The One And Only. Laurie Paige
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was beautiful. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a woman with so much natural beauty. Heavenly eyes. Gorgeous hair. Skin like the peaches and cream of song and poem.
His fingers actually tingled with the urge to reach out and touch…and get his face slapped in the process. That clear shell, like an enchanted glass bubble, surrounded her as fully as a suit of armor.
“Have you had lunch?” he asked.
She shook her head.
He signaled for a menu to the teenager who was waiting tables today. “Grilled chicken was the special. I can recommend it.”
For some reason it pleased him that she followed his suggestion. “The raspberry iced tea,” she finished.
“So, how was your morning?” he asked.
She visibly hesitated, then said, “Well, that depends on how you look at it.”
Her smile was unexpected, a gift that sent warmth scurrying around inside him. Another surprise. He didn’t know why she had such an effect on him. But there it was.
“Tell me how you look at it,” he invited.
When she explained about the teaching job, he nodded. “You knew?” she asked.
“I saw the high school principal over the weekend. He was angry at the budget cut and the loss of the classes. He thought the school administration had been unfair to you. Is that the way you feel?”
Impish dimples appeared at the corners of her mouth. “Not if the position in your office is still open.”
His gaze fastened on the dimples. He thought of kissing her there, then continuing on to the soft, pink mouth. A buzz of sexual interest hummed through his blood.
Her smile faltered.
He forced himself to lighten up. “Uh, yes, the position is still open. Does this mean you’ll take it?”
The dimples returned. “Tell me the hours and the pay first.”
“Hmm, going to drive a hard bargain, are you?” He raised one eyebrow in mock challenge. “You won’t get a better offer in town. Most women would snap it up.”
She laughed out loud. “How much?” she demanded. “How long?”
“From eight until noon on days you have to report to the elementary school. Eight to five on days you don’t. We’re closed on Wednesdays, open a half day on Saturday if it’s busy, which it probably won’t be in winter.”
She shook her head. “I’ll be at school every afternoon.”
“But only until three. You could come over for a couple of hours after that.”
“Let me get settled into the school routine first, then I’ll think about the afternoons. Only mornings now.”
He went through the same two-step with her over salary. She opted for hourly pay with time-and-a-half if she worked on Saturdays. He agreed, thinking he got a bargain. It was impossible to find professional help in the area. He’d lucked out.
“So how did you happen to come to town?” he asked after her lunch was served and his cup refilled with fresh coffee.
“I wanted to live someplace different. When I saw a notice for a school nurse here and looked the town up on the map, I thought this was the place.”
“Where did you see the notice?”
“On the Internet.”
“I see. Then?”
“Then I responded to the ad, found out it involved teaching and, since I had teaching credentials for first aid, health and beginning nursing care, I was accepted.”
“Some of the cowboys who came to town Friday night were real glad when they saw you walking on the path by the lake. We don’t get many redheaded beauty queens here.”
Again she laughed, and again the heat flowed like sweet, warm honey through him.
“I think I’m glad, too,” he murmured.
Her eyes met his, widened, then looked away. “I don’t date the boss,” she said with prim modesty.
“Neither do I. But dinner with a colleague is okay.” Glancing at the wall clock—a picture of the mountains painted on a polished pine slab with the dial mounted at the corner—he found it was time to be getting back. “Duty calls,” he said. “Can you start in the morning?”
“Yes. I’ll be there. At eight.”
“Good.” He paid the bill for both of them over her protests. “Consider it a welcome luncheon,” he told her, feeling jaunty and pleased about their deal, before heading to the office for afternoon hours.
There was something intriguing about the new school nurse, something he couldn’t quite put a finger on. A mystery. Perhaps she’d come here because she was running from something. A painful past? A possessive boyfriend? A scandal? There were lots of possibilities.
Washing up before seeing his afternoon patients, he considered the careful distance she maintained from others. He’d always been a sucker for a challenge.
Returning to the B and B upon finishing her lunch, Shelby stepped over the threshold and paused. There seemed to be a meeting going on.
“Come on in,” Amelia called. “We’re having a committee meeting, part of the Historical Society.”
“We can use all the help we can get,” one very elderly lady told her, the lines in her face all crinkling at once into a charming, ageless smile.
“Grab a glass of tea and some cookies,” Amelia advised. “This is going to be a long session.”
Shelby was pulled into the group of four women and found herself seated, sipping tea and earnestly considering the committee’s project—compile a brief historical listing of all the old families who had settled the area, where they’d come from, who their descendants were, and how many generations were represented.
“A sort of genealogy of the valley,” Amelia concluded two hours later. “I think it will have to be tied to the land as land titles are usually the most common records.”
“Exactly,” the elderly lady said, beaming.
Shelby learned Miss Pickford, president of the Historical Society, was also descended from a First Family of Idaho, as were the Daltons. The woman was almost eighty, had taught in a two-room school in the county, had retired fifteen years ago, was kin to the Daltons and nearly everyone else in the area, and was universally loved. She had blue eyes and lovely silver hair and a soft, thoughtful way of speaking that made one instinctively trust her.
After the meeting broke up, Shelby and Amelia lingered over fresh glasses of tea and chatted about the task ahead.
Amelia laughed softly. “Welcome to the newest member of the Historical Society.” She toasted Shelby with her glass.
“I don’t know how that happened,” Shelby admitted with more than a hint of wry humor.
“I do,” her landlady said confidently. “Miss Pickford could get money and a pledge to participate in a Christmas toy fund-raiser from the Grinch.”
“I think you’re right. We need to find out about her early teaching days here,” Shelby said thoughtfully. “She must know tons of interesting stories and anecdotes.”
“Hmm, she could probably blackmail ninety percent of the population over the age of thirty since she taught most of them. My parents had her when the school board opened the elementary school here for one through eighth grades and closed all the county schools.”
A bolt of excitement shot through Shelby. The teacher might have known her parents, too. Her mother could have been a student who got pregnant and went away to have the baby, perhaps living with relatives in