Susan Mallery: Father in Training

He'd grown up, she thought, eyeing his chest. He probably broke three hearts a day before lunchtime, just to stay in practice.

"Why are you still in Glenwood?" she asked, going for the safer of his two questions. She wasn't worried about giving in to the famous Haynes charm. A playboy bachelor was the last thing she needed in her life. Still, keeping her guard up was wise. Her body's reaction to Kyle's closeness told her she wasn't quite as immune as she would like to be.

"I work here," he said. "I'm a deputy. My brother Travis is the sheriff."

"Like father, like son," she said, remembering Kyle's father had once been sheriff of the small town.

Kyle's dark eyes clouded, as if she'd brought up a painful memory. "Not exactly," he said, then smiled slightly. "What about you?"

"I'll be teaching at GlenwoodJunior College. Business English and Business Communications."

"How come my teachers never looked like you?"

She wanted to put her hands on her hips and mutter, "You've got to be kidding," but she resisted. Instead, she offered him a tight smile and wondered how long she was going to have to stand there listening to her hormones sighing in appreciation of his perfect male form.

"Don't you want to know what I'm doing in your driveway?" he asked.

She would rather know what he was doing standing so close. It was getting difficult to breathe regularly. Damn it all, she thought crossly. She didn't need this aggravation. She'd come to Glenwood to get away from her problems, not to create new ones.

"You're part of the local welcoming committee," she said hopefully as a hideously awful thought occurred to her. It couldn't be true, she told herself firmly. She wouldn't let it be true. Fate wasn't that unkind.

She was wrong. Fate might not be unkind, but it had an interesting sense of humor. She knew it the moment Kyle turned and pointed back the way he'd come. She peeked around him. At the end of the long, tree-lined driveway was a small four-room gatehouse-a rental unit that she now owned. The real estate agent had told her the leasee was a police officer. She closed her eyes briefly and prayed he hadn't really meant a deputy.

"I'm your tenant," Kyle said.

Sandy swallowed a groan. It didn't matter, she told herself. It couldn't matter. "You live there with your wife?" she asked, daring to have one last flash of hope.

"Nope." His grin broadened. "I'm not married."

She noticed something in his eyes as he held her gaze a second longer than was comfortable. A brief flicker of interest. Sandy folded her arms over her chest. Even as her heart continued to flutter in her chest, and her palms grew damp, she firmly squashed any romantic thoughts her foolish hormones might want to generate.

Kyle wasn't interested in her. She was sensible enough to know the truth about herself. She didn't need to wear a paper bag over her head, but she'd never once stopped traffic. She was okay-looking, nothing more. Kyle was gorgeous. The kind of man who made a woman forget how to breathe. His not-so-subtle come-on was simply reflex. Not interest. She wasn't his type. More important, he wasn't hers.

She nodded at him, then smiled impersonally. "It was very nice of you to welcome me back to Glenwood, but I don't want to keep you from whatever you have planned." She waved toward the motorcycle. "I'm sure we'll run into each other from time to time."

He didn't take the hint. Instead, he moved closer. "When the real estate agent told me you'd be arriving today, I made sure I was available. I figured you'd need some help getting the old place ready."

"I have everything under control. The furniture doesn't arrive for several days. Between now and then, the children and I will be able to clean the house. I've made a list." She nodded toward the front seat where she'd left her clipboard.

Instead of glancing that way, Kyle stared at her intently. "Children?"

Finally, Sandy felt she was gaining control of the conversation. Most single men lived in fear of a woman with children. If she couldn't calm down her hormones, at least she could drive away the object of their desire. "Yes. Three of them. My daughter Lindsay is twelve, Blake is ten and little Nichole is eight."

"I love kids," Kyle said, and looked around the yard. "Where are they?"

Her heart sank. Actually, her spirits sank and her heart increased its lovesick pounding in her chest. She sighed. It was not turning out to be a great day. She should have guessed when Nichole started the morning by eating too many pancakes for breakfast, then throwing up in the car.

"I'd really like to meet them," he said. "That way, when they start to bug you, you can send them down to my place."

Sandy resisted the urge to snort with disbelief. No doubt Kyle had a revolving door at his house, and attractive young women circled through with the regularity of the tide. He wasn't the sort of man she wanted influencing her children.

"That's very kind," she said politely.

"I mean it. My brother Travis has two girls. I-"

He was interrupted by the clatter of running feet. Sandy turned toward the sound as her eldest came skittering around from the back of the house.

"Mo-om, this place is awful. Did you know there's a field behind our house?" The twelve-year-old's mouth twisted in disgust. "A field! Like we're pioneers, or something. I haven't even seen one store or movie theater. What are we supposed to do-" Lindsay stopped talking at the exact moment she stopped walking forward. She glanced from her mother to Kyle. Her mouth opened, then closed.

Sandy watched Lindsay and bit back a sigh. She recognized the look of wonder in her daughter's brown eyes. It had probably been shining in her own the first moment she'd seen the grown-up and improved version of Kyle Haynes. But she was a mature woman, able to control her instinctive reaction. Lindsay was caught between girlhood and a world she didn't understand. Her daughter flushed and clasped her hands in front of her. The awkward beauty of a coltish preteen became simply clumsy as she shuffled her feet and stared at the ground.

Sandy had known Lindsay was growing up fast, but she hadn't expected to get a demonstration of the fact. Yet here it was. Lindsay's first awareness of someone of the opposite sex.

"Lindsay, this is Mr. Haynes," Sandy said. "He's our neighbor."

"I live in the gatehouse," Kyle said as he approached her daughter. He held out his hand. Lindsay glanced at her, then the man. She stuck out her hand and giggled when he took it in his. "Nice to meet you, Lindsay. I knew your mom when she was just a couple of years older than you are right now."

"Really?" Lindsay stared at her as if she couldn't ever imagine her mother being young. "What was she like?"

"Pretty much the way she is now. We used to call her Sensible Sandy."

Lindsay rolled her eyes. "Figures. She still wants to organize the world. I guess she hasn't changed at all."

"You're right. She still looks-"

"There's Blake," Sandy interrupted, not wanting to let Kyle continue. She had no idea what he planned to say. Probably some unrealistic compliment about how great she'd looked in high school. "Blake, come and meet our new neighbor."

Her son came around the side of the house. As always, when she saw him, she bit back a sigh. Blake was physically the most like his father. He had dark red hair, freckles and wore glasses. But while Thomas's light brown eyes had gleamed with humor and a zest for life and adventure, Blake's expression was serious, as if the weight of the world rested on his slim shoulders. He preferred to read rather than play outside, and he didn't make friends easily. Sandy wondered if all parents worried about their children as much as she worried about hers. She was doing the best she could to make them feel safe and secure after losing their father, but she wasn't sure her efforts were enough.