Page 2 of Welcome to Forever
He scanned the hall, as if not quite sure that they were alone. “I thought I heard yelling. Is everything okay?”
“That was me. And yes, everything’s fine. Or it will be once I get that outside wall repainted.”
His gaze fell to her hand as she twisted her engagement ring. It was a nervous habit, one that reminded people of her past and usually elicited sympathetic frowns in her direction. Poor Kat Chandler. Her fiancé’s dead and she’s still clinging to his promise of forever.
Micah Peterson didn’t know her history, though. Instead of sympathy, silent recognition crossed his face. She was off the market. Reflexively, she glanced at his left hand, too—no ring.
Silence swam between them. Heated, awkward silence punctuated by the soft hum of the overhead lighting.
“Well, it was nice to meet you, Principal Chandler,” he said in a low voice that made her knees wobble just a little.
Her mouth grew dry as she watched a bead of sweat travel down his temple. Weren’t part-time groundskeepers supposed to be old with beer guts? Micah’s stomach was flat. With his T-shirt sticking to the perspiration, she could nearly make out the indentations of well-defined muscle there. “Please, call me Kat,” she insisted in a squeaky voice that made her cheeks burn.
“Kat,” he repeated, then gestured behind him. “I better go get my son. Wouldn’t want him to be late for his first day of school.”
“You have a son?”
“Third grader this year.”
She waited for the fact that he was a father to shut down her rampant hormones. It didn’t. Her gaze continued to travel down his body as he walked away, her face heating immediately as she realized what she was doing—shamelessly checking out the school’s lawn guy. Not that she’d been drooling, but…it seemed that even if her heart wasn’t ready to move on, her body definitely was. Her body was practically screaming at her, reminding her of how it felt to be touched—loved.
He turned to wave again and her gaze jumped back to his eyes.
Oh, crap. She hoped he hadn’t seen where her eyes were looking—right at where a tight pair of dirt-smudged jeans hugged his very nice ass.
“ ’Bye,” he said with a slight smile curving his lips.
Yeah, he’d caught her looking.
“ ’Bye,” she squeaked as she pretended to look for the newspaper that was conveniently lying in front of the double doors. She hurried to pick it up, and then quickly, carefully, walked back to her office, reprimanding herself all the way. She needed to get a grip, and fast. She also needed to change out of her spray-painted shirt. The staff would be arriving any minute and the students would begin filling the hallways in one hour. This job was the reason she woke up in the morning, not sexy groundsmen. She was practically married to the school anyway, and hopefully she and SES would have their own version of happily ever after.
—
After a quick shower and change of clothes, Micah drained the coffee from his mug and glanced at the clock on the wall. School started at eight. He still had to get Ben dressed, load the wheelchair in the Jeep, and drive the five miles back to the school, where this morning he’d finally met the principal, looking a little frazzled and more like one of those New York models than a civil servant. Not that he was disappointed.
He clanged his mug in the sink, hoping the noise would rouse the sleepyhead down the hall, and headed in that direction.
Seaside Elementary was the only school within a twenty-mile radius, and he wanted to stay close in case there was a medical emergency—or an incident like last year’s.
Fresh anger curled his fingers into tight balls at his sides as he remembered the group of kids who’d tormented Ben relentlessly. Maybe because he was disabled, or just because he was different from them—always reading instead of socializing and dispersing random facts without prompting. The bullying had finally crossed the line when the kids had tossed his library books and book bag in the cafeteria trashcan several days in a row, forcing Ben to tearfully ask his teacher for help. Micah still couldn’t believe it’d taken them three days to catch on to what was happening. Ben had taken the blame himself, of course, because that’s the kind of kid he was. Everyone knew that wasn’t the case, though.
Micah flipped the light switch and his muscles softened as he watched his son curl deeper into the covers. The kid could sleep forever. “Come on, trooper. Get up.”
Ben moaned.
“First day of school.”
More movement stirred under the solar system–themed blanket.
“I made eggs,” he said, knowing this would do the trick.
Finally, Ben’s head appeared and a groggy smile crossed his milky white face. “Help me up,” he pleaded in a sleep-coated voice.
Micah nearly took a step forward, but stopped himself. “You got this, bud,” he said, remembering what his son’s occupational therapist had told him. If Ben didn’t learn how to do things on his own, he’d always rely on others. He’d never be independent.
Ben’s thin arm reached for the side rail of his bed and pulled, his tiny muscles bulging as he strained to get his body upright. Then he lined his legs up on the ground to stand. It seemed to take more energy for him to do that simple task than it did for Micah to run five miles every morning at the Marines’ physical training center.
After a long moment, Ben’s gaze slid toward him with a hopeful gleam in his eyes, as if he’d get some help on this final step. Micah stayed rooted in the doorway. With a sigh, Ben grabbed the arm of his wheelchair and transferred in one jerky movement, a proud smile crossing his sleep-creased face as he looked up.
