Virginia Myers - The Dad Next Door

Cover Page

Excerpt Years ago she’d settled down to single motherhood, sure she’d never be attracted to another man. Until now. For the first time Kate admitted to herself that she could love again. And— oh, dear God, help me —this was the man. She wanted to touch Ian, heal all his hurts. He looked up at her, his beautiful hazel eyes troubled. “You’re a good friend, Kate.” A good friend. She made herself say it. “Well, friends help friends, Ian. And you know how fond I am of young Raymond.” “You’ve been a godsend to my boy. I could never repay you for what you do for him.” “I understand,” Kate said gravely. But, her heart whispered, I don’t want you to pay me. I want you to love me. Love me to distraction. The way I love you…

About the Author VIRGINIA MYERS Virginia Myers has been writing since childhood. As an adult she has published ten novels, contemporary and historical, for the general market. She has now written three novels for the inspirational market. Active in the writing community, Virginia developed a course in popular novel writing, which she has taught in several Washington colleges. She has lectured, taught writing workshops and served for two years on the board of trustees of the Pacific Northwest Writers Conference. She lives in Longview, Washington, where she is active in her community and a faithful worker in her church.

Title Page The Dad Next Door Virginia Myers www.millsandboon.co.uk

Epigraph Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God. — Matthew 5:9

Dedication In memory of my aunt, Lillian Harrison Hardesty, a woman of peace

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

Dear Reader

Copyright

Until now.

For the first time Kate admitted to herself that she could love again. And— oh, dear God, help me —this was the man. She wanted to touch Ian, heal all his hurts.

He looked up at her, his beautiful hazel eyes troubled. “You’re a good friend, Kate.”

A good friend. She made herself say it. “Well, friends help friends, Ian. And you know how fond I am of young Raymond.”

“You’ve been a godsend to my boy. I could never repay you for what you do for him.”

“I understand,” Kate said gravely. But, her heart whispered, I don’t want you to pay me. I want you to love me. Love me to distraction. The way I love you…

Virginia Myers has been writing since childhood. As an adult she has published ten novels, contemporary and historical, for the general market. She has now written three novels for the inspirational market.

Active in the writing community, Virginia developed a course in popular novel writing, which she has taught in several Washington colleges. She has lectured, taught writing workshops and served for two years on the board of trustees of the Pacific Northwest Writers Conference.

She lives in Longview, Washington, where she is active in her community and a faithful worker in her church.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be

called the children of God.

— Matthew 5:9

In memory of my aunt, Lillian Harrison Hardesty,

a woman of peace

Kate Graham glanced out the window at the weather. Seattle was having a fierce February for the second year in a row. She draped a scarf over her light brown hair, which was pulled back in a ponytail secured by a rubber band. As she tied the scarf beneath her chin, she wished—again—that she was pretty. She could be a lot better looking if she worked at it, the way she had when Claude was alive. But now…

Half a dozen of her sister Jill’s well-meant comments on the subject flew through her mind. Of course, Jill was beautiful. She snatched up her umbrella, picked up the windbreaker jacket she had found in Raymond’s closet and rushed out the door to meet the middle-school bus. She had wasted too much time looking out the window at Ian’s house next door, and planning what she would have for dinner. Ian always came over for dinner when he got home from a business trip.

It was ridiculous. Her daydreaming about Ian McAllister. She was a respectable widow with two children of her own. Maybe she should talk about it to Pastor Ledbetter. He had so much good sense and was always so willing to help. He had been a tower of strength for her when Claude had died. She had needed all the help she could get then. Dad, Mom and her younger sister, Jill. Then Jill’s husband, Greg Rhys, a CPA, had sorted out all the insurance so that she had the steady small income that paid her little family’s bills, if she was very careful.

She wondered again if she had taken on Ian McAllister’s son, Raymond, to bolster the family budget or because she was sorry for the lonely child of a broken marriage. Or was part of the reason that it kept her in regular contact with Ian? She had certainly never regretted the arrangement. Raymond was such a changeling of a child, bright, sensitive, responsive, with Ian’s blond good looks and hazel eyes, and so in need of love. He was twelve, but a very young twelve. She had always felt a wave of protectiveness toward him, from the first time he’d appeared in her kitchen.

She stopped halfway up the block, in front of the second-from-the-end brick house, as Raymond had instructed. He was afraid of some of the bigger boys at school, who often harassed him when they got off the bus at their corner, but he was, after all, twelve and it was unthinkable that he should be met at the bus.

“I’m in middle school!” he had said, his voice rising in panic. “Nobody’s mom meets the middle-school bus!” Her heart had ached. He had started calling her Mom the way her own children did. He was such a waif, with no real mother and his father away on business half the time. He was trying so hard to grow up and also trying to hold on to the childhood he had never really had during his parents’ turbulent marriage.

They had settled on her standing half a block down, so if the bigger boys started hassling him, she could start walking toward the corner. At the sight of an adult, even a short one, approaching, the tough kids would skulk off and leave him alone.

She stopped at the designated place. The bus was late today. She needn’t have hurried. The rain was light and intermittent, but the wind swept it this way and that up under the umbrella. Kate shivered. Raymond had worn only a sweater this morning, so he would probably be cold.

The great yellow lumbering vehicle appeared down at the far end of the street. Hurry. This was a hot-chocolate day for sure. Her own two children, Tommy, eight, and Joy, six, were already home and were alone in the house. She had left firm instructions not to turn on the burner under the pan of milk until she and Raymond got there. They were pretty good kids, and she was reasonably sure they would wait.

The bus stopped at the corner, its air brakes letting out a whooshing sound. The kids, in their hideous collections of many-layered clothing, began to get off the bus. Something was different today—they didn’t loiter at the stop. Some of the bigger boys got off and fairly ran from the area. She waited for Raymond to get off, straining to see. The driver was an older woman who took a real interest in her charges. Kate watched now as the driver got out of her seat and went toward the back of the bus. The bus was still about half-full of kids, who seemed unusually subdued.