Michele Dunaway - Twins for the Teacher

Hank wished she did…. He’d never met anyone like Jolie.

She strode to the foyer and he followed at a respectable distance. She pressed down on the door handle and he moved forward then, so he could hold the door open for her. “Thank you. I can’t say it enough.”

His face was close to hers. He inhaled the light floral fragrance she wore.

She smiled at him, the right corner of her lips inching upward. “I like your kids.”

“And me?” The words seemed to blurt out of their own volition.

“You have enough on your plate. Keep things simple. Friends,” she stressed.

He didn’t want to be friends. He wanted to kiss her.

Dear Reader,

For a while now my editors have been asking me to write a book whose heroine is a teacher. Since I’m a romance writer by night/teacher by day, they figured I knew a bit about the subject.

But Jolie is no way based on me. First, she’s a twin. Second, she’s an elementary school teacher. Third, she falls in love with a man who has twins of his own. Nope, not even close to my life.

However, this book has become one of my favorites. Jolie and Hank are two people deserving a happily-ever-after. They’ve both been hurt by tragedy and they’re both scared to put their emotions out there. They need to learn that when it comes to love they must open their hearts and take a risk. While life’s not always easy, sometimes we get second chances that are even better than the first.

This book marks another milestone for me, as it’s my twentieth novel for Harlequin Books. I’m glad it was Jolie and Hank’s story. They’re pretty special to me, and I hope you’ll love them as much as I do.

Enjoy the romance,

Michele Dunaway

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.

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

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, since the building had been locked for security purposes when they’d arrived and they’d had to be buzzed in.

She appeared to be in her thirties, a decade he’d left behind when he’d turned forty a few years ago. He was the class of 1982, Kickapoo High School, Springfield, Missouri. He’d been on the tennis team and student council with famous alumnus Brad Pitt.