Small-Town Homecoming

He shook his head, his brown eyes glinting. “No worries. I’m tough.”

Yes, she could see that. Tall. Strong-looking. Tough for sure. And handsome with his dark curly hair and café au lait eyes. Something fluttered in her chest and she recognized the feeling for what it was—she was attracted to Curt Graham. No doubt about it.

She cleared her throat, a bit dismayed by her reaction. “Well, thank you for your offer. I really appreciate it, and I’m sure Sam does, too.”

Curt pointed toward the front of the house. “Let me go get my luggage. Where should I take it?”

Oh, yes, another detail forgotten. Curt Graham had her flustered, indeed. “I’ll meet you at the front door and take you up to the Carnation Room.”

“Great,” he said, heading out the same archway Sam had gone through. “I’ll be right back.”

Jenna watched Curt go, appreciating his lean yet broad-shouldered frame and his decidedly masculine, confident way of moving. He definitely was nice to look at. She shook her head and tried to reel her interest in, forcing herself to recall her last relationship during her senior year in college.

Garrett had had the same kind of confidence as Curt, and had been fun-loving and thoughtful, too. She’d gone with her heart 100 percent and had flung herself into a relationship with him. But she’d been wrong in the end about him. And she’d come away with a broken heart and one more reason to believe that she wasn’t good enough.

She’d learned then and there that she needed to be cautious in love. Thoughtful. Picky. She wholeheartedly believed in the romantic gold standard she saw in her parents’, brother’s and grandparents’ marriages. She wanted what they had. Desperately.

She headed out to the foyer, reiterating her mantra: when I fall in love, I will not settle for anything less than a man who will make all my dreams come true. Curt seemed good at a glance, but only time would tell the story about him she needed to hear.

Until then, she had to keep her interest in him under tight control. And her gaze away from those gorgeous brown eyes of his.

Chapter Two

“So, do you have any kids?”

Curt looked at a bright-eyed Sam perched on the edge of the chair next to him. Man, Sam was a curious little guy. So far he’d asked Curt where he lived, what kind of car he drove and if he had a dog because he, Sam, loved dogs and wanted one of his own—the bigger the better—but his mom wouldn’t let him have one because they had a cat instead.

“Nope, no kids.” Curt liked children well enough, but having his own seemed unlikely. Maybe way, way down the road. His goal now was to mend fences and put order into his life.

He picked up the bottle of model glue and handed it to Sam. “Now, I’m gonna hold these two pieces, and you’re gonna put some glue where they meet, all right?”

“’Kay.” Sam took the glue and waited for Curt to get the two pieces into place. “Why don’t you have kids?”

Curt picked up the pieces and held them out, touching. “’Cause I’m not married,” he said, going with the easy answer rather than the one that would require any explaining.

Sam cocked his head to the side. “Why not?”

Curt frowned and then looked over at an apron-clad Jenna as she pulled the remade pies out of the oven, noting the delicate curve of her chin, rosy cheeks and the lovely shade of her large green eyes. Boy, she was pretty.

She set the pies on the counter and then shrugged and gave him a lopsided smile, as if to say, “Yeah, he’s curious. Deal with it.”

“Put the glue right there,” Curt said, stalling while he tried to figure out what to say.

Sam bent over and very carefully applied some glue where Curt had indicated, his brow creased. When he was done, he sat back. “So?”

“So, what?” Curt said, very carefully setting the glued pieces down. Maybe Sam would forget the question.

Sam sighed. “So, why aren’t you married?”

No such luck. Curt looked back at Jenna with a “rescue me” look. She pressed her lips together, shot him a quick, furtive glance, and then in what seemed like a very deliberate manner, set about running water into the sink without looking his way again. No help there. Was she enjoying seeing him on the spot? Or...waiting for his answer?

“Um...well, I haven’t met the right person,” Curt said. True enough—the wild crowd he’d hung out with in L.A. hadn’t been into much beyond scoring their next hit. Committed relationships had been few and far between. But he wasn’t sharing those details with the kid.

“What about Miss Jenna?” Sam asked. “She’s not married, either.”

Curt raised a brow and looked at Jenna. She was washing a mixing bowl with such intense care it seemed as if it were made of spun glass rather than stainless steel. “Really? Well, then, maybe I’ll ask her out.”

The bowl fell into the sink with a clank and her wide-eyed gaze flew his way. “What?”

He just smiled innocently. “Turnabout is fair play.”

“What’s turbinout?” Sam asked.

Curt leaned back against the ladder-back of his chair. “It’s when someone returns what they’ve been given.”

Sam scowled. “Like if I gave a Christmas present back to Santa?”

“Yup, kinda like that,” Curt said.

“Oh. That’s bad,” Sam said. “But what does that have to do with you and Miss Jenna going out on a date?”

Jenna sputtered, glaring at Curt. “Sam, he’s just joking. He and I aren’t going to go out on a date.”

“Oh.” Sam’s shoulders hunched as he fiddled with the tube of glue. “My mom goes out a lot. Maybe you can go out with her, Mr. Graham.”

“Well, thanks, Sam, but I’m not going to have time to go out while I’m here. I’m going to be working for my brother.”

“Who’s he?” Sam asked.

Curt picked up the model’s directions. “His name is Seth and he owns the Sports Shack.”

“Oh, yeah. I know him. I went there to get my stuff for baseball.” Sam smiled. “He’s nice.”

“He has a little boy just about your age.”

“What’s his name?”

“Dylan,” Curt said, looking for the car’s hood piece.

Sam put the tube of glue down. “Dylan’s lucky he has a dad. My dad’s in jail, but my mama says he’s getting out soon.”

Curt’s heart lurched and he looked to Jenna.

She nodded solemnly.

“Oh, wow, Sam. I’m sorry.” Curt knew how rough it could be for a kid to grow up with bad parents. Emotional neglect had been part and parcel of his childhood, and had left profound scars. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

“Hey, lookee, Mr. Graham,” Sam said, holding his fingers up. “I glued my fingers together!”