Chapter Two

      Discovering that Jake Langford lived across the street gnawed at Annie’s mind the rest of the morning. The stately Victorian house with its wide front lawn seemed an odd choice of residence for a rugged, athletic man like him. It was easier to imagine him in a contemporary ranch or a sturdy craftsman.

      His words replayed in her mind. The only home I’ve ever known.

      A swell of empathy and understanding rose inside. She knew that feeling all too well. As a foster kid, Langford must have lived with many different families in many different kinds of homes. At least all her moves had been with her mother. She’d never been alone. And she understood all too well the importance of having a real home.

      She pivoted and hurried inside. None of that mattered. What was important was that Jake Langford lived in her neighborhood. Across the street, where she’d have to look at his house when she sat on the porch or drove down the street. He was a constant reminder of how her cousin had died. It was one thing to face the man once a year, but to encounter him on a daily basis was too much. How was she going to deal with this?

      A throbbing pain formed at the base of her skull. She didn’t have time for a headache. The house needed at least a week more of purging all the old furniture and junk her aunt had accumulated, and her first faculty meeting was scheduled for tomorrow. She’d wanted the house in livable condition before school started since there’d be little time for DIY projects after that, but doing it alone was taking longer than she’d expected.

      There was only one way to deal with Jake Langford. Ignore him. Keep her distance. It shouldn’t be too hard. She’d be working all day and too busy in the evening to notice him. But that didn’t mean she’d stop thinking about him. Her only option was to concentrate on her own life and let Jake do his own thing.

      Her gaze traveled around the kitchen, from the oak cabinets, vinyl floors and outdated almond appliances. Besides, Jake wasn’t her problem. This house was. And it was time to get back to work.

      “Boys.” She hurried up the stairs. “Let’s get started on Ryan’s room.”

      Ryan popped his head out from the back bedroom he was sharing with his brother. “Really? Cool. I’m ready for my own space.”

      Tyler came from the room more slowly. “I’ll get the trash bags.”

      “Thank you, sweetie. Bring the whole box. Most of the stuff in this room will go to the trash or to charity.” She stopped her youngest with her hand as he walked by. “Are you both happy about the room arrangements?”

      Ryan nodded with a big grin. “I am ’cause I got the biggest room since I’m the oldest.”

      Tyler made a face. “Only by four minutes. I like my room ’cause I can see the whole backyard. I can see the moon at night from my bed.”

      “Good. Then let’s get the old junk cleared out of this other room so Ryan can move in.”

      They worked into the afternoon, cleaning out Bobby Lee’s old room for Ryan. She’d been stunned to find her cousin’s room untouched since the day he had died. She’d known that her aunt and uncle had taken their son’s death hard, but she’d never dreamed they’d turn his room into a shrine.

      The boys had run out of interest and gone back outside. It was nice to be able to let them play without constantly watching over them. Tyler and Ryan had hardly been in the house since they moved in. The large backyard with great climbing trees, wide grassy lawn and old shed had provided endless hours of entertainment and exploration. Their life up until now had been confined to small apartments and concrete playgrounds in not-so-safe neighborhoods, where she’d had to be with them all the time. This neighborhood was right out of a Norman Rockwell painting. Stately old homes with welcoming front porches lining the street and full-grown trees adding a sense of permanence and peace. It did her heart good to see them so carefree and happy.

      Annie tied up the trash bag and then stood and surveyed the room. All evidence of her cousin had been removed, leaving a strange kind of sadness behind. She’d loved him, but from now on this room would belong to her son Ryan. A warm bubble of pleasure rose inside her chest. Finally she was able to give her sons their own rooms and the security they deserved.

      Her next objective was to clean and paint the room and pull up the stinky old carpet. Not sure how she’d do that yet. But it had to go.

      Pounding footsteps on the stairs alerted her to the approach of her boys. “What’s the matter?”

      Ryan spoke up. “There’s a bunch of kids playing football across the street. They want us to play. Can we? Please?”

      She found these requests difficult since her initial response was to say no. She’d spent most of the twins’ lives keeping them away from danger and away from other rougher kids. But this was a new neighborhood with kids to play with and safe streets to walk on. Ryan vibrated with excitement. Tyler stood perfectly still, only his dark eyes revealing his desire to join in. “All right. Go ahead but watch out for each other and be careful.”

      Ryan rolled his eyes. “It’s football, Mom. You aren’t supposed to be careful. You’re supposed to be tough.”

      There were times when she wished the Lord had given her girls. She felt so inadequate to raise two rough-and-tumble boys. There was so much she didn’t understand about them and so many things they were missing by not having a dad to teach them. Lately, she’d been praying for a male influence in their lives. Someone in this new neighborhood or at their new church who would stand in the gap left by their dad.

      They needed someone to look up to and admire.

      That would be the final touch to the perfect future she was going to create here in Hastings.

      * * *

      Jake drew back his arm and let the pigskin fly, watching as the half dozen neighborhood kids ran across the grass to try to catch it. He loved playing sports with these kids. It’s one of the reasons he’d wanted to be a coach. Two people in his life had set him on a path to becoming a productive member of society: his sixth-grade teacher, who’d seen ability and determination in him and encouraged him to pursue sports, and Mrs. Elliot, the foster mother he’d landed with the summer before his senior year in high school. She’d taught him about manners and responsibility, and brought him to the Lord. He’d backslid for a couple of years after the accident, but he’d eventually found his way