaholic. Not the sympathetic man she’d imagined him to be last night, after all.

If she’d been in a better state, she would have thought to ask for his last name. Connected him with Connor. Known who she was dealing with and not opened up so much. Now that she thought about it, hadn’t Connor mentioned his family owned a pub in SoHo?

“Ms. Day.”

The silence pressed around her and she lowered the folder, her eyes leaping to Aiden’s. How humiliating. After last night, he must think the worst. Given his flinty expression, his disapproval came across loud and clear. Parents and guardians also had the right to speak up during tenure hearings...

“Sorry about that.” She pulled her chair closer to the table with a scraping sound. “I’m Rebecca Day, school psychologist. I’ve had the privilege of working with Connor these last couple of weeks.” Mr. Anderson scowled at her and she smiled nervously. “Hi, Connor.”

He returned her wave with a slight nod, his frown temporarily disappearing as his rounded eyes flashed from beneath overgrown bangs. Looking at his defensive body language and frightened expression, Rebecca felt her heart go out to him. She knew how it felt to be on the receiving end of negative attention...the only kind he probably ever got.

The principal cleared her throat. “Yes, well. We’re here to discuss readmitting Connor to school after his altercation. Connor, would you care to share with us what happened?”

“No,” the teen muttered. He lowered his head to the table, his vertebrae showing through his worn shirt.

Rebecca looked over at Aiden. To her rising irritation, his thumbs flew across what must be a cell phone screen on his lap. Didn’t he care at all?

“Tell everyone what happened, Connor,” Aiden commanded without looking up, his voice low and authoritative. Even Rebecca’s spine straightened. But the youth only slid lower in his seat and shook his head, his eyes on the floor.

Did Aiden actually think his directive would work? Of course Connor would defy an inattentive guardian. Rebecca ran her eyes over the file again, taking in that Aiden indeed ran the White Horse Tavern and was raising six siblings after his father had died of a heart attack and his mother became afflicted with early-onset Alzheimer’s. On paper, he looked like a sympathetic figure. In person, not so much.

“Sorry about that, everyone. An urgent supply order mix-up.” He pocketed his phone. “Connor...” Aiden prompted, staring at his silent brother for a long, uncomfortable minute.

“Yes. Well,” Mr. Anderson interrupted, clicking his pen impatiently. “Clearly this is a waste of time, as Connor has no intentions of cooperating with us, the school or Ms. Day’s—shall we say—unique therapy approach.”

His pointed glance at the clock spoke volumes. He wanted swift judgment—as did many of the old guard teachers, who’d vocalized their frustration with her positive rather than punitive approach to behavior modification. She’d heard some had even vowed to request the superintendent not recommend her for tenure this year, a move that may have worked so far, though she had no proof that they’d gone through with it. Just whispers.

Why couldn’t they see that she gave kids chances, not free passes, and stop whispering about her inability to discipline and control students? After her own straitjacket of a childhood, she wouldn’t—couldn’t—be a negative force in their lives.

Her gaze slid to Connor. Surely she was right not to be tough on him...

She stopped chewing the tip of her pen and tucked back a strand of hair that’d escaped her bun. Her rewards-based system might take more time to show results, but the effects lasted longer and had the best chance of becoming permanent. Implementing the progressive program took patience, however, something the overtaxed staff seemed to have in short supply.

She had to change their opinions before they succeeded in convincing the board to deny her tenure. Success with Connor and other disruptive students would earn her the credibility needed to gain a permanent staff position. If she didn’t get tenure... Her brain halted the terrifying thought.

The prospect of failing and having to return to her old life where money, not people, counted, where prestigious jobs, rather than rewarding ones mattered most, loomed dark and ominous. If she moved back in with her aunt, she’d demand Rebecca “do something important” with her life, like open a private practice that served a more privileged clientele. Not that this group didn’t have real problems, too...it was just that kids in the public school system needed her more.

She downed more coffee, then drummed her fingers on the side of her mug. Somehow she had to make this work. Prove to the staff, once and for all, that she was an asset to the school and deserving of joining them permanently.

“When I arrived,” continued the educator, clearly relishing his dramatic tale, “I had to pull Connor off another student. Since he was still swinging, I took a punch to the shoulder. It didn’t look as though it mattered who he hit, even an adult.”

Connor’s shoulders rose and fell as an irritated breath escaped him.

“Do we know why this fight happened?” asked the guidance counselor. Dark circles rimmed her eyes. With graduation approaching, she must have spent long hours over break checking transcripts, Rebecca guessed.

“Look, I know Connor comes across rough around the edges, but he’s had a hard life.” Aiden leaned forward, his eyes earnest. Connor glanced at his brother and his mouth opened slightly. He tapped a stray paper clip on the table until the assistant principal yanked it away with a stern look.

“Growing up without a dad—and a mother who rarely recognizes him—hasn’t been easy. I’m not making any excuses. He was wrong and acted like a delinquent.” Aiden’s large hands splayed across the table. “But he hasn’t been given the structure and discipline he needs at this school. Lunch detention in Ms. Day’s office isn’t a real punishment, when Connor mentions playing video games and eating Skittles.”

An awkward hush fell and Rebecca’s cheeks warmed as the math teacher smirked. “We do those activities during my lunch groups, not lunch detention,” Rebecca clarified, striving to maintain a professional tone as she imagined throttling the clueless guardian. He’d know that if he actually listened to his brother. Attended one of her requested meetings.

Aiden’s chest rose and fell sharply. “And what is lunch detention, then? M&M’S? You’ve been enabling his behavior.”

“And how much time have you spent addressing his actions?” she challenged, her control slipping through her fingers like sand. Darn it. She was not some easy, soft touch the kids took advantage of. Her gaze roamed around the table, taking in the shuttered expressions of her colleagues.

Was she?

“That’s your job,” he said through gritted teeth. When his cell phone buzzed again, he yanked it out of his pocket and punched it off, his eyes never leaving Rebecca’s.

“No. It’s—”

“A village.” Mrs. Carpenter interrupted Rebecca smoothly. “It takes a village to raise a child. We all need to work together. It’s why we’re here today. For you, Connor.” She reached over to pat the boy’s hand and he yanked it away, knotting his fingers on his lap.

“And Connor goes to Ms. Day’s when he acts out because, as a behavioral therapist, she’s the best person to defuse his outbursts,” she finished.

Rebecca subsided back against her chair, fuming, though grateful for her principal’s support. Guardians like Aiden drove her crazy. They pushed her near the line she could not cross. She bit the inside of her cheek and focused on the sting instead of what she really wanted to say to the jerk who’d fooled her last night into thinking he was a nice guy. That he cared. Wanted to hear about her problems.

Oh no. Had she really complained about her control-top panty hose?

“Right,” Aiden said, after a beat of silence, not looking as though he agreed at all. “The facts are that, according to Connor, Marshall started the fight by picking on our youngest brother, Daniel, when he arrived to walk home with his brother, and I believe Connor. Please readmit him and reassign him to his old therapist. He knew how to be tough on my brother.” Aiden ran his hand through his thick, short waves. His eyes met Rebecca’s, then slid away, a muscle jumping in his clenched jaw.

“Hear, hear,” murmured a few of the other teachers.

“And his failure to help Connor was the reason he was transferred to me,” Rebecca insisted. “Although we’ve only been working together a short time, I believe I’m making progress with him.”

“Some progress...is boxing one of your methods?” chimed in another teacher, Mr. LaValley. “I agree with Mr. Walsh, Connor should be sent back to his original therapist.”

Connor’s head snapped up and Rebecca sent him a reassuring look. No. That wouldn’t happen. A guardian requesting a transfer from her caseload looked bad for her tenure prospects. More importantly, Connor, who struggled to build rapport with adults, would have to work with someone he already disliked. It’d taken almost three weeks of patience, good humor and losing badly to him at card games for him to open up to her...a bit.

“Well, we certainly know who ended the fight.” Mr. Anderson scowled. “I didn’t see Marshall picking on Connor’s younger brother or hitting back. And I certainly didn’t deserve the violence I received.”

“I say we vote,” chimed in Mr. LaValley. He looked down the table at Connor, who was unraveling the metal spiral binding from his notebook. “Connor, you’re in my study hall five minutes, tops, before you’re causing problems and I don’t see that changing. Do you?”

The youth ripped out a length of the wire without acknowledging the teacher, and Rebecca winced. She hated that Connor was required to be present in order to hear these remarks. Superintendents’ hearings deliberately included students so they could understand how their behavior affected the staff and school. Yet it rarely motivated students to make lasting changes, in Rebecca’s opinion.

Murmurs of agreement circled the table and the teacher continued. “Other kids can’t work with that kind of troublemaking going on. We’ve given Connor too many chances, let him off easy. Let’s vote.”

Rebecca scratched her ear, trying not to squirm at the man’s condemning stare or the labeling they heaped on Connor. He’d slid so low in his chair he looked ready to fall under the table. Poor kid. How could he ever see himself positively when so many adults told him otherwise? Someday, if—when?—she had tenure, she’d fight to change the way these hearings were conducted.

Rebecca cleared her throat. “I’d like to propose a third alternative to readmitting Connor or expelling him.” The meeting and the teen’s fate were spiraling in the wrong direction. If she didn’t act fast, she wouldn’t be able to help him or disprove her detractors. If he succeeded, so did she, and they’d both be permanent school members.

She met Aiden’s speculative stare dead-on. Imagine. Blaming her for Connor’s poor choices—which were really just a cry for attention, a pattern of behavior he’d fallen into after being overlooked at home. Aiden might have inherited a lot of responsibility ten years ago when he’d been—she glanced at the file—just twenty-one, but that didn’t excuse a lack of caring. He needed to be a brother to Connor, not just a provider. Show up for more of Connor’s life than just the bad parts.

If he didn’t approve of her tactics now, just wait until he heard her plans.

“Psychologists in nearby districts and I are piloting a cutting-edge program that gets kids out of the city for a couple of weeks, in the Adirondacks, where we’ll provide therapy as well as teamwork, trust and esteem-building activities.”

“He’ll miss classes.”

“How will our budget pay for that?”

“Who’s supposed to supervise this? Not us.”

Comments exploded around the table and Rebecca’s head throbbed. Cold/flu, take two.

“The program starts during summer break so that it won’t interfere with academics,” she replied, noting when the guidance counselor caught her eye and nodded slowly. “As for the budget, we’ve received a generous grant, so it won’t affect school programs already in place.”

She returned her principal’s broad smile. They’d been particularly proud of receiving government funding for their request. Even better, there would be a stipend for Rebecca that would offset her financial woes this summer. Most important, success would make her tenure nearly undeniable. “As for supervision, a psychologist from each of the participating schools will attend, as well as trained staff at the camp and a few parent chaperones.”

“Where is it?” asked the guidance counselor. She pushed her slipping glasses back in place, suddenly looking interested.

“Tupper Lake. There’s a hundred-year-old farmhouse on the 230-acre property, which includes the west branch of the Ausable River, forested land and open fields, all owned and donated for this use by the Sikes family. We’ll use it as our base camp and all activities will be conducted around it.” Rebecca warmed to her topic, despite Aiden’s chilly expression.

“And how is that supposed to be a punishment?” grumbled Mr. Anderson.

“Connor needs to be accountable for his actions, not taken on vacation,” interjected Aiden. He drummed his fingers on the table.

“It’s not a punishment or a vacation,” Rebecca said evenly, after counting backward from ten. And taking a sip of coffee. And unnecessarily shuffling through her papers.

Control. Patience. Understanding. The tenets of her profession. “It’s behavior modification.” She pressed on, ignoring the subtle looks being exchanged between the study hall and math teachers. “Moving to the wilderness is a significant life change. It removes adolescents from their emotional comfort zone and requires different skills for self-care.”

“Making s’mores?” scoffed Mr. Anderson.

“Learning to make their own food is a part of it.” Rebecca had planned to present the program during a faculty-wide meeting, sell the skeptical teachers on it before recommending students. Now, she had to speak on the spot. Never her strong suit.

She pretended to sip her coffee again, even though there was nothing in her mug. At last, she set it down and took a deep breath. “The simplicity of the wilderness environment helps teenagers to recognize the results of their behavioral choices and encourages them to employ different coping strategies,” she continued, reciting the words she’d written in the grant proposal. “The challenges and activities we provide, in conjunction with group and individual therapy sessions, help students to address personal issues, increase self-esteem, achieve success in a safe environment, engage in healthy relationships and develop leadership potential.”

Connor stopped chewing his nails and stared at her.

“Leadership,” guffawed Mr. LaValley, until the guidance counselor tapped the table in front of him with her pen.

Mr. Williams leaned over the table, his crisp red tie dipping into a puddle of spilled coffee. “I’m liking the sound of this, Ms. Day. What efficacy statistics can you share?”

Rebecca released a small breath at his encouraging smile. “Studies show that outdoor behavioral health care results in clinically significant reductions in severity of behavioral and emotional symptoms. In similar programs, 83 percent of participants made a clinically significant improvement, with the most progress shown in the thirteen-to fourteen-year-old range, like Connor.”

“This is ridiculous!” Mr. Anderson declared. “So kids just go camping when they act out? Put on some ridiculous—” he squinted down at the paperwork “—talent show at the end?”

Connor’s eyes slid the man’s way, then back to her before dropping again. He looked interested. For once. Her hunch was right. This retreat could be good for him.

“It’s a showcase that allows the students to demonstrate their growth through personal and creative expression. While it looks like fun and games, trust me, it’s work,” Rebecca insisted. “Physically, mentally and emotionally. Connor deserves this last chance.” She glanced around the table, noting the softening expressions of her peers and a small, upward curve on Connor’s mouth. Aiden, however, looked ready to walk.

A muttering broke out and Rebecca’s stomach clenched. What if they turned this down? It was her last chance to prove her worth to the district.

“All in favor of him attending, please raise your hand.”

Four of the nine hands rose and then, with a shoulder shrug, the study hall teacher raised his palm, adding to the tally.

“This is outrageous.” Mr. Anderson half rose in his chair. “Can we at least have some oversight? Proof this has worked beyond Ms. Day’s report? Given her lack of tenure, I believe she should be held more accountable.”

Rebecca flushed, recalling that his wife served on the school board. Hadn’t she been elected president this year? No wonder he thought he could throw his weight around when it came to Rebecca. Her colleagues had been careful not to mention the board’s delay on her employment status after January, February, March, and then April meetings rolled past without her name on the agenda. To have it thrown in her face so publically was humiliating.

“We always do an Adirondack hiking trip in the summer, don’t we, Jim?” interjected the assistant principal. “We could stop by for the talent show—I mean the showcase—and see how everything’s going. Add our observations to Ms. Day’s report.”

Rebecca’s heart sank. Of course she didn’t have any intention of lying on her report about the success of the trip and her students, but now she’d have the superintendent himself looking over her shoulder. What if the kids didn’t perform well in the showcase? Demonstrate enough improvement to satisfy him? It took a professional eye, like hers, to see the value in even small gains. So much rode on the showcase now, when it’d been intended to be a low-pressure summative expression of their experience.

The superintendent rubbed the bald patch on his head. “Sounds like a good compromise. I agree then, that Connor will attend this retreat and—” he peered at the slouched teen until the boy met his eye “—we’ll revisit the expulsion decision based on Ms. Day’s report of your behavior while away, as well as my firsthand—” he raised an eyebrow at a frowning Mr. Anderson “—observation of student behavior and performance at the showcase. In the meantime, Connor will finish the school year at our off-site facility, where we expect exemplary behavior and attendance. Understood, young man?”

Connor jerked his chin in the barest of nods, then closed his eyes as though going to sleep.

“And when does this program start, Ms. Day?” The assistant principal tapped on her tablet drawing up a monthly schedule screen.

“We’d planned on the end of June.”

Mrs. Williams leaned close to Rebecca and whispered, “FYI, board members and staff—” her eyes swerved to Mr. Anderson “—are raising doubts about your tenure decision and plan to hold off on voting about it until the summer. If you don’t impress the superintendent, there’s a chance you might get denied and be let go.”

Something like a cold headache jabbed Rebecca between the eyebrows as she heard her suspicions confirmed.

“So we have to meet again during the summer,” Mr. LaValley noted, cheeks puffing. “Will we be paid for the extra hours?”

“Noncalendar hours are always compensated,” affirmed the superintendent, his tone abrupt, his expression impatient.

“And you agree with this plan, Mr. Walsh?” trumpeted the red-faced math teacher, Mr. Anderson.

Aiden nodded slowly, shifting in his seat. “I don’t see that I have a choice, though I doubt it’ll make a difference. He’d be better off put to work at the school than fishing and hiking.”

She raised an eyebrow, maintaining her professional facade while her insides twisted and crumpled. “Then it’s a good thing you’ll be there to witness it yourself.” Connor needed attention and she’d guarantee the kid would receive it.

Aiden blinked at her. “Come again?”

“As I believe your relationship with Connor is contributing to his behavioral problems, a condition of Connor attending the wilderness retreat is that you accompany him. You’ll be one of our chaperones.”

Aiden’s mouth worked and Rebecca didn’t bother holding back her small smile. “Consider it a mandatory request.”

* * *

AIDEN COULDN’T BELIEVE the woman he’d dreamed of last night, searched for this morning and thought of nonstop was at the meeting he’d dreaded. Worse, she offered his brother salvation, while simultaneously putting Aiden in the worst position possible. He had Mary Ann to pitch in and take care of the family, along with a neighbor who watched his mother during the weekdays, but he couldn’t just take off work. As it was, his weekly tallies barely kept them in the black. What would happen without him at the wheel? Especially with the tourist season starting to peak?

“Ms. Day?” he called as the faculty ambled out of the meeting room. “A word?”

The curvy woman turned in the doorway and her blue eyes studied him cautiously. Gone was the affable woman who’d disarmed him last night, replaced by a polished professional. Still, with Psycho Therapist emblazoned on her mug, and her crazy ideas for getting Connor in line, she didn’t fool Aiden. She might have the job title, but she didn’t have the skills. Not when it came to managing teenage boys.

“Yes?” She moved aside as the last of the educators exited, leaving him and a still-seated Connor alone.

“I’ll need to send my sister Mary Ann in my place.”

Instead of answering, Rebecca turned to his brother. “Connor, since you’re still not officially readmitted, please have a seat in the main office until Aiden comes for you.”

The youth shoved back his chair and paused as he passed her, his oversize Converse sneakers treading on one another. “I made this for you.” He pulled something from his backpack and shoved it into her hand, then stalked through the doorway without seeming to hear her thank-you.

“Origami,” Rebecca muttered, staring at the folded-paper dragon and shaking her head.

Aiden shared her surprise. When had his brother learned to do that? Aiden knew Connor had gotten into Anime and Manga. Had even asked about Tae Kwon Do classes—which Aiden couldn’t afford. Was this another part of his sudden curiosity in Japanese culture? Interesting...especially when so little caught apathetic Connor’s attention.

A bell shrilled and the sounds of shouting, screeching kids penetrated the room. Rebecca put her folder and the dragon on the table, crossed her arms and looked up at Aiden. “I’m sorry about last night. The combined effects of the muscle relaxers and NyQuil I’d taken made me groggy and I wasn’t myself.” She cleared her throat and shoved back her shoulders. “We didn’t meet under the best circumstances, but I hope we can put that behind us for Connor’s sake.”

He nodded. She was right. So why did he keep noticing how pretty she looked in her navy skirt and silky top? Time to focus. His brother was in trouble.

“I’m afraid having Mary Ann instead of you won’t work.”

“And why not?” he retorted, moving restlessly, as if life was about to spring another trap. “She’s Connor’s older sister. A per diem nurse who makes her own work schedule. It’d be handy to have a health care worker there.”

“We already have that covered. What I need is the source of Connor’s problem. You.”

“Me?” Aiden squelched his rising ire. “I work hard to make sure the kid has a roof over his head, food on the table and clothes on his back. What more does he need?”

“That’s for you to find out on this trip.”

An older woman appeared in the doorway. “Ms. Day, you’re needed down in the girls’ locker room. Caitlin, I mean, one of your students—is refusing to change or leave one of the stalls.”

“I’ll be right there,” Rebecca assured her, before turning back to Aiden. “You can contact me later today with any further questions. Otherwise, I’ll see you in a few weeks. Pack warm. The Adirondacks can get chilly at night. Even at that time of year.”

Casting an irritating smirk over her shoulder, she strode from the room, leaving him to stare at the empty space she’d occupied.

Aggravating. Infuriating. Stubborn woman.

Aiden hadn’t taken more than a day off in—he wasn’t even sure how many years. Even Mary Ann’s wedding had been held in the pub.

And the business would suffer without his vigilance. As a per diem nurse at an assisted living facility, his sister could take time off to work at the tavern, but the operation needed his oversight. They couldn’t afford even a bad week’s take, let alone two. Ms. Day’s crazy ideas were no longer simply affecting Connor. They threatened a livelihood he’d never asked for...but must make succeed, nonetheless.


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_1dcc4dde-3ca7-50c9-b0dd-3a3bef4fdb53)

EIGHT WEEKS LATER, Aiden polished off the last of his ham sandwiches and crumpled the paper bag. It nearly flew from his grip as the school bus jerked over another bump in the dirt road they’d turned onto a mile ago. After eight hours of sitting on cracked, stiff vinyl seats, his cell phone calls to his sister dropping before he could finish last-minute instructions, next to a tuned-out Connor huddled against the window, Aiden wanted the ride to the Adirondack camp to be over.

Yet the dense forest they’d plunged into an hour north of Albany seemed unending. Here and there yellow-green birches appeared among the deep green pines and rustling maples and oaks. Except for a sprinkling of wildflowers, the roadsides lacked the color bursting from street-side planters in his neighborhood. Summer must come late in Upstate New York. Despite it still being June, souring heat already gripped the city.

Here, the crisp air flowing through the window carried the scents of fir trees, wisps of hickory smoke and something fruity...berries. How long since he’d breathed anything beyond exhaust fumes? He studied the wilderness and the towering peaks that’d loomed into view not long ago. They were a different sort of skyscraper than he was used to and more impressive. No wonder this place had convinced his wandering forest ranger brother, Liam, to settle down. Of course his new fiancée, Vivie, had a lot to do with that, as well, Aiden mused.

Amazing that in just one year, his sister had married and two of his brothers, Liam and Niall, had gotten engaged. They had everything Aiden had worked hard for them to achieve: careers and partners of their choice. So why wasn’t he satisfied? When he’d taken over for his father, he’d made peace with letting go of his own aspirations. Yet watching his siblings exchange loving looks with their partners, their unimpeded futures opening before them, he felt a yearning take hold for something more...

But what else could he have? Handle? His life stretched him thin enough to break. While his parents had been in charge, their lives seemed secure and balanced. Now everything, from the struggling tavern, to his mother’s erratic health and now Connor’s possible expulsion from high school, fell short of his father’s standards. Especially Aiden. And according to Ms. Day, he’d also failed Connor.

Perhaps he should accept the financial help his siblings offered and not let his pride stop him from taking handouts. But he was also concerned that if he piled on obligations, they might struggle. He felt great satisfaction in seeing them achieve their dreams and didn’t want anything to get in their way. He just had to do better. Connor, too.

He glanced across the aisle to the bright-haired woman chatting amiably to a man who leaned far too close to her, in Aiden’s estimation. The guy’s loud laugh at each of Ms. Day’s comments grated. Was he here to help kids or hit on women? Their jovial antics set off a slow, steady burn in Aiden’s gut. This “intervention” was nothing but a vacation for the kids and the adults...all but him.

He’d have to work even harder, remotely, to ensure things ran smoothly at home, while keeping an eye on his wayward brother and ensuring he was prepared for the superintendent at the final showcase. Was it too much to ask that Ms. Day keep his brother in check? Aiden stared at her laughing profile and tensed. Nope. She looked ready for fun. Not structure. Connor needed guidance and discipline. If he acted out, got expelled, he might lose the opportunities Aiden wanted for him. The bright future the kid deserved.

Speaking of whom...

“Connor,” he said into his brother’s ear.

The boy jerked away, banged his temple on the metal separating the bus windows, and glared at Aiden. Or seemed to. With his bangs obscuring the upper half of his face, it was hard to tell.

“What the fu—?” he growled, his attempt to sound tough ruined as his voice cracked, vacillating between its upper and lower registers.

“Language,” Aiden said, glancing swiftly at the back of Ms. Day’s head.

“Oh. Right.” Connor shoved back his hair and rolled his eyes. “Like you don’t swear.”

Aiden snatched his brother’s hand-me-down cell phone, a gift from Mary Ann, and unplugged the earbuds. “Enough.”

“Whatever,” he muttered. “Now give me back my cell.”

“No. You’re going to listen to me first.”

“Yeah, like you listen to me.” Connor’s lower lip pushed out and red blotches appeared on his pale face.

Aiden’s hands balled on his lap. Behind them a couple kids started chanting “A hundred bottles of beer on the wall” and Ms. Day rose and scooted down the aisle.

“You’re not going to screw this up,” Aiden stated. “Got it? When the superintendent comes, I want you to—”

“Screw what up? It’s my life. I’ll do what I want.” Connor plugged the wire back into the phone.

Anger boiled up Aiden’s throat and singed his tongue. He grabbed the phone and pocketed it, making Connor jump. “It’s not your life until you’re eighteen. Until then, you follow my rules or get the consequences.”

“As in grounded?” Connor’s narrow mouth trembled at the corners. “You’ll make me stay home after school every day to watch Mom, Daniel and Ella? Oh. Wait.” He tapped his chin, his tone biting. “I already do that.”

“Things can get worse,” Aiden threatened. “I’ll take away your Xbox.”

“Have it. I barely get to play it as it is.”

“And your TV.”

“Same thing.”

“Connor—”

The scent of something floral and exotic enveloped him as Ms. Day stopped at their seat. Leaned close.

“Is everything all right here?” she asked, her voice so low Aiden strained to hear it over the bus chatter.

Concerned blue eyes fell on Connor, who ceased grabbing for the cell and subsided in the seat’s corner.

“Fine,” muttered Aiden. The hairs on his forearms rose when her hand gripped his shoulder as the bus bounced. She swayed on her feet and he nearly gave in to the impulse to grab her waist and steady her. No denying it, she attracted him like no other woman he’d ever met.

“Connor?” she prompted, as if she hadn’t heard Aiden’s assurance.

“I want my phone.” Connor brought his foot up to the seat and rested his head on his knee.

She squatted so that she was at eye level with the boy and Aiden’s chest. He shifted, uncomfortably aware of her proximity and his response to it. “And why did you lose it?”

Connor shrugged and turned his face away, speaking to the window. “Ask him.”

Ms. Day peered up at Aiden, the sudden, intense focus of her stare doing something strange to his heart. “What happened?”

“I wanted him to listen to me, so I took it away.”

She blinked long blond lashes. “Did you ask him for it?”

This was ridiculous. Was she trying to counsel him on the bus? The retreat hadn’t even started.

“No. I didn’t ask him.”

“Why not?”

Connor looked up and glanced between the two of them.

“Because he wouldn’t have given it to me.”

“How do you know?”

“Look. How long have you known my brother? A month or so? I’ve known him for fourteen years. Raised him for ten of them. I think I know him better than you.” Aiden shoved the cell phone back at Connor who, contrarily, glanced at it, then refused to take it. What was the kid trying to prove? That Aiden wasn’t guardian of the year? He didn’t have time to worry about that.

So why, under Ms. Day’s observant stare, did it seem to matter?

“Connor, would you have stopped listening to your music if Aiden asked you?” she inquired in that oh-so-reasonable tone that put Aiden on the defensive.

“Probably not.”

Aiden shot him a surprised look. At last. Honesty. Then again, he’d never known his brother to be a liar.

Ms. Day nodded slowly. “We’ll schedule some family counseling sessions and focus on communication, then.”

A short laugh escaped Aiden. “You think that’s all we need? To talk more?”

She rose and gripped the back of the seat, her pretty face looking less assured. “I think it’s a starting point.”

Her graceful back bent as she slid past her eager seatmate and resumed their animated conversation. Connor plugged in his earbuds and slouched against the window. Aiden leaned his head back on the seat and stared up at the rounded bus ceiling.

A starting point...

Her naive words lingered in his ear, curled through his mind, fired up his imagination. He glanced at his zoned-out sibling.

What new beginning could they have?

They might be sitting close now, but he felt farther from his brother than ever. Would Connor show the necessary progress needed to convince the superintendent in just two weeks?

* * *

THE BUS GROUND to a stop on the dirt-and-pebble drive before a stately white farmhouse with red shutters and a wraparound porch. Rebecca angled her neck from side to side, working out the kinks that’d formed as she’d nodded and listened to the chattering school psychologist beside her. It’d been hard to focus on the guy with the Walsh brothers just a seat behind and diagonal to her. She’d wanted to observe their interactions and begin planning therapy activities guaranteed to help Connor and her other three students to make the gains they’d need to demonstrate at the showcase.

Instead, she’d heard all about her seatmate’s IRONMAN training, something called the paleo diet, gruesome details of his various knee surgeries, his five cats (okay, that’d perked her up) and why, after spending his teenage years training to be a hypnotist-mentalist, he’d decided to use his “powers” for good as a school psychologist.

Oo-kay...

And no, she did not want to be hypnotized at this time, thank you very much, though she’d get back to him. Yes, she’d had to promise, she wouldn’t forget.

Sheesh.

After eight hours of his chain saw voice buzzing in her ear, she needed a break. Maybe even earplugs. Definitely some aspirin and a scroll through her photo library of Freud. She already missed the pup so much. Luckily, her neighbor Marcy had agreed to let him stay for the next two weeks.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rebecca saw Aiden stand to his impressive height, his dark hair nearly brushing the bus’s ceiling.

When he turned to his brother, she gave in to temptation and studied his strong profile. His short, straight nose stopped above a full mouth and strong chin, the jut of which underscored his stubborn side. Yet the tired smudges beneath his eyes, the furrow of his brow, suggested conflict and struggle, too. Something about his face, about him, appealed to the therapist in her and made her want to help him...though it wasn’t her place or her job. She was here for Connor, no matter how much his older brother snared her attention.

“So the bone was just sticking right out of my...” crowed Jeff Cringle, the man beside her.

“Let’s save that one for the campfire, okay?” Rebecca shot to her feet and shouldered her backpack. Enough was enough. Maybe Jeff could turn his “war stories” into a sing-along.

Knowing the teenagers, they’d like the gore factor, too. A win-win.

She waited for the jostling kids and weary adults from the rear of the bus to shuffle by, then looked up when an empty space appeared.

Aiden’s thick eyebrows rose over his startling hazel eyes and he nodded for her to move ahead into the aisle.

“Thanks,” she murmured. Warmth crept up her neck when her shoulder brushed his chest as she slid in front of him.

“You’re welcome.” The deep baritone of his voice rumbled by her ear.

She released a breath once she stepped into the sunshine, then gasped. Turning in a circle, she soaked in the wild beauty around her.

Living with her wealthy aunt, Rebecca had grown up surrounded by beautiful things: one-of-a-kind art pieces, music played by world-famous orchestras, elaborately plated food she’d stared at before devouring. But this untamed riot of nature robbed her lungs of air.

Tree-covered mountains surrounded the farmstead’s large clearing. Their pinnacles rose above the cloud puffs dotting the azure sky, their sides alternating between rocky cliffs and lushly forested angles. It looked as if someone had adjusted the whole world’s tint to green. Who knew there were so many shades of it? Mint, emerald, hunter, olive, kelly, teal and that fancy one that was always the last in her old crayon boxes—what was it? Chartreuse! She couldn’t come close to naming all of them, she thought, studying the sweeping tree lines and thick brush. The effect instantly released the tension in her shoulders and relaxed her tight neck.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured.

“Do we have cell service up here?” asked Aiden. He had his head down, scowling at his screen, oblivious to the miracle he’d stepped into.

“It’s sketchy, I’m told, but there’s a phone in the farmstead. We’ll use walkie-talkies when we hike and camp.”

“I’m more concerned about checking my business.”

She dragged her eyes off the swooping falcons overhead, their cries sharp and joyous, and took in Aiden’s grim face. His naturally pale skin looked even whiter around his pressed lips. Her gaze swerved to Connor, who stood awkwardly on the edge of the group of students sorting through the luggage heap.

“You should be more concerned about your brother,” she muttered quietly.

“I’ve got to make sure he still has a home to return to when we get back.” Aiden stalked off and reached ahead of his brother to grab one of the large duffel bags the driver tossed off the back of the bus.

Rebecca held in a sigh. This was definitely going to be one of her toughest cases and she wasn’t sure which Walsh brother would be the hardest to crack. If she didn’t get through to them, they’d probably put on a boxing match at the showcase. It’d take more than one student’s failure to demonstrate progress for her superintendent to give her and the program a bad evaluation. Still, she really wanted to succeed with Connor.

“What? No bars?” screeched a nearby boy, who turned in a circle, his phone held high as if checking for radiation.

Several other students pawed at their phones and a frantic groan rose from the group.

“Do they even have internet here?” cried one of the chaperones, a parent from another district. She looked as upset as the kids.

“How will we survive?” moaned a girl as she tightened the band around the bottom of her side braid.

“Or call our friends and families?” A boy frowned at the cell phone he cradled. A screen door squealed and an older man and woman appeared on the porch. With his worn overalls stretched over a potbelly and her rooster-patterned apron belted around a small waist, they looked like they’d stepped from another era.

“Welcome,” boomed the ruddy man, whose thick, white beard curled beneath his chin and jaw. As for his head, not a wisp broke up the smooth dome of flesh. “I’m Marty Sikes and this is my wife, Judith.”

The dainty woman’s wide smile revealed a little too much gum, the color only a shade lighter than her short auburn perm. “Hello, everyone,” she called.

Several of the adults called back, as well as a few kids. Rebecca shot the four students she’d brought from her school a significant look and was gratified when Connor stopped bending a stick back and forth and flipped a hand in Mrs. Sikes’s direction.

Baby steps, Rebecca reminded herself. For all her kids. Would they add up to enough progress to impress the superintendent?

The group pressed closer to the base of the stairs. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Sikes,” Rebecca began. “Some of the kids are worried. Do you have internet? Wi-Fi?”

Mr. Sikes scratched his head. “Can’t see why.”

A gasp rippled through the crowd and one of her students, Tameya, gripped Rebecca’s arm hard. “Can’t see why we don’t get on the bus and leave,” she whispered.

Rebecca held in a laugh and patted the girl’s hand before prying it off her numb arm and turning to the group. “We’d been waiting to announce this, but cell phone use will be restricted to one hour before bedtime and designated free time. Our focus is on each other and ourselves. We can’t do that if we’re on our phones all the time, so let’s look at this as a positive.”

“But what’ll we do for fun?” said a boy from the back of the group. He pulled off his Yankees’ cap, then replaced it backward. A murmur of agreement pulsed through the crowd.

Judith Sikes shrugged narrow shoulders. “Well. I’m going to teach you how to make jar candles for starters.”

“No!”

“What?”

“I’m allergic to wax.”

Tameya closed her eyes and tipped her head back, letting her perfect, long black plaits sweep across her shoulders. “Wake me when this is over.”

“Needlepoint,” continued Judith, undeterred.

“I’m not allowed to touch needles,” called a girl, her hands on her hips.

“These are a different kind, dear,” the woman said kindly.

“Then there’s bird watching,” suggested her husband, setting off another round of groans.

Rebecca glanced around and noted Aiden’s continued efforts to get a signal. Connor propped a foot on the lower rail of a fence, his expression closed off. They couldn’t look less together. Didn’t even seem like they were a part of this group...not that that was a good thing right now.

“Of course, I can show you some of the ones I’ve stuffed,” Marty Sikes added, offhand.

“Eww!” chorused some of the kids.

“I will seriously pass out if I see one of those,” gasped Tameya.

“Cool,” blurted the boy in the baseball cap as he shoved to the front of the throng. “Like taxidermy? I saw that in a movie, except the killer sewed up people he lured to his farm and...”

His voice trailed off and an appalled silence fell as the kids looked at each other, then at the Sikeses.

“And we can’t even call for help,” whispered Tameya between clenched teeth.

Rebecca stepped forward. Enough was enough. “Mr. and Mrs. Sikes are the caretakers for the property and will be supplementing some of our planned activities with other, er, unique tasks that you’ll get to choose.”

The unsettled group hushed and Jeff joined her as they climbed the porch and stood beside the Sikeses. Aiden peered up from his phone and met her gaze, his expression challenging.

“We’ll be leading you on hikes from here nearly every day,” said Jeff.

“Take you canoeing on the Ausable River,” added Rebecca.

“And don’t forget rock climbing. Marty here’s a pro.” Judith patted her husband’s arm and the kids’ eyes widened. “He goes ice climbing, too.”

“Whoa,” someone muttered.

“And those mountains.” Rebecca pointed at two of the tallest. “We’ll be climbing them.”

“No way,” cried another boy, sounding impressed.

“Can we get cell service from up there?”

“Guess we’ll have to find out,” said Rebecca, smiling.

“And camping,” continued Jeff. “We’ve got overnight trips planned. Campfires. S’mores.”

“Mountain biking,” piped another psychologist, looking down at the trip’s itinerary. Journey. Rebecca studied her, remembering her unusual name from their earlier meetings.

“What about TV?”

“Happy to report we’ve got all three channels,” said Marty proudly.

Tameya flipped up her hoodie and pulled the strings. “This is going to suck so bad,” she mumbled, her voice just loud enough for Rebecca to make out.

“We’ll even be catching the fish we eat,” contributed another therapist. Tony. No. Tommy. That was it.

“Lots of trout for you to clean.” Marty rubbed his hands together.

“Eww,” squealed the kids again.

“All right, everyone,” announced Rebecca. Time to move on. “Grab your gear and head inside. Put your stuff next to a bunk. The girls’ rooms have an orange ribbon on the doorknob. The boys have purple. Rooms with only two bunks are for adults. But don’t get too cozy. Our first overnight trip starts tomorrow.”

As they streamed around her, she called, “And no taking off the ribbons.”

Within minutes, the porch cleared, leaving her standing alone at the rail. Or so she thought.

Aiden leaned against a newel post, studying her. “You should have told me about the cell phone situation.”

“Why is that so important?”

He paced along the porch, the wood squeaking beneath his boots. When he stopped, he spoke without looking at her. “It’s everything to me right now.”

“Maybe that’s the problem.” Rebecca drew close and stood beside him. The sun bobbed above the tree line, looking reluctant to be put away for the night. “Work isn’t everything.”

“It’s not a problem—it’s how life is. My life.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Plus you’re working, here.”

“With the kids...”

“But it’s for your tenure, right?”

Her cheeks warmed. “That’s part of it, but helping the children is my focus.” A couple of blue jays battled for turf in a tall pine, squawking as they chased each other among the boughs.

“One of the teachers said something about you not having it...but you’re still a teacher, I mean psychologist. I guess I don’t understand.” Aiden swished his hand, shooing away the voracious blackflies.

She wanted Aiden to open up on the trip. Maybe if she confided in him, he’d let down his guard. “I’m in what’s called a probationary period, which means I can be fired without the school having to provide a reason. It begins the day you get hired and, after about two and a half years, the school board votes if they intend to grant you tenure at the end of your third year. Once you have that, you’re a permanent employee.”

Aiden gave up shooing the bugs and pulled his collar tighter around his neck. “And that means you can’t be fired?”

“No. It means they have to have a valid reason that goes beyond school politics or personal differences.” She wanted that security so badly she could taste it. Would it be hers?

He tilted his head back and studied her. “And how long have you worked at the school?”

She shifted on her feet, fighting the impulse to keep this private. It was all public knowledge to taxpayers, anyway. “This is the end of my third year.”

Aiden turned and seemed to be watching something in the distance. The faint chill in the air turned the tips of his ears pink. “So why don’t you have it?”

“It’s unusual for me not to know yet.” She jumped at a loud zap and noticed a bug light glowing at the porch’s corner. “I suppose they want to see a little more of my work before they’re convinced.”

His eyes flicked sideways at her. “So this showcase the superintendent is coming to see...”

“Is pretty important to me.”

Aiden nodded slowly. “And Connor.”

“Yes.” They stared at each other for a long moment.

“When’s the last time you took time off?” Rebecca asked, ready to get this conversation back on Aiden and off her.

“Until now? Not more than a day or two since my father died. I’m needed there.”

Her heart squeezed as she imagined Aiden’s predicament. She had to work hard, too, and knew the toll it took. It wasn’t her plan to upset him or cause him stress, but he needed to wake up and realize what else he might be missing in life than work hours.

“I understand. But you’re needed here, too,” she said, touching his tense arm lightly. They both stared at Connor, who, unlike the rest of the teens, still lingered outside, toppling rocks off a low stone fence. “More than you know.” She turned on her heel and headed inside before she said more than she should.

The time would come for brutal honesty, but it started with peeling off layers.

And when it came to Aiden, she felt like she’d barely scraped back the skin.


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_b36fa26f-7222-50c0-831e-da5490a22aab)

“THE BURGERS AREN’T READY. They’re too raw.” Connor stuck a fork in one of the meat patties sizzling on the barbecue grill for the retreat’s first dinner. Puffs of beefy steam rose from the faded red apparatus. “See? Still pink.”

“Diu diyu!” cried a yellow bird. A finch, recalled Aiden, picturing the name beneath the picture on the Adirondack birthday card his brother Liam had sent him last week. His thirty-first. Different year. Same exact life. Who would have thought? Then again, why would he imagine otherwise?

The chirper flew to and fro among the branches of the pines and birches lining the clearing behind the farmhouse. His round yellow body flashed in the last of the evening’s sun like a winged ball of gold.

Aiden eyed the browned patties, then peered back at his phone. He’d volunteered to grill the meat, rather than take on one of the other cooking chores the Sikeses doled out, so he could make another call. So far he’d managed to get a signal long enough to check in with Mary Ann, but it’d cut out before he could tell her they might be getting low on Guinness. What if they ran out before she arranged a fast delivery? The White Horse had the best tap in SoHo. He couldn’t let a stupid camping trip threaten the business’s reputation...which Aiden already struggled to maintain.

“Turn off the grill,” he ordered, without looking up. After he hit Redial, the bar’s number flashed on the screen.

“No.”

Aiden pressed his lips shut, but an angry exclamation leaked out of him, anyway. If Connor had to go a day without saying “no,” “whatever” or shrugging, how would the kid communicate? Then again, he barely spoke as it was. Or he barely spoke to Aiden, at least.

“Do it, Connor.”

“No. I’m not making people sick. Ever heard of E. coli?” His brother’s dark eyebrows slanted and met above his narrow nose, his face turning as red as the acne on his left cheek.

When Aiden’s call connected, he stabbed a finger toward the grill, then brought the phone to his ear before turning away.

“Mary Ann?” he shouted, despite the pre-twilight hush. The smell of grass and flowers and moist earth permeated the clearing’s still air, competing with the burning charcoal fumes. “Mary Ann?” When only a pinging sounded in his ear, he swore and immediately hit Redial once more.

A whoosh whistled behind him, followed by a blast of heat. Aiden whirled and shoved his cell in his pocket.

“What the hell?” He lunged for the flaming grate, which was engulfed in a grease fire. Why hadn’t his brother turned off the heat when Aiden told him to?

Connor jerked back and his oversize feet tangled so that he stumbled into Aiden. They both went down.

Red and orange licked the darkening sky. Behind them, the crash of pots and pans, followed by the group’s jabbering, floated from the open kitchen window.

Aiden hurtled to his feet. “Stay down,” he ordered Connor, who lunged upward anyway. Of course.

While Aiden’s eyes darted in every direction, searching for something to put out the fire, Connor slammed down the grill hood, then shook his hand.

“Are you an idiot?” Aiden grabbed his brother, concern making his heart race. “Why the hell did you do that?”

The teen jerked away and snapped off the gas burners.

“Are you hurt? Let me see your hand.”

“It’s fine,” insisted Connor, though his face looked pale. His lips tight.

“Show it to me.”

Aiden reached around his brother’s back and grasped his thin arm. They scrabbled and grabbed, pushed and yanked.

“Let go of me!”

“Stop being an—”

“Is everything all right?” called a familiar voice. Aiden’s teeth ground. Of course Rebecca would appear at the worst moment. She needed to see the times he and Connor played cards, watched an action show, went to a ball game—only Aiden couldn’t remember the last time they’d done any of those things. Not in a long, long time.

His brother spun away, panting, and crossed his arms, hiding the hand Aiden needed to see. How badly was he burned? Faces appeared in the window behind Rebecca and a girl around Connor’s age rushed outside to join them.

“What happened?” repeated Rebecca. A breeze whispered through the trees and tossed blond strands against her high cheekbones. Her blue eyes darkened as they flicked between him and Connor.

“What’s up with your arm?” asked the girl. She marched to Connor, her black braids swishing across narrow shoulders clad in a T-shirt with some kind of Japanese symbol he’d seen Connor wear. “Let me see it, idiot.”

Rebecca stepped near. “Connor, you need to show us.”

He shrugged, but allowed the women to cluck over him as they examined his hand. Aiden stepped closer and peered over Rebecca’s shoulder.

From the wrist down, Connor’s hoodie hung tattered and burned, but his skin looked only pink. Relief swept through Aiden.

“How did you—I don’t—why aren’t you burned?” blurted Aiden. He glanced at the smoking grill, then met Rebecca’s wide eyes.

“I pulled the sleeve over my hand before I grabbed the handle.”

“You should have let me take care of that,” Aiden growled, his fear morphing into anger.

“You weren’t doing anything,” Connor spat. “Like always.” His eyes filled with the usual disapproval he had for everything Aiden said or did. Hard to believe that his brother had once looked up to him. Made him feel like a hero. When had that changed? A pang of regret twisted Aiden’s gut.

“I was looking for something safe. I have more experience with grease fires than you.”

The girl’s head snapped around and she whistled as she stared at the smoking grill. Heat radiated off the metal and bent the air around it.

“Yeah. Right,” scoffed Connor. One side of his upper lip rose. “Daniel burns his grilled cheese sandwich almost every night.”

“What? Daniel doesn’t make himself a grilled cheese.”

“That’s what you think.”

Aiden opened and closed his mouth. Before she’d gotten married, Mary Ann had watched the kids at night. Now, he depended on Connor. Big mistake. His littlest brother working the stove? Not acceptable.

“We’d better get you inside and put on some burn cream. Let’s save this discussion for later,” coaxed Rebecca, giving Connor a winsome smile. “Would you like to come inside with me?”

“No.”

Her mouth didn’t move or droop. If anything, she looked more aggressively cheerful than ever. “Why not, Connor?”

How do people speak and smile at the same time? Aiden wondered. Was that something they taught you in psychology school?

“Because we need to get the burgers.”

Aiden rolled his eyes. Enough was enough. “Go in the house, Connor.”

Ignoring him, the teen turned back to the grill and reached for the handle again.

“Are you insane?” Aiden swatted his brother’s hand away, donned a mitt and opened the hood. Thick gray smoke billowed out and they all coughed.

“Need some help out there?” called Marty Sikes from the kitchen window.

“Under control, Marty, thanks.” Aiden waved at the older man and turned back to the charred meat. “Those aren’t edible.”

“Someone will eat them,” muttered Connor. He grabbed a spatula and the girl elbowed Aiden aside and held out a platter.

“Respect. Personal space, Tameya,” coaxed Rebecca, her eyes flashing a gentle warning.

“Thanks, Tameya,” Connor said, without looking her in the eye, his cheeks turning blotchy, his posture tense and self-conscious. Did he like this girl?

“I promise you, I’m so hungry I could eat this hockey puck.” Tameya laughed, then held a hand over her mouth, covering her braces, which had gleamed silver in the dimming light. Connor’s lips twitched up and Aiden and Rebecca exchanged a long look.

Without thinking, he returned her small smile, then remembered how much he hated being here.

“Dinner!” chorused a gang from the window.

“Just wait till you see what we got,” Tameya yelled back, and giggled again, nudging Connor in the side. His brother picked up speed in transferring the patties, but didn’t move away from the girl, Aiden noticed.

Great. A vacation and a romance. Exactly what neither of them needed. Not when Connor should be doing summer schoolwork to make up a class he’d failed, and focus on behaving well to get promoted to tenth grade. Not when Aiden should be keeping his pub from falling further behind, instead of doing whatever useless activities Rebecca and her crew planned.

No. No time for fun. And definitely no time for romance. So why couldn’t he stop looking at the beautiful Rebecca? His brain must be losing oxygen at this altitude, he decided as he marched back into the house.

The large kitchen opened into an even larger dining room, both areas covered in cheerful, clashing patterned wallpapers, nearly every inch of which held ornate framed photos. A silver spoon collection from all fifty states hung by an authentic wood box phone in the kitchen, the heavy black earpiece of which rested in its metal holder.

That can’t be the only phone on the premises, Aiden mused, eyeing it warily.

A scarred natural pine table, followed by four folding tables, then a fancy dark wood table, spanned the length of the two rooms. Plates and cutlery rested at odd angles to the chairs, some missing completely, while empty glasses were horizontal as often as they were vertical. In the center of each table, a clump of thorny weeds sprang out of tin pails, baskets holding lumps of something doughy beside each one.

Connor pulled the neck of his T-shirt out as he moved farther inside the humid room. “Not sure if you still want these.” He gestured with the platter of charred burgers he carried.

“Why, of course we do,” boomed Marty, who’d changed from his overalls into some kind of plaid dress slacks and a yellow, long-sleeved dress shirt.

“They’re burned,” Connor muttered, looking out the window, but holding the platter high.

“No risk of food poisoning then. A gal visiting from Montreal ordered up one of them steaks tartare. Those are raw, you know. Well. She got E. coli and was stuck for a month at the community hospital.” Marty thumped Connor on the shoulder as he took the plate. “Good looking out for the folks.”

Connor nodded slowly and his mouth twitched. He shot Aiden a triumphant glance.

Aiden had to hold back a smile, too. Rebecca bustled by him and he breathed in the exotic smell she left in her wake.

“Is there a seating order?” she asked. In her light pink T-shirt and jean shorts that showed off a narrow waist and long curvy legs, she looked almost as young as the kids she managed. No wonder they didn’t respect her. Fear her. Do as they were told. She looked like someone to have fun with. Confide in. Fall for...

Did Connor have a crush on her? Aiden shot his brother a look, remembering the origami, but the boy seemed occupied trying not to appear too interested in Tameya’s chatter, her voice rising loud enough to drown out anyone else trying to speak.

“Thought we’d sit adults, then kids, alternating order. Sound good?” chimed in Judith as she straightened from the oven, bearing a pan of baked beans.

“Sounds great,” declared one of the other psychologists. The one with the weird name—Journey. After some jostling, Aiden found himself between a couple of boys, who nodded when he introduced himself, but didn’t offer up their names.

“Who’d like a burger?” A bunch of hands shot up, then dropped when Marty produced the platter of burned meat, a few wisps of smoke still curling around the edges.

“Aw, come on now, kids,” brayed the man. “Think of the teeth cleaning these will give ya.”

Silence descended and the kids looked at one another, then laughed. Connor stared determinedly down at his lap.

Before Aiden could reach for one, Rebecca leaned over, bun in hand. “These are just the way I like them. Extra crispy.”





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