One Stormy Night. Marilyn Pappano

chiefs made enemies.

      Especially, she’d learned nearly three years later, corrupt ones.

      Jessica pushed that subject to the back of her mind. “So Willis is about your age and he has multiple teenage daughters. Did he get an early start or are you the late bloomer here?”

      Mitch shifted to prop his feet on the chair between them. “His wife had their first girl about three weeks after graduation and had another every year after until Shandra was born. She’s number four.”

      “And you haven’t even got number one yet.” Not that he struck her as a particularly paternal man. She would have to see past his sexy-as-sin exterior to put him in the role of doting father—and she was having trouble with that. Enough trouble to be a concern…later.

      “Nope, no kids. I did have one marriage, though. It started out great but ended when we realized we had nothing in common anymore.”

      “How long did that take?”

      “Four years to find out. Another to do anything about it.” His brow furrowed as he frowned at her. “You’re pretty good at getting me to volunteer information I don’t normally share.”

      She coaxed a faint smile and shrugged again. “I used to teach third grade. My students always found me easy to talk to.”

      “You’re comparing me to a third-grader?”

      His mildly insulted tone strengthened her smile. “I think most men have quite a lot in common with third-graders. And second-graders. And kindergartners.”

      “So why aren’t you teaching here?”

      Jen had wanted to teach. She’d wanted to do anything besides sit home alone all day or socialize with Starla Starrett and the few others on Taylor’s approved-friends list. But Taylor had refused. How would it look if his wife was working instead of home where she belonged?

      Because she didn’t like the answer to the question, Jessica ignored it, returning instead to a comment Mitch had made earlier. “So you played football. And basketball. Were you any good?”

      “Good enough to get a football scholarship to Ole Miss. I played two years, had surgery on my knee, decided I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life limping around and quit.”

      “I don’t like football. Or basketball. Or baseball, golf, fishing, tennis, track…”

      “Don’t be shy,” he said drily. “For years I lived football and basketball. I’m a die-hard Braves fan. And the first thing my brothers and I do when I go for a visit is head out on the river to fish a few hours.”

      “Your half brothers.”

      Mitch took another drink of tea, brewed strong and sweet enough to put a diabetic in a coma, and wondered why she stressed the “half” part. Did she have half or step-siblings that she didn’t like to give the same acknowledgment as her real sister?