ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      In first grade Michele Dunaway knew she wanted to be a teacher when she grew up, and by second grade she knew she wanted to be an author. By third grade she was determined to be both, and before her high school class reunion, she’d succeeded. In addition to writing romance, Michele is a nationally recognized English and journalism educator who also advises both the yearbook and newspaper at her school. Born and raised in a west county suburb of St. Louis, Missouri, Michele has traveled extensively, with the cities and places she’s visited often becoming settings for her stories. Described as a woman who does too much but doesn’t ever want to stop, Michele gardens five acres in her spare time and shares her house with two tween daughters and six extremely lazy house cats that rule the roost.

      First and foremost, to all my fans who have helped make this writing dream come true. Thank you. Next, to all my faraway friends, who are always in my heart: Karen Flynn, Jennifer Fly, Carrie Hilleary, Jenny Hassell and Julie Picraux. Even though we don’t see each other often, we pick up as if it’s yesterday. To Christy Janisse, Jo Anne Banker and Kay Hudson, who always make me feel like family. And for Joyce Adams Counts, whose friendship I would be remiss to forget, and to my mom, Louise Feager, for always being there.

      And last but by no means least, for my new editor Laura Barth, who worked so hard to make this twenty-book milestone perfect. Thank you.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Epilogue

      Chapter One

      Enrolling your children in school should be easier than filing your federal taxes.

      But it didn’t feel that way to Hank Friesen as he sat outside the principal’s office on a plastic chair two sizes too small for his six-foot frame and tried to register his ten-year-old twins in the fourth grade.

      The secretary shot questions at him, rapid-fire. Yes, he knew it was April. Yes, their address was the Graham Nolter Resort and Conference Center and, yes, that was their permanent residence.

      A lump formed in his throat as he continued to respond to the secretary’s inquiry. No, there was no Mrs. Friesen. His wife died five years ago. No, his children had never before been enrolled in any other elementary school. Their maternal grandmother had homeschooled them these past five years.

      Hank had also provided the secretary with immunization records and copies of Ethan’s and Alli’s birth certificates. He’d filled out emergency cards in triplicate. He was now working on a health history, the last form, he hoped, as his left hand was beginning to hurt. The secretary leaned over the old-fashioned laminate-and-metal counter to check on his progress before disappearing from view again.

      “Are we going to see the classrooms, Dad?” Ethan, who’d arrived ten minutes before his twin sister, Alli, kicked his legs back and forth, making a loud thunk every time the soles of his tennis shoes connected with the metal rungs of the chair’s under-the-seat book rack. He’d developed a distinctive rhythm, the staccato annoying and impossible to tune out. “So are we, Dad? Huh? Are we?”

      “I don’t know,” Hank answered, wishing he’d brought the children’s Nintendo DS handheld game systems along. That would have given them something to do while they waited. He’d assumed someone would at least give the kids a tour of their new school while he completed the necessary paperwork, but so far that hadn’t happened.

      He glanced at Alli. She’d bowed her head almost to her chest and sat with her hands folded in her lap. He had the urge to tickle her or something, anything to get her to crack a smile.

      For a ten-year-old, Alli was far too serious. Unlike Ethan, she could sit perfectly still, prim and proper for hours on end. Where Ethan was rambunctious and boisterous, Alli was shy and demure. Ethan saw his dad’s new resort-manager job as a grand adventure. Living in a hotel meant room service, endless indoor and outdoor pools and access to all sorts of fun activities like miniature golf and ice-cream-sundae bars.

      Alli hadn’t been as impressed. She’d assessed the hotel and their oversize suite with her quiet reserve before shrugging and saying, “It’s okay.”

      Hank wanted to wake his daughter up, shake her out of the doldrums she’d mired herself in since they’d moved to Missouri a week earlier. His kids might have similar features—blond hair and blue eyes—but they were worlds apart.

      Hank finished the form and stood. It felt great to stretch his legs. Seeing he was ready, the secretary came over and thumbed through the stack of papers. “It looks like everything’s in order,” she said.

      “So they can start Monday?” he asked. He’d used the resort’s child-care services this week. He’d wanted to have the kids with him immediately on his relocation, but he still had to go to work.

      “I don’t see why not,” she said. “Let me get you a school-supply list and…”

      A woman walked into the office then, a teacher, Hank surmised,