In Good Company

“Not today.”

“How come?”

“Because I don’t have anything to hammer. I have to order wood and nails and I don’t know how much I’ll need yet. I’m here to figure that out.”

“Oww.”

Molly turned at the cry of distress to see a curly-haired brunette rubbing her head.

“What’s wrong, Amy?”

“Kyle pulled my hair, Miss Molly,” she said, her bottom lip trembling.

“Kyle, remember what I told you about keeping your hands to yourself?”

The towheaded boy nodded. “She started it. She put paint on my new shoe, Miss Molly. My mom said I couldn’t even get these new shoes dirty or wet.”

“Don’t worry. The paint will come off. Did you tell Amy your shoes were new?”

He nodded. “But she painted ’em anyway. She’s stupid and I hate—”

Molly held up her finger. The guilty look on Kyle’s face told her he’d remembered too late her pet peeve—calling someone names. She’d been on the receiving end of enough hurtful taunts and wouldn’t permit name-calling in her classroom. Children weren’t too young to learn good manners and it was her goal to plant the seeds of kindness in as many of them as she could. But she tried to be fair when dispensing consequences.

She walked over to the pint-size squabblers. “Amy,” she said, squatting at the low table between the two children. She glanced at the black streak on the boy’s formerly snow-white sneaker. “Did you put paint on Kyle’s shoe?”

“Yes, but—”

Molly held up her hand. “No excuses. Please put down your paintbrush.” The little girl did as she was told. “Now, tell Kyle you’re sorry for what you did.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

Molly looked at the boy. “Kyle, you need to say you’re sorry for pulling Amy’s hair and calling her names.”

His stubborn expression clearly said he’d been wronged and shouldn’t have to apologize. But Molly sternly met his gaze without flinching. Every transgression required an apology even if hostilities hadn’t been initiated by the apologizer. Good thing she hadn’t held her breath waiting for Des to apologize for making a fool of her.

Finally Kyle rubbed a finger beneath his nose and said, “Sorry, Amy.”

“Good,” Molly said, nodding with satisfaction. “Now I want everyone to come with me to the sink and we’ll wash our hands.”

“But Trey is talkin’ to the man,” Kyle said, pointing. “Why can’t we?”

“Because after painting we have to make sure our hands are clean before we do anything else. And Trey is going to wash up, too.”

Molly walked her charges to the tot-size sinks and got them started. When they were finished, she lined them up by the door to the playground. “I’ll be right back.”

She walked to where man and boy were still talking.

“The boards are cut to the right length, then I’m going to put them together with nails,” Des was saying.

“Can I watch?” Trey asked.

“Sure.”

“He said I could watch,” Trey told her excitedly.

“I heard.” Molly reined in her irritation. She needed a word—or twenty—with this man. Preferably when no children were present and she could freely speak her mind.

“Can I help?” the boy eagerly asked.

“I don’t see why not.” Des smiled at the child.

“Trey, it’s time to wash your hands. Then line up with the others.” Molly touched his shoulder and turned him, gently nudging him in the direction of the sinks. He reluctantly went, glancing over his shoulder several times. When the boy was on task, she looked at Des. “May I speak to you in the time-out room?”

He straightened to his full six-foot-plus height. His eyebrows, a shade darker than his hair, rose along with the corners of his mouth. Something amused him. No doubt her. It seemed she was destined to be his comic relief.

“This sounds serious. Am I in trouble?”

Only if breaking hearts was a hanging offense. Hers had been a casualty. But she wouldn’t stand by and see him play fast and loose with a child’s emotions.

“Let’s not disrupt the children further. We can discuss it in there.” She indicated the small storage area off her classroom with windows that gave her a view of her charges. When they entered the room, she turned quickly, colliding with the man who followed her. He was all lean muscle, wiry strength and warm male flesh. It was like walking into a brick wall, and just as hard on her system.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, quickly stepping back.

“Why? You didn’t call me stupid.” So he’d heard her with the children. Apparently the man could multi-task. He pointed at the glass and said, “Is this like the two-way mirrors the police use? We can see them, but they can’t see us?”

“No, actually. They can see us.”

He rested his hands on narrow hips. What was it about a man in jeans that spelled danger for female hearts? Before going any further with that thought, she stopped herself. She was angry with him, which should leave no room for thoughts like that.

“Wait here. The other kids are coming inside and I need to have my aide hold down the fort for a few minutes.”

Des watched through the glass as Molly Preston walked across her classroom to talk to a tall, jean-clad woman with a whistle around her neck. He frowned, wondering what Miss Molly’s problem was. He hoped she wasn’t the type who got her panties in a twist over the small stuff.

And speaking of panties, he had a feeling Miss Molly filled hers out in the nicest possible way. She was quite a package. It was the first thing he’d noticed when he walked into her classroom. She was petite, pretty and pleasingly proportioned in all the right places. Then there were the thick auburn curls teasing her shoulders. He had the most absurd urge to run his fingers through her hair to see if it was as silky and soft as it looked. And familiar. Why was that?

Actually, their paths had probably crossed. He’d grown up in this town but couldn’t wait to leave. His father’s death had brought him back to salvage the company his grandfather had started. Des had pumped a lot of his own money into the failing construction business, so he had a lot riding on the success of the preschool project. The profit margin was real narrow, but profit wasn’t his goal. This was simply a stepping stone to the real prize—a contract with Richmond Homes for the new development south of Charity City.

He was in negotiations right now with Carter Richmond who’d said in no uncertain terms he’d be watching Des’s work. In a town the size of Charity City, one black mark on a man’s reputation could be his loss and a competitor’s gain. Des knew that if he was to keep his business afloat, losing contracts wasn’t an option. He needed to build the wing of classrooms on time, within budget, and it had to be the best work he’d ever done. Besides that, a good businessman never underestimated the value of word of mouth in a town the size of Charity City. For all of the above, he needed Miss Molly’s cooperation.

When she walked back into the interrogation room, he said, “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“So many things, so little time.” Her gaze narrowed.

This was not exactly the most convenient moment to notice what interesting things irritation did to her green eyes.

“What’s on your mind?” he prompted. If this was going to go smoothly, they needed to get all their cards on the table.

“For starters, I have a problem with you promising Trey that he could help you.”