Spring In The Valley. Charlotte Douglas

avoiding strangers and observing traffic and gun-safety rules and was handing out junior officer cards when she noted a newcomer who had just slipped in the rear door and joined the parent volunteers at the back of the class.

      Rand Benedict.

      What was he doing at the elementary school? Jared wasn’t old enough to enroll. But Rand, dressed with great casual style in khaki chinos and a sage-green knit shirt that brought out the deep brown of his eyes, sat with one hip propped atop a low bookcase, perfectly at ease, as if he had every right to be there.

      He’d phoned the station several times over the past week and left Brynn messages, asking her to return his calls, but she hadn’t. In spite of her halfway promise to Merrilee and Marion, she didn’t intend to accept his dinner invitation. Being alone with a man she found both entirely too appealing and at the same time completely wrong for her would be an exercise in frustration. By not responding to his calls, Brynn had hoped to make him realize she wasn’t interested. And until this moment, she’d believed her lack of response had worked.

      “Now, class,” Mrs. Shepherd was saying, “before Officer Sawyer leaves, does anyone have questions?”

      Brynn dragged her attention from Rand to the class. In the front row, Kenny Fulton, a skinny little hellion whose father owned the town’s only department store, waved his hand. “Have you ever shot anybody?”

      Aware of Rand’s gaze, which was making her cheeks flush and her body temperature rise, Brynn answered, “No, Kenny, fortunately, I’ve never had to draw my gun in the line of duty.”

      “How come?” the boy demanded.

      “Because most people have enough respect for the law to do what an officer says without the need to display deadly force.”

      Kenny screwed his face in disgust. “What’s the fun of having a gun if you can’t shoot it.”

      The class laughed, and Brynn smiled. “Oh, I shoot it a lot. At target practice. Anyone who carries a gun must know how and when to use it.”

      “Officer Sawyer is being modest,” Mrs. Shepherd interrupted. “She has a caseful of trophies that she’s won in shooting competitions all over the country.”

      “Awesome,” Jennifer Clayton, a redhead in the middle of the room, who reminded Brynn of herself at that age, said. “Just like Annie Oakley. We learned about her this year.”

      Sid Paulie, whose folks ran the drugstore, stuck his hand in the air as if grasping for a lifeline.

      “Yes, Sid?” Mrs. Shepherd said.

      The boy sat up straight, pleased to be recognized. “How much money do you make, Officer Sawyer?”

      In the back of the room, Rand shifted his weight and crossed his arms over his broad chest. Interest sparked in his expression, and Brynn felt a smidgeon of irritation. The clothes he wore today probably cost more than her pay for the month, so why was he so captivated by her finances?

      But her salary always came up in school sessions, so she had her stock answer ready, thank goodness, because Rand’s steady scrutiny was turning her brain to mush.

      “Police officers make about the same as school-teachers,” Brynn explained to Sid. “It’s not a lot of money, but enough for a decent living. People who become police officers and teachers don’t choose those jobs for the money. They do them because they like to help people.”

      Kenny raised his hand again. “How do the police help people? Don’t you just give them tickets or lock them in jail?”

      Brynn opened her mouth to answer, but a voice at the back of the room beat her to a response.

      “May I answer that, Mrs. Shepherd?”

      Looking more flustered than Brynn had ever seen her, the veteran teacher peered at Rand, apparently noting his presence in the midst of the other adult volunteers for the first time. “And you are?”

      “Rand Benedict.” He held up the laminated visitor card on a lanyard around his neck to indicate he’d checked in with the office. “I recently moved to Pleasant Valley. Last week during the snowstorm, my boy Jared was dangerously ill and having trouble breathing. I was rushing him to the hospital when Officer Sawyer came along, radioed ahead to the emergency room and led the way to the hospital with lights flashing and sirens wailing. That’s one example of how the police help people,” he explained to the class.

      “Is Jared okay?” Jennifer asked.

      “He’s fine now, thanks to Officer Sawyer and Dr. Anderson.” Rand seemed as at ease among the children and parents as if he spoke to strangers every day. That confidence, Brynn thought, must give him a hell of a courtroom presence.

      Jimmy Clayton, Jennifer’s twin brother, spoke up. “There was an accident on the highway near our farm last year. Officer Sawyer gave the driver CPR until the ambulance got there. My dad said she probably saved the lady’s life.”

      “So you see, Kenny,” Mrs. Shepherd explained with a kindly smile, “police officers do much more than give tickets and lock people up.”

      “Thank you, class,” Brynn said, anxious to make her escape. “You’ve been an excellent audience.”

      She turned to leave, but Rand spoke again from the back of the room. “Mrs. Shepherd, may I ask one more question?”

      Irritated by his interruptions and struggling not to show her annoyance, Brynn turned back toward the class.

      “Of course, Mr. Benedict,” Mrs. Shepherd answered with her characteristic courtesy.

      Rand nodded and locked gazes with Brynn, who felt skewered like a butterfly on a pin with no hope of escape. She forced herself to relax. Just one more question and she was out of here. And away from the magnetic charm of Rand Benedict.

      “Officer Sawyer.” Rand addressed her directly, and even from the back of the room, she could read the devil in his eyes. “May I speak with you outside?”