Small-Town Homecoming. Lissa Manley

put on the brakes when she saw Curt, windmilling her arms, and barely managing to stop before she ran fully into him.

      “Oh. Sorry. Um...” She cast her gaze around, then looked at him with flashing green eyes. “Did you see where he went?”

      “Around the corner,” Curt said, pointing in the direction the kid had gone.

      “Okay, thanks,” she said, bestowing him a crooked smile. “I’ll be right back.”

      He watched her go, admiring her slender curves as she quickly descended the stairs and took off in the direction Sam had gone.

      “Sam, don’t do this again,” she called, her voice ringing with frustration. “Remember we talked about this after yesterday’s incident? You promised you wouldn’t misbehave today.”

      Curt stood by the railing, listening, then slowly went down the stairs, curious about what was going on with the boy and the attractive young woman.

      Just as he reached the grass, she screamed, “Don’t you dare!”

      That sounded serious. His protective instincts—and curiosity—surging, Curt took off, rounded the corner of the house and ran into the backyard.

      His gaze zeroed in on them, facing off in the far back corner. Sam held the end of a nozzled garden hose in one hand and was pointing the “weapon” toward the young woman, who had one hand out as she inched closer to Sam in a half crouch.

      “I mean it, Sam....” she said.

      Sam’s face was lit by a mischievous smile that, in Curt’s opinion as a formerly ill-behaved boy, didn’t bode well for her. Nope.

      Figuring he could diffuse the situation—somehow—Curt kept moving toward the dueling duo, noting as he did that Sam wasn’t fazed in the least, and was moving forward, hose held out in front of him.

      Curt turned his attention to her again. She shook a rigid finger at Sam. “Do. Not. Spray. Me. With. That. Hose.”

      “Hey, bud,” Curt shouted, waving his arms. “Put down the hose, okay?”

      Curt drew alongside the woman. She threw him a grateful look.

      “Who’re you?” Sam called, one eyebrow raised.

      “I’m Curt Graham.”

      The boy shrugged as if to say, “Big deal, your name means nothing to me.”

      “I’m checking in here,” Curt said by way of an explanation. Maybe he could distract the boy by talking long enough to nab him.

      The woman threw him an apologetic look. “Jumping right into the fun stuff, huh?”

      “Right.”

      Out of the corner of his eye, Curt saw Sam moving closer, presumably to strike, up close and personal. Curt turned to face the threat; he could take this kid, no problem. Working out was part of his recovery, so he was fitter than he’d ever been, right? This little kid was no match for him.

      Curt held up his hands. “Sam—”

      Before he could get any more words out, Sam raised the hose and pointed it directly at the woman’s face. Curt was sure he saw the kid’s finger tighten on the nozzle trigger.

      Instinctively Curt pushed the woman behind him and then he rushed Sam, hoping to catch him and wrest the hose away before he could inflict any liquid damage. Only to be met with an icy-cold blast of hose water right in the kisser.

      * * *

      Jenna Flaherty widened her eyes and squawked as her handsome, dark-haired new guest took a hard spray of water intended for her directly in the face. But the torrent of water didn’t seem to deter Mr. Graham. He just kept moving toward Sam, his arms in front of him, trying to dodge the spray.

      Sam shrieked and kept backing up, wildly shooting water as he went, holding the hose with both hands.

      She watched in an odd kind of fascination as her rescuer determinedly picked up the pace, putting his long legs to work. Sam’s eyes widened and his feet got tangled up in each other, and he stumbled and lost ground, fast. But his finger somehow kept pressing the nozzle trigger and the water kept pummeling Mr. Graham. Jenna had no idea how he wasn’t inhaling oodles of water.

      With a growl, Mr. Graham lunged at Sam, who dropped the hose as he tried, too late, to escape the much larger, stronger man. Mr. Graham managed to catch Sam around the waist and haul him up against his wide chest.

      Sam flailed his legs. “Put me down!” he screamed.

      “Not happening,” Mr. Graham said, his coffee-colored eyes glinting in the sun. He shook the water out of his face as he hugged Sam against him to keep control of the squirming boy. “No way am I taking more water up my nose.”

      Mortified, Jenna ran forward. “Sam, stop this nonsense at once!”

      Sam had trouble with impulse control—a hallmark symptom of his ADHD—so his behavior didn’t surprise her. Especially since she’d been his after-school day-care provider for almost a year, and was well aware of the challenges Sam faced, what with his dad in prison and his mom juggling two jobs to make ends meet.

      But the last thing she needed was to lose a client because of Sam’s behavior. Business was down at the Sweetheart, and with her bank account depleted by the costly repairs Grams had put off and that were now Jenna’s responsibility, she needed every penny of income she could get just to keep the place afloat.

      Mr. Graham looked at her over Sam’s head, then jerked his chin toward the hose. “You might want to get that thing while you can.”

      “Oh, yeah.” She went over to the hose bib and turned the water off at the source. Picking up the nozzle, she dragged the hose over and put it under a large rhododendron bush, where Sam would have a harder time getting to it.

      “Let me go,” Sam whined, trying in vain to pry Mr. Graham’s well-muscled arm loose from its seemingly iron grip around Sam’s waist.

      Setting her jaw, she headed in their direction. As she neared, she couldn’t help noticing that being blasted by a torrent of water hadn’t detracted from Mr. Graham’s good looks one bit. His short dark hair stood on end, but with his tall build, lean but muscular physique and matching dark eyes, he was one good-looking guy, indeed.

      She shoved that rogue thought aside, her ire at Sam rising again. But she tamped it down, reminding herself that she needed to be firm yet loving with the boy. Sam was going through a rough time and needed levelheaded discipline like nobody’s business.

      “Mr. Graham will put you down as soon as you calm yourself, Sammy.” She looked at Mr. Graham, nodding slightly. “Right?”

      He nodded back, clearly getting her drift. “Right. But no more funny stuff, bud. This kind of behavior isn’t cool.”

      Sam quit squirming and went still in Mr. Graham’s arms. “Yeah, I guess.”

      Mr. Graham lowered him to the ground, but kept his hands on the boy’s narrow shoulders while he leaned sideways to look him in the eye. “I want a promise that you’re going to behave.”

      “All right, I promise,” Sam grudgingly said.

      “Good deal.” Mr. Graham let go of Sam’s shoulders and stepped back as he wiped the water from his face, though he’d probably have to change clothes, Jenna thought. His short-sleeved light blue polo shirt and jeans were soaked.

      Sam skittered sideways, out of the man’s reach, but otherwise stayed put and kept his promise. For now. She knew better than anyone that Sam had a hard time staying out of trouble.

      Relieved that the garden hose crisis had passed, Jenna stepped forward and extended her hand to Mr. Graham. “Belatedly, I’m Jenna Flaherty, owner of the Sweetheart Inn.”

      He wiped his hand on his jeans and held it out, engulfing her hand in his large