That Mccloud Woman. Peggy Moreland

sunk deeply into her mouth. The boy was kicking and swinging at the driver, and Alayna was trying her best to wedge herself between the two.

      When the bus driver gave Alayna a shove, roughly knocking her out of his way, Jack straightened, curling his hands into tight fists. Whether he wanted to be in this house, or not, was no longer important. He couldn’t stand by and watch a man rough up a woman.

      He stormed from the room, down the stairs and out onto the lawn. Alayna was already back on her feet and was preparing to jump back in the fray.

      “Let the kid go.”

      The order was delivered with just enough volume and with enough punch behind it to make the boy quit his thrashing, the bus driver to quit his shouting and the little girl to drop her thumb from her mouth. All four—Alayna included—turned to stare at Jack, slack-jawed.

      Jack moved closer. “I said, let the kid go.”

      The bus driver squared his shoulders. “And who do you think you are, telling me what to do?”

      “Who I am isn’t important. What I’m telling you is. Let the kid go.”

      “He cussed me.”

      “I said, let the boy go.”

      The bus driver eyed Jack a moment as if measuring his chances if it came to a fight, then scowled. He gave the boy a shove, knocking him up against Jack’s leg. The boy fell to his knees but immediately scrambled back to his feet, curling his hands into fists. Jack put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, firmly holding him in place.

      With a sneer at the kid, the driver turned on Alayna. “I’m telling you for the last time,” he said, shaking a threatening finger in her face. “That smart-mouthed kid ain’t ridin’ my bus no more. I don’t have to put up with that kind of sass, ’specially not from a snot-nosed, motherless brat.” With that, he wheeled around and stomped back up the steps of his bus. The door snapped back into place, then, with a grinding of gears, the bus pulled away.

      Jack tightened his hand on the boy’s shoulder and spun him around to face him. “Did you cuss him?”

      The kid glared up at Jack, meeting his gaze belligerently. “Yeah. I called him an old fart, ’cause he is one.”

      “Go to your room.” Jack wasn’t sure where the order came from, or even why he was involving himself in a situation that was definitely none of his business. But he had, and though he’d come to the kid’s defense, he knew the boy was in the wrong and needed a good reprimanding.

      The boy swelled up as if he wanted to argue Jack’s right to tell him what to do, but Alayna quickly intervened. “Go on upstairs, Billy, and put your school things away. And take Molly with you. I’ll be up in a minute.”

      Though Jack could tell the boy didn’t want to obey the order, to his credit, he followed Alayna’s instructions. “Come on, Molly,” he muttered, stooping to scrape his book bag from the ground. “Something stinks out here,” he added, shooting a dark look Jack’s way.

      Molly sidestepped her way past Jack, her eyes wide and watchful as she stared up at him. When she’d made it safely past him, she tucked her teddy bear tighter against her chest and ran to catch up with Billy. On the porch, she bent and scooped up the cat, then, with a last nervous glance at Jack, she slipped inside the door.

      Alayna watched her charges disappear into the house. “I’m sorry,” she said, then turned to look at Jack. She sighed when she saw his disapproving scowl. “I’m afraid my children didn’t make a very good first impression, did they?”

      One thick eyebrow shot up in surprise. “Those two are your kids?”

      “Technically, no. They are my foster children.”

      His scowl returned.

      Alayna wrinkled her nose as she continued to peer up at him. “I guess you don’t care for children any more than you care for cats, huh?”

      “Not particularly. And that boy there,” he said with a jerk of his chin toward the house, “needs to have the seat of his pants warmed. He’s got a mouth on him.”

      Alayna nodded her agreement, though already dreading the confrontation. “Yes. I’ll talk to Billy.”

      Jack grunted, indicating his doubt on the effectiveness of having a talk with a kid like Billy.

      “You haven’t changed your mind, have you?” Alayna asked uncertainly. “You’ll stay and do the remodeling?”

      Jack glanced toward his truck, the temptation to climb back in it and drive away so strong he had to brace his knees to keep from giving in to it. “I gave my word,” he said, setting his jaw. “I’ll see the job done.”

      

      Jack awakened early, as was his habit, to find the sky beyond his window washed with the pinks and lavenders signifying dawn’s arrival. The bed he slept on was an old one, but comfortable, and a definite improvement over the bedroll he’d been sleeping on for the last couple of months, spread out over the bed of his truck. He rolled to his side, tucking an arm beneath his head, and stared out the window, praying that the events of the day before had never happened, that he’d wake up any minute and realize it was all a bad dream.

      But he wasn’t asleep, and this was no bad dream that he’d wake from. The view of the Pond House through the cabin’s window was proof enough of that.

      The Pond House. A fitting—if simplistic—name for the house, since the structure had been built beside a pond. Yet, the name was a poetic one, too, reflective of the setting and the natural materials that had been used in its construction. White limestone, rough cedar, combined with a lot of glass to take advantage of the views. It was a beautiful place, well constructed, though still in need of repair. There was a peacefulness about the place and its setting that seemed to tug at him.

      Peaceful. That word again. He frowned, thinking how the day before he’d thought the same thing about the town of Driftwood when he’d been staring at its main street through the café’s window. Now here he was planted right smack-dab in the middle of it all—the town, the house, the pastoral setting—and he sure as hell didn’t feel very peaceful. Not when he considered the kids who inhabited the house...or the woman who cared for them.

      He glanced at the bedside table and at the bottle of whiskey sitting on top of it. His friend. His companion. His catharsis for a pain that just wouldn’t go away.

      He frowned and reached for the bottle, curling his fingers around its neck. Amber liquid sloshed against its side as he leaned over and shoved the bottle underneath the bed and out of his sight. The whiskey had failed to work its magical charm for him this time. His dreams during the night, though different from his past ones, were no less disturbing. They had been filled with an angel-faced woman with eyes so deep a blue a man could drown in them, and a gentle touch that made his skin heat and his heart yearn for things that could never be.

      With a groan, he rolled to his side again, and stared out the window. As if his thoughts had drawn her, the back door of the Pond House opened and the woman who had filled his dreams stepped out onto the flagstone patio.

      Alayna.

      She wore a long, cotton robe, the same shade of blue as her eyes. It billowed around her legs in the early-morning breeze like a cloud in a summer sky. Barefoot and with her blond hair still mussed with sleep, she looked young and innocent...and good enough to eat. While he watched, she hugged her arms up under her breasts, tipped her face up to the sky and drew in a deep, cleansing breath. A soft, sensual smile curved her lips as she filled her lungs with the fresh, early-morning air. Even from his distance, Jack could see the rise of her breasts over her folded arms, and his groin tightened in response.

      Damn, but she was pretty, and as sexy as any woman he’d ever seen. He shifted, easing the unexpected ache that jumped to life between his legs. Unable to look away from her, he continued to watch as she walked around the patio, pausing to fluff a floral pillow on a chair, then stooping to pull a weed