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He leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, praying all the while she wouldn’t.
He brushed his lips softly against hers, then kissed her lightly, only once, the small motion causing every nerve in him to stand on edge.
He wanted so much more, but he would have to be satisfied with this for the time being. Paige needed her space. When she was ready, she would have to make the next move.
But, for the first time in a long time, he felt confident enough, and ready, to try again with a woman. This woman. The frayed edges Callie had left behind seemed to have softened just a bit since he’d met Paige.
On the other hand, if this was what she could do to him after just a few days, he was in real trouble.
His Texas Forever Family
Amy Woods
Although she’s wanted to be a writer since learning to read, AMY WOODS took the scenic route to her job as an author. She’s been a bookkeeper, a high school English teacher, a claims specialist and a call-center worker, but now that she’s tried making up stories for a living, she’s never giving it up. She grew up in Austin, Texas, and still lives there with her wonderfully goofy, supportive husband and a very spoiled rescue dog. Amy looks forward to getting to know her readers and can be reached on Facebook, Twitter or at her website, www.amywoodsbooks.com.
For Carly Silver,
editor extraordinaire, who believes in my writing and helped make a lifelong dream come true. For J.R.— the crazy guy who married me and taught me to believe that true love exists, and that finding happiness is worth taking risks. For Mom, whose unwavering love and support allow me to fly and offer a soft place to land when I fall. For Maggie— the rescue dog who stole my heart and has me wrapped around her little dewclaw.
Contents
“Assistant Principal Graham,” the intercom spat, “please report to Art Room One. Your assistance is needed immediately.”
Paige Graham looked up from the two ten-year-olds she’d just separated from a scuffle and listened as the receptionist called her a second time over the school’s outside intercom.
What now?
“This time it’s just a warning, but if you two keep this up, we’re going to have a talk with your parents,” she told the boys.
“Yes, Ms. Graham,” the boys said obligingly in unison, though they glared at each other from where they stood on either side of her.
Paige ran a hand through the wind-twisted tangles of her hair and checked her watch. Only 9:00 a.m. and the day was shaping up to be an uphill battle. The first day of school was always hectic, which was to be expected with the kids still sun-gilded, full of summer energy and longing to catch up with their friends. Throughout her career as a school administrator, she’d had many chaotic first days, but this one took the cake so far—and the blissful sound of the last bell was still hours away.
Paige stepped out from between the boys and made her way from her post near the bus drop to the front of Peach Leaf Elementary School. Glancing back over her shoulder to make sure the boys’ brawl didn’t rekindle in her absence, she stepped inside the glass double doors.
She tossed hellos and welcome-backs to her colleagues as she passed familiar students on her way down the first-floor hallway to the art classroom.
Why couldn’t a teacher with a planning period look in on the class? Or heaven forbid, a prearranged substitute teacher?
Then again, it was the first day of school, so it was entirely possible that all the teachers’ aides were occupied helping out with their new classes and didn’t have a spare moment to assist with another. She could definitely relate.
It was only morning, but Paige already had a packed schedule—a meeting with her boss, Principal Matthews, in less than an hour, a few special-education plans to look over and sign before then...not to mention the new-teacher luncheon and two afternoon Individual Education Plan conferences. The nature of her job meant a steady stream of unpredictable adjustments and rearranged schedules, but the crammed day ahead left little room for taking over a class at the last minute
Paige cursed herself for wearing her new shoes on the first day of school. She should have worn her trusty low-heeled black pumps with the sensible insoles and not these cute but torturous, toe-pinching, three-inch-high sling-backs before having had a chance to break them in. Why was she trying to follow trends? She was much better off sticking with the black basics and clean lines she usually wore to prove that, despite being only thirty-one, she was indeed serious about her position as assistant principal.
Reaching the art room, Paige opened the door and pulled a deep breath into her lungs.
Although a few students were running around chasing each other, and several others had opened cabinets to pull out crayons and paper, a quick scan of