People are not what they appear to be.
If her father had said it once, he’d said it a hundred times. Where Noah Lucas was concerned, the statement seemed more prophetic than ever.
Had she misjudged him when she’d jumped to the conclusion that he was cold and heartless? Had she been wrong when she’d assumed Bobby and Angie behaved the way they did because he encouraged it?
“What was that, ah, that stuff they were eating when they walked out of here?” he asked, interrupting her reverie.
“Peanut butter balls.”
“You taught them to make—”
She gave a proud nod. “Yup.”
“How did you know it was safe?”
Dara tucked in one corner of her mouth. “Safe?”
“When I was a boy, I knew a girl who was allergic to peanuts. One whiff of anything made from them and she’d go into anaphylactic shock. More than once, she was carted off to the hospital in an ambulance, fighting for her life.” He raised a brow. “I admire the extra effort it took on your part to ensure none of your students would have such a reaction.”
Was he…was he smirking?
Well, that sure isn’t a smile on his face!
Noah Lucas had her dead to rights, and he knew it. She had made no such “check” to find out if any of the children might be allergic to peanuts, and the shame of it made her cheeks hot. It had been only by the grace of God that none of her first graders was allergic to peanuts. Later, she’d say a heartfelt prayer of thanks for the Almighty’s protection. Right now, all Dara wanted to do was get rid of Noah Lucas.
She’d been right about him after all. He was a smug, patronizing know-it-all. And more than likely, he had been responsible for the way his children behaved. “If there’s nothing else, Mr. Lucas,” she said, clipping her words, “I have…I have a very busy day ahead of me.”
“Of course. Forgive me. It was never my intention to make you late for—” the smirk became a grin “—for your very busy day.”
Somehow, he knew full well that she had no plans for the rest of the day. But how could he have known? Because he’s researched you, that’s how, she reminded herself. She could hardly blame him; Dara had probed into his background, too. Straightening her back, she tilted her head. “‘Know thine enemy,’ eh, Mr. Lucas?”
That seemed to wipe the pompous look from his face!
“I’m sorry?”
Dara had no idea why the confusion that suddenly wrinkled his brow would make her feel the need to comfort and console him. But it did. Sighing with vexation, she put her back to him, pretending to be busy gathering her teacher’s manual, her purse.
Lucas relieved her of the coat, held it out and waited for her to shrug into it. Funny, she thought, but I don’t remember it feeling this heavy befo—Then she realized it had been his hands, resting on her shoulders, that had caused the added weight. Dara wondered how the touch of a man who had riled her temper in her father’s office, who had further fueled her fury by pointing out that her inattentiveness might well have endangered an innocent child, would feel so comforting, so reassuring, so right.
Because, she decided, turning suddenly to face him, you’re losing your mind. Nothing short of insanity, she believed, could explain why such a feeling would come over her.
“Angie and Bobby are waiting in the hall.”
She raised a brow, as if to say, “What does that have to do with me?”
“They have something to ask you,” Lucas said.
Dara glanced toward the door, and saw the children standing side by side. Lucas waved them in. “Go ahead,” he encouraged, “you can ask her now.”
Bobby took a half step forward. “Would you do us the honor of joining us for dinner?”
Noah watched her face as a myriad of emotions—confusion, surprise, delight—flickered over her lovely features.
“Father is making lasagna,” Bobby announced, nodding and grinning.
It was apparent that Noah’s son wanted her to say yes every bit as much as he did.
Smiling, Dara lay a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “My goodness! I don’t know what to say.”
“If you’re busy,” Angie said, “say no. If you’re not…” The child held out her hands and lifted her shoulders.
Laughing softly, Dara combed her fingers through Angie’s dark curls. Noah couldn’t help but notice the way his little girl’s too-old stare faded under Dara’s tender touch. The children needed a woman like this…had been needing someone like Dara for nearly four years now.
The idea had begun to formulate last Sunday, when Bobby told him how Dara had hugged Angie in Sunday-school class and called her “sweetie” and referred to Francine as “Mommy.” Since his wife’s death, Noah had felt like a bumbling, stumbling mess when it came to providing affection. Oh, he doled out the occasional hug and kiss and greedily ate them up when the children offered them, but soft touches—like hair tousling and kisses—had not been a spontaneous part of his personality.
He could have blamed it on the fact that he’d been raised in an institutional setting with hundreds of parentless children just like him. He could have said it was because men weren’t born with instinctive nurturing tendencies.
But neither was true, and Noah knew it.
The only person in the world he’d felt free to be completely open and honest with had been Francine. She’d seen the vulnerable, needy side of him—and had loved him in spite of it.
“I know you,” she’d said days before her death. “You’ll stick your nose in a ledger book and try to hide from the world.” And grabbing a fistful of his shirt, she’d pulled him nearer with a strength that belied her condition. “The children will need you more than ever after I’m gone,” she’d said. “Promise me you’ll find a good woman who will be there for them. Someone who will make sure they get the guidance and discipline they need to become respectable citizens and obedient followers.” She’d shaken a maternal finger under his nose to add, “She’ll have to be a strongwilled woman who isn’t afraid to speak her mind. You’ll look for a woman like that, won’t you, after I’m gone?”
Of course he’d promised. How could he have denied her at a time like that? It had been an easy enough vow to take; living up to it, he soon discovered, was what had required constant and serious effort.
Because he loved Angie and Bobby more than life itself. They were more than extensions of Francine and him, the children were proof of his love for her and hers for him. That love turned out to be a double-edged sword, for every time he looked into their sweet, angelic faces, he was reminded of that love, and missed it all the more.
They were such well-behaved children—everyone said so—never talking out of turn, always tidy and eager to please. In truth, Noah had no idea why they rarely cried or complained, why they never roughhoused like other children. He’d never asked perfection from them…
Had he?
So it was the most natural thing in the world, he decided, when Bobby told him how Dara had mothered Angie. Was it any surprise that the idea had begun to formulate?
“If