Homeward Bound. Marin Thomas

hip shifted, jarring her attention upward, past the shiny silver belt buckle. Past the six pearl snaps on the sky-blue western shirt. Past a whisker-stubbled chin. Straight to his eyes. Eyes that stirred up memories of—

      “Heather.”

      Sucking in a deep breath, she braved a smile.

      Eyes dark as chunks of coal stared solemnly down at her from under the brim of a seen-better-days black Stetson.

      So he was going to pretend they’d never shared glorious kisses three years ago. Okay, fine. She could pretend, too. “Hello, Royce.”

      Her self-appointed guardian angel glowered. She imagined any sensible women would take one look at his expression, which hinted at a not-so-sunny disposition, and steer clear of the cowboy. Not Heather. She’d always admired his temperament, not to mention his strong stubborn jaw, deep-set brown eyes and equally dark slashing brows. Royce McKinnon was downright handsome in a rugged, manly-man sort of way.

      His sober gaze fastened on her bare tummy, where a dainty silver butterfly ring pierced her navel. His stare, moving and mysterious, turned the simple act of breathing into a strenuous exercise. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she struggled for control. Three years ago this man had rocked her world. If her skittering nervousness at the moment was any indication, she hadn’t succeeded in putting the past—rather, this man—behind her.

      With one last gulp of air, she shoved her T-shirt back in place and hopped to her feet. Desperate for a moment to corral her frazzled nerves, she brushed at an imaginary wrinkle in her jeans, then fixed her lopsided ponytail.

      At six feet two inches—minus the cowboy hat—the mayor of Nowhere, Texas, didn’t exactly blend in with the gaggle of preschoolers running loose in the room. “If I’d known you were stopping in town I would have asked for time off.” Well, that was brilliant. He’ll think I’ve been pining for him all these years.

      He cocked an eyebrow. “Some things never change.”

      “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      “I left a message on your cell phone.”

      The brooding, arrogant egghead was accusing her of not checking phone messages? Rolling her eyes, she sighed. “I see you brought along that trusty soapbox of yours.”

      “When you decide to grow up, I’ll leave it at home.”

      The fact that he thought her plenty grown-up three years ago, when he’d kissed her, hung in the air between them like wet laundry on a windless day. “For your information, this isn’t a job. Working at the day care is part of my student-teaching requirements.”

      Heather waited for a comeback that didn’t come.

      Royce’s attention switched to the back of the room. Puzzled by the expression of deep sadness that filled his eyes as he watched the group of towheads devour their snacks, she touched his shirtsleeve.

      The feel of the soft cotton material brought back a long-ago memory of Royce finding her bawling her head off behind the feed store. Even though her crying had embarrassed him, he’d offered her his shirtsleeve to wipe her nose. From that moment on Royce had been her hero.

      After a while the novelty of his attention had worn off and she’d focused her efforts on ignoring his meddling presence. But nothing she’d done or said had made Royce go away and leave her alone—thank goodness. Because she would have been truly lost without this overbearing interfering man. For that reason alone she reined in her temper. “Look, if you’re here to lecture me on failing to graduate next week with the rest of my class—”

      “You’re not graduating?”

      Oh, crud. He didn’t know? “Isn’t that pretty obvious, since I didn’t send you a graduation announcement?”

      He rubbed the sexy little bump in the middle of his nose with his index finger. “I assumed I wasn’t invited.”

      Did he think so little of her? Just because they’d shared one magical afternoon of intimacy and then…then…nothing didn’t mean she hated him or didn’t want him to celebrate her graduation. With all she’d put the man through over the years, he at least deserved to see her accept her degree. “I’m six credits short.” His silence compelled her to explain. “I’ve signed up for the first and second summer sessions. If everything goes as planned I’ll have my degree by summer’s end.”

      “Degree in what now?”

      “Psychology.”

      His brow dipped below the hat’s brim. “Come again?”

      “Psychology, with an emphasis on family and children.”

      His tanned complexion faded several shades, as if her choice of major and area of focus stunned him.

      Perturbed by his reaction, she demanded, “What? You don’t believe I would be good with kids?”

      “You’re nothing but a big kid yourself, Heather.”

      “People change. Maybe I wasn’t the quintessential good-girl back in Nowhere, but I hope my past experiences will help other troubled children.” She motioned to the crowded snack table. “Besides, I love kids.”

      A rude snort popped out of his mouth. He removed his hat, then tapped the edge against his thigh.

      Shocked, she stared at the long, jagged scratch marring the underside of the brim. Another memory flashed through her mind: Royce parked outside the diner on Route 8, twenty miles outside of Nowhere, just over the Arkansas border. He’d sat in his truck for two hours, watching her and then boyfriend Buddy Mansfield through the plate-glass window. Then he’d followed them back to her trailer, his truck’s brights beaming into the backs of their heads.

      “You kept the hat,” she whispered around the lump clogging her throat.

      As if noticing the imperfection for the first time, he smoothed his thumb over the mark.

      “I ruined the Stetson.” Because you ruined my plans to elope with Buddy. Thank goodness Royce had. A marriage to the hometown bad-boy would have ended in disaster. Last she heard, Buddy was doing time in the Huntsville prison for armed robbery.

      The lines around his Royce’s eyes crinkled. “Only a fool would toss away a perfectly good hat because of a minor scratch.”

      An ache filled her chest. “Minor? I slashed the thing with a pocketknife.” She hadn’t known if she or Royce had been more stunned by the vengeful act.

      “Yeah, you were full of piss and vinegar that evening.”

      She’d been thankful the moonless night had concealed the tears in her eyes as she’d struggled to find the words to apologize. Words she’d never found the courage to speak. Half of her had hoped she’d finally succeeded in driving Royce away. The other half had prayed he wouldn’t give up on her.

      When he shoved his fingers through a tuft of thick, reddish brown hair, the fluorescent lights in the ceiling highlighted a splash of silver along his temples.

      “You’ve got gray hair,” she blurted.

      The corners of his mouth lifted in amusement. “Your name is on every one of them.”

      Her name and those of the rest of the good folks in Nowhere. Apparently, being rancher, mayor and saver of lost souls was taking a toll on the thirty-two-year-old.

      The longer she studied him, the more she saw beyond his don’t-mess-with-me expression. The rumpled state of his clothes reflected the long drive to the university. The tight lines around his mouth hinted at fatigue, not anger. She suspected a headache, not frustration, created the furrow in the middle of his brow. And exasperation didn’t deepen the brown of his eyes—the dusky rings beneath them did.

      Forbidding and unapproachable—not today. Exhausted and troubled—yes. But how could that be? Royce McKinnon had always been unshakable.

      He checked