Pamela Tracy - Fugitive Family

“He’s gorgeous, about thirty, single, his little girl will be in your class.”

Gillian Magee, the teacher who thought Lisa needed a date, was more than right about Mr. Bond’s looks. Definitely gorgeous, with shaggy black hair, he looked about thirty but hadn’t mastered the clean shave yet. He wore a wedding ring, but everyone knew he was a single father.

He was everything Gillian had advertised. Lisa figured that out yesterday when he’d introduced himself.

“Oh, man. You’ve really done it now.” Another construction worker joined them. His hair was black, too, but not shabby.

“Vince,” Greg said, looking more distressed over his coworker’s involvement than over his truck’s attack on her vehicle. “We’ve got everything under control. Thanks for coming over, though.”

“You really are dizzy? Man, I thought you were making it up. You plowed right into her.” Vince bent down and looked under Lisa’s bumper. “Too much damage to be hammered out and you’re going to need a new tire and rim.”

Greg winced before turning to Lisa and saying, “I’ve been meaning to get insurance. Look, you know who I am, and you have a whole construction crew full of witnesses. I’ll get your car towed to a garage, and I’ll pay for the damages. Every last dime. I promise.”

Lisa knew what her sister, Tamara, the lawyer, would say. But, then, Tamara would detain the president of the United States if he didn’t have proper insurance documentation. There were no gray areas in Tamara’s world—only black and white. Her other sister, Sheila—the rebel—would simply blow the whole thing off. The car could be fixed; no one was hurt. End of story. Sheila was a writer. She’d incorporate the whole accident into a plot. Then she could even write it off on taxes.

Vince frowned. “Greg, you don’t have insurance. Man, that’s lame.” He pulled a cell from his pocket and punched a number. “I’ll call my brother. He works at a garage.”

Lisa looked at Greg’s truck. Not even a broken headlight. Soon she could hear Vince talking. His words were impressive enough. He correctly identified the make, model and year of her car. The assessment of damages sounded right. And, the words “Send a tow truck” were somewhat soothing.

Greg still studied the street.

“Am I keeping you from something?” Lisa asked, feeling annoyed. He’d hit her car, after all.

“Guess not,” he finally muttered.

Vince grinned. “Greg’s a little rusty when it comes to women. You’re the new teacher. The guys were wondering why we didn’t have any teachers who looked like you when we went to school here.”

Lisa’s cheeks flamed. She’d been in Sherman, Nebraska, all of two weeks. The first week had been spent finding a place to live. This week had been spent at Sherman Elementary School filling out paperwork, sitting through in-service meetings, and getting her classroom ready. She’d noticed the scrutiny from the construction crew, and while the other teachers laughed it off—most knew the men—Lisa’d wished the parking lot would return to normal: fast.

“How long before the tow truck gets here?” Greg asked, saving her.

“Instead of tow truck, I’ll haul it over tonight. That will save you some money.”

For the first time, Greg looked as if maybe the accident was something he should be concerned about. “How are you going to haul it?”

“I’ve got a hoist and a trailer at home. I’ll—”

Before he could finish, someone shouted from the work site. Vince grinned sheepishly. “I gotta get back. Greg, you feel well enough to drive her home?”

He didn’t wait for Greg to answer, but continued talking to Lisa, “Write down your address and phone number for me and leave a key.”

It took Lisa a moment to retrieve her files from the passenger side of her damaged vehicle. When Greg’s truck hit her car, folders had slid to the floor and the contents had spilled out. Finally she had her files together and climbed into his truck. He was still checking out the street and looked as welcoming as a grouchy pit bull.

“Are you expecting someone?” she said.

He closed her door and came around to get behind the wheel. He gave her a guarded look. “No, why?”

“You keep checking out the street.”

He didn’t answer.

“I live on Elm Street. Just past the library.”

He paused, definitely torn about something, and then said, “Do you mind if I pick up my daughter, Amber, from the babysitter first? It’s on the way.”

“Sure.”

After five minutes of silence, she realized one thing for sure: Greg Bond wasn’t into small talk. Usually, parents jumped right in, wanting to know what kind of a teacher she was, how many years’ experience she had, if she volunteered time after school, and the like. Greg didn’t ask a single question.

Even though she knew the answer, Lisa made an effort to bridge the silence. “How long have you lived in Sherman?”

“A little more than four months.”

“Where’d you live before?”

He took his eyes off the road for a moment and studied her. He had blue eyes, stunning blue eyes, the color of cobalt. Not what she expected. Not with Indian black hair. She’d expected brooding dark-brown eyes.

“We moved around a lot. Not sure I’d call any place home. Where did you live before moving here?”

Okay, he changed the subject, from him to her, but at least she had a conversation going. “I’m from Tucson, Arizona. My family is still there.”

“So what brought you to Sherman?” he asked. Not that he looked as if he cared to hear the answer. His attention was on everything but her.

“A bit of wanderlust. I graduated three months ago and didn’t want to stay in Arizona. I wanted to travel, see the world. I have a good friend in Omaha, so I explored Nebraska a bit online to see where teachers were needed, and then applied here. The rest is history.”

He didn’t respond. Maybe he hadn’t been listening.

“Like my car,” she added.

He shook his head. “I deserved that. I do have something on my mind. Today’s just not been a great day.”

“Fine.”

To her surprise, he didn’t react to her sarcastic fine. He drove a few more blocks, pulled into a white clapboard house, and came around to open the door for her.

“You might as well come in. It always takes Amber some time to gather her things.”

They’d only taken two steps toward the house when noise erupted from inside.

“That’s my wild child,” Greg said.

Something loud hit the screen door. Almost immediately came the sounds of “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!”

“She sure gets excited when she sees you.”

“Yeah,” Greg admitted. “I hope that never changes.”

It was the most human thing he’d said so far. But then, he’d stopped looking up and down the street and was focused completely on the scene in front of him. An elderly woman opened the door wide enough for Amber Bond to squeeze out and a bundle of energy, dressed in jeans and a blue T-shirt, launched through the air and into Greg’s arms.

“Daddy!”

Lisa watched as relief relaxed his features. He hugged his daughter tightly and choked out, “Amber, did you have a good day?”

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“This is your first-grade teacher. Daddy managed to hit her car with his car and she needs a ride home.”

“You’re my new teacher?”

“I am.” Lisa bent down, eye level to the little girl, meeting a pair of blue eyes the same shade as Greg’s, and said, “I’ll bet you’re six years old and that you are a good artist.”

“How’d you know? Daddy! How’d she know?”

“Teachers have to be pretty smart.”

Greg swung Amber up into his arms and held the front door open for Lisa. She followed him into a room where every surface screamed family. Photos dominated the walls. Lisa immediately got homesick. She’d gone two weeks without seeing her mother or sisters. She’d never been away from them before.