She held her hand out to accept his jacket. As she shrugged into it, she realized it felt surprisingly nice. Some of his warmth lingered, and though it was larger and heavier than she was used to, those very masculine qualities somehow made her feel more feminine than she had in quite a while.
Pushing that fanciful—and dangerous—thought away, she turned her attention back to the children. “I’m so glad you’ve moved to Turnabout,” she said cheerily. “It will be nice having two new students in my class.”
There was no response except a half nod from Alex.
“They’re not very talkative.” Mr. Chandler’s tone held a hint of apology.
“I imagine they’re weary from so much travel. But I can do enough talking for all of us.”
“I’m sure you can.”
She ignored the hint of sarcasm in his tone—after all, it was a schoolteacher’s job to reach even the most recalcitrant or guarded of children and engage them in the learning process.
“It’s a good thing we ran into you,” Mr. Chandler said. “And I don’t mean just because you came to my rescue.”
“Oh?”
“I need to speak to you about getting the kids enrolled in school as soon as possible.”
Did he really think these two would be ready to return to school right away? “Of course. But there will be time enough for that after the children have settled in.”
He frowned, but she didn’t give him a chance to say anything. Instead she turned to the children. “So, is there a favorite treat you’re hoping to find at the sweet shop?”
Alex nodded decisively. “I like lemon drops and licorice whips.”
“I’m afraid you won’t find those at the Blue Bottle, but I believe the mercantile has an excellent selection. No, the kind of treats you’ll find at the sweet shop are more along the line of bonbons—chocolates, caramels, taffies and brittles. I’m certain we can find something you like.”
During the three-block walk, she kept up a running dialogue, describing the various buildings and points of interest in the town, aware that Chloe wasn’t benefiting from the commentary. But she also knew that Chloe would benefit, even if only in a small way, from any easing of tension in her brother.
And all the while she was very aware of Mr. Chandler strolling beside her and of the warmth of his jacket on her shoulders.
She’d forgotten how special this kind of consideration could make a woman feel.
When they reached the Blue Bottle, Hank quickly stepped forward to open the door.
Miss Whitman hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said she could do enough talking for all of them.
But he noticed Alex seemed more relaxed now, which meant Chloe’s tension should ease as well. He’d noticed she was taking many of her cues from her brother when she couldn’t tell what was going on around her.
His attention shifted back to the schoolteacher. His coat should have looked ridiculously large on her, but for some reason it didn’t.
In fact, she looked quite nice—in an impish kind of way.
Hank pulled himself up at that thought. The straitlaced schoolteacher, impish? What a strange notion—he must be more tired than he’d thought.
He stepped inside with them for a moment, just to make certain they would be okay here while he was gone.
Miss Whitman started to shrug out of his jacket and he moved forward to help her. When she smiled up at him, he found himself wondering why he’d never really noticed her before. Not that he’d been looking for a wife before current circumstances had made it a necessity.
Then she turned to Chloe with an apologetic purse of her lips, giving him the nudge he needed to step back.
“I just realized it’s probably not a good idea to bring a cat into a sweet shop.” She glanced back his way. “Perhaps you should take Smudge with you.”
He swallowed a retort. She was undoubtedly right, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. “Chloe won’t let him out of her sight.”
“I’m sure Smudge provides her with a measure of comfort. But she must learn that she’ll be okay without him for short periods of time.”
The schoolteacher planted herself squarely in front of his niece and stood silently until Chloe met her gaze.
Miss Whitman touched Smudge lightly on the head, then held out her arms, her meaning obvious.
Chloe replied by hugging Smudge tighter against her chest and lifting her chin defiantly.
But Miss Whitman didn’t drop her hands or her gaze, and Chloe finally handed over her pet. The girl’s shoulders slumped, and she looked as if she’d just lost her best friend, but Miss Whitman patted her arm and gave her an approving smile.
Chloe turned away.
He thought he heard Miss Whitman sigh as she turned and held the cat out to him. “Here you go. Make sure he doesn’t get away from you since he’s not familiar with the town yet.”
Great—now he was responsible for the well-being of not just the children, but this creature as well.
His hesitation was duly noted. Her eyes turned hard without her smile ever leaving her face as she continued to wait for him to take the animal from her.
Hank reluctantly held out his hands and accepted the gray feline, who looked snootily down his nose at him and sneezed. Great—even the kids’ pet didn’t like him.
After telling Miss Whitman to let Eve know he’d settle the bill when he returned, he headed out the door.
Feeling ridiculous carrying a cat through town, Hank set a brisk pace. But his thoughts remained on the kids.
He had to get through the next few days without his aunt’s help, and that meant he probably wouldn’t be able to spend much time at the sawmill. He trusted Simon Tucker to do a good job in his absence, but the business was his, not Simon’s. And he’d already been away too long.
If only he’d been more successful convincing Willa Booth to return with him. Willa, a good friend of his sister, had cared for the children during the time it had taken him to get from Turnabout to Elgin Springs.
As soon as he’d realized his best recourse was to find a woman to marry, someone to serve as a mother to the children, he’d thought of Miss Booth. The children already knew and liked her. She was not only single, but also seemed to have a fondness for children. The fact that she was a few years older than him hadn’t particularly bothered him—in fact, it had the advantage of assuring him she was going into this with her eyes wide-open and not holding out any romantic aspirations.
He’d discussed the situation with her in a businesslike manner, explaining that he could offer a comfortable home that she could run as she pleased and a life where she would be respected and her needs cared for. And at first she’d agreed to his proposal. Having a wife to accompany them back to Turnabout would have made everything so much easier.
But at the last minute she’d backed out, and he’d had to leave her behind.
Hank spent most of the train ride back to Turnabout trying to compile a list of acceptable candidates. One by one, he’d considered every unmarried lady in Turnabout he could remember. And he’d mentally rejected most of them for one reason or another. They’d been too old or too young, too slow or too silly, too talkative or too timid. By the time the train had arrived in Turnabout, his list had grown pitiably short.