Would-Be Mistletoe Wife. Christine Johnson

out the door.

      Unwelcome disappointment flooded into Louise. To counter it, she whistled a cheerful tune, the first that came to her, the carol “We Three Kings.” She then began entering the day’s marks into her record book.

      “Isn’t it a little early for Christmas carols?” Jesse’s deep voice knifed through her.

      She didn’t dare look up, lest she lose her composure again. “It’s never too early to celebrate the Savior’s birth.”

      Though distracted, she managed to place Adeline’s arithmetic score in the proper column.

      “Mrs. Evans would like me to give the lecture next Monday,” he said. “If that’s all right with you, that is.”

      Naturally it would be on Monday, her usual day for a class on the sciences. At least it would only be once.

      “If she approved it, then it’s fine with me.” She began to place another score in the record book but forgot whose it was. “If you don’t mind, I am busy.”

      “I can see that.”

      Yet he didn’t leave.

      Louise looked up, prepared to scold him. He cast a sheepish grin her way, and her irritation evaporated. She shook herself. This sympathy for him was dangerous. It had gotten her into all sorts of trouble. She resumed entering grades.

      “She asked me to do five more lectures,” he said.

      “Five!” Louise’s blood boiled. Five additional lectures would eliminate her science lessons for the entire month of October and half of November. By then, they would no longer be able to go outdoors to examine plant life.

      “She insisted.”

      Louise swallowed her anger. It wasn’t Jesse’s fault that Fiona was trying to match him to her, just as it wasn’t Priscilla’s fault that Louise had lingered too long in Jesse’s arms. Oh, dear. How was she going to manage six lectures with him?

      “I didn’t realize there was that much information to reveal about the weather.”

      He looked even more sheepish. “Mrs. Evans suggested I tell your students about the working of the lighthouse.”

      Wonderful. Fiona thought science was too obscure for the girls. It had taken all of Louise’s persuasive abilities to convince her to allow a single class each week. Now she was throwing an entire period to Jesse, and for what? Talking about the lighthouse? What possible good would that do the students?

      “I thought you didn’t want to lecture,” she pointed out. “You did offer to withdraw and let me do it.”

      “Mrs. Evans has a way of persuading a person. She did say we wouldn’t have to work together. You can simply introduce me and monitor from the back of the classroom.”

      Didn’t he know how difficult that would be? She could only get rid of these unwanted feelings by distancing herself from Jesse, not putting herself in his path each week.

      A piercing scream sent Louise to her feet and Jesse into the hallway.

      “One of the girls,” she cried, rushing past him.

      He followed and soon ran past her. Then, when he reached the parlor, he halted. Right in the doorway. Louise skidded on the wood floor and nearly bumped into him. Only the door frame spared her from another embarrassing encounter.

      Then she spotted Priscilla, who lay at the base of the staircase, moaning and grasping her ankle.

      “Mr. Hammond,” Priscilla sobbed. “Help me.”

      He hurried toward her and knelt.

      Louise wrestled with unseemly thoughts—that Priscilla hadn’t fallen at all and that this was all a ruse to attract Jesse. The jealousy welling within was wrong.

      Fiona pushed past Louise. “What happened?”

      “I tripped and fell,” Priscilla cried. “My ankle.”

      Fiona took charge. “Louise, fetch Mrs. Calloway. She’ll know whether or not to get the doctor from Saugatuck. Mr. Hammond, let’s get Priscilla to the sofa.”

      Jesse didn’t need Fiona’s help. While Louise donned her hat, he scooped up Priscilla, who draped both arms around his neck and leaned her head against his shoulder. Whether or not Priscilla had really tripped and hurt her ankle, she was definitely taking advantage of the situation.

      Louise yanked open the door and stepped outside. She would not battle an eighteen-year-old for the attentions of a man. She took a deep breath of the late afternoon air.

      Louise Smythe was a teacher. She could stand on her own. No man was required.