A Better Man (10 page)

“That's a great i
dea.”

He shrugged. “I was just walking down the aisle of some artsy store in town
and—­”

“Punkydood
les?”

“That's the place.” He set his mug down. “I saw all the bright, colored stuff in the window and figured it couldn't hurt to check it out. Then I saw the journal and pens in an aisle full of total girly stuff. It just looked like Nic
ole.”

“Did you give it to her alre
ady?”

Expression solemn, he no
dded.

“And it wasn't well recei
ved?”

“I don't know. She was so busy hating me I only got the chance to put the bag on her bed and get out of there before she threw an all-­out hissy fit.” He shook his head. “She reminds me of a kitten. You know, one of those tiny ones who gets all fired up and starts hissing and spitting like they're ready to take on the wo
rld?”

Lucy nodded. That was exactly how she saw Nicole
too.

“I threw in a king-­sized Snickers bar for good measure,” he said. “Figured if I couldn't win her over with the journal and pens, chocolate might do the tr
ick.”

After the fiasco on their graduation night, Lucy had imagined many things about Jordan Kincade, starting with wrapping her hands around his throat and squeezing until his eyes bulged. Before tonight she would have sworn he was a man with a gigantic ego. Instead he appeared to be a man with a gigantic heart. Of course, time would tell. Not everyone revealed his or her true self in the begin
ning.

She'd learned that the hard
way.

“Chocolate is always a good choice,” she agreed, feeling herself melt a little at his thoughtful
ness.

“If it helps, I'll buy her a whole damn store full of the st
uff.”

“So, besides being willing to buy massive quantities of white chocolate chunk with macadamia nuts cookies and Snickers bars . . .” Lucy fidgeted with the antique lace doily beneath the Mason jar that held a small bouquet of daisies. “I take it you'd like me to encourage her to write down her thoughts and feeli
ngs?”

“Do you think that might give us some insight to what's going on with
her?”

“I doubt we'd ever be able to read what she's writ
ten.”

“True. Unless I played secret agent, snuck into her room, and stole
it.”

Laughter bubbled from her chest. “You don't really fit the p
art.”

“What? You don't find me debonair like
007?”

She found him hot, sexy, and even a little sweet. “I think you might lean a little more toward the H
ulk.”

He tossed his hands up and smiled. “Well, there goes all the money I spent on spy sch
ool.”

For the second time in as many minutes, she laughed. For her, laughter didn't happen very often. She'd always been the serious sort. Tonight, she was learning that laughing felt pretty darned
good.

“There's a good chance Nicole had a bonfire with the stuff after I left,” he
said.

“I doubt
it.”

He shook his head, and the light from the overhead chandelier made his dark hair shine. “I wouldn't be so s
ure.”

“Maybe all she really wants is your attent
ion.”

“Hell of a way to get
it.”

“She's a teenager.” Lucy leaned back, feeling more at ease than she had in a while. “Don't you remember what it was l
ike?”

“I remember being a jerk.” His eyes searched her face. “I'm sure you can attest to t
hat.”

Lucky for him she was rethinking that very thing. “We're not talking about
me.”

“We sho
uld.”

Her silence verified she didn't feel comfortable being the topic of discus
sion.

“So why the name change?” he a
sked.

“W
hat?”

“Your last name used to be Nut
ter.”

“And I hardly ever got any crap about t
hat.”

“So you changed it for professional reas
ons?”

“No.” She pressed her lips together. She didn't want to go there. Not with Jordan. Not with anyone. She'd blocked out that part of her life and she liked the deep, dark grave in which she'd buried it. “I was marr
ied.”

“And you're not
now?”

“It ended several years
ago.”

“Yet you kept his name? Why? Do you have k
ids?”

“No kids.” Thank God. Not that she didn't want any. She did. She loved children, but she was thankful that she'd been very careful about birth control during that time in her life. No child needed to grow up in an abusive environment. She had firsthand knowledge of that, growing up with verbally abusive alcoholic parents. “And I didn't keep his name. After my divorce I wanted a fresh start. So I took the name from one of my favorite Beatles songs. Although now some of my students sing the song to tease me. So maybe I should have just picked a last name out of the
hat.”

“Yeah.” His dark eyes brightened. “You could have gotten real creative . . . Lucy Lovelace, Lucy Luscious .
 . .”

The names were so ridiculous she laughed. A
gain.

“You have a beautiful smile.” His expression turned serious. “You should do it more of
ten.”

Compliments had rarely been a part of her life. Maybe that was the only reason his observation made her feel like lightning bugs were waltzing with butterflies in her stomach. Completely unsure of how to respond, she sipped her
tea.

“You're not used to compliments, are you?” He leaned back in the chair, folded his arms, and studied
her.

She shook her
head.

“I can't imagine why
not.”

When she threw him a skeptical look he said, “I can't imagine why you aren't told daily what a beautiful smile you have, or how pretty you are, or that when you bite your bottom lip like you're doing now, what it can do to a
man.”

If he'd smiled when he said those words she'd have known he was having a laugh at her expense. No smile crossed his lips. He appeared to be dead serious. Lucy didn't quite know what to do with
that.

“What happened to your marri
age?”

The question wasn't out of line. But that didn't make it any easier to an
swer.

“That's personal.” She lifted her mug that was too small to hide be
hind.

“It
is
personal.” He leaned forward, stretched his long, muscular arms out on the table. “But we were friends once. And as a long-­ago friend who's trying to get reacquainted, I'm interested in what's happened in your l
ife.”

“There's not much to tell.” She lied. There was a lot. “He presented himself as someone other than he really
was.”

“Such
as?”

Her hesitation to respond spilled over into an awkward silence. Jordan touched her arm with enough leverage to pull the mug of tea down and away from her face. “It was
bad?”

She nodded. “I can't talk about it. I swore I'd never relive it all. And that's what talking about it d
oes.”

“Seems to me like you might feel better if you
did.”

“No.” Hating the bite of the old terror sneaking up, she shook her head and looked away. “I ca
n't.”

“O
kay.”

He withdrew his strong hand and she watched it slide back across the table. The memory of other strong hands flashed like a bad nightmare. Oddly, while Jordan had large hands, he didn't appear to be the type who'd use them on a defenseless woman. But she pitied the men he faced on the
ice.

“If you ever do feel like talking, I'm the last person on earth who'd ever judge anyone,” he said. “Just give me a c
all.”

“Thank you, but that day will never c
ome.”

He shrugged. “Never say ne
ver.”

“Is that your philosophy on l
ife?”

He laughed. “I've never had a philosophy. I never thought I'd have regrets. I even thought of having ‘No Regrets' tattooed somewhere. Glad I did
n't.”

“Because they aren't created with erasable
ink?”

“
Yep.”

“So you have other tatt
oos?”

“A
few.”

Lucy swallowed. Tattoos on a man were sexy. She didn't like when men were so covered you couldn't see their skin or you couldn't figure out the design, but she did appreciate a few well-­placed pieces of art on a strong, hot
body.

“You?” he a
sked.

“No ink for
me.”

“You don't like
it?”

“I'm too chic
ken.”

“It only hurts a lit
tle.”

“Says the man who throws punches for a liv
ing.”

He laughed. “That's inaccurate. I hit a puck for a liv
ing.”

He took the last sip of his tea, then stood. “Come on. Walk me to the d
oor.”

“As opposed to kicking you out the d
oor?”

When he reached for the handle on the front door, he stopped and turned toward her. “I'm hoping you'll never do t
hat.”

“It all depends on how I grade your behavior. You know, I grade my students on more than academ
ics.”

“Then how about you grade me on this.” He cupped her face in one hand, leaned in, and pressed his mouth to
hers.

Caught off guard, Lucy froze. The warmth and softness of his lips melted her surprise. When his other hand came up to cup her face, a low moan rumbled from her th
roat.

Jordan Kincade was kissing
her.

Wow.

She slid her hands up beneath the back of his leather jacket, and his warmth seeped through the cotton of his T-­shirt. Her palms settled on firm muscle. His delicious scent rolled over her like an intoxicating wave. His tongue teased the crease of her lips, and she didn't even think about pushing him away. The kiss deepened as he pulled her closer. Bodies pressed together, Lucy got the message that given time and circumstance, Jordan could rock her boat like it had never been rocked be
fore.

Too soon he ended the kiss with two smaller presses of his lips to
hers.

“How'd I do?” he asked. “Did I p
ass?”

“I don't know. I might have to have you come in after class to make s
ure.”

“If you promise to wear garters under your skirt, I promise to bring you a shiny red ap
ple.”

Maybe she should still be surprised he'd kissed her, but she figured she'd enjoyed it too much to complain. “Oh, the shameless flirting, Mr. Kinc
ade.”

“Do I get extra credit for t
hat?”

“A wise man once told me, never say ne
ver.”

Chapter 8

“
R
umor has it that the superstar of the Kincade brothers has come home to s
tay.”

Lucy walked the hall of Sunshine Valley High next to Claudia Locke, a woman who could be considered her best friend on a good day and her pain-­in-­the-­ass friend on a day when she was trying to pry Lucy from her comfort zone. Lucy had a sneaky suspicion that was going on right
now.

“And where did you hear this earth-­shattering bit of info?” she asked as they approached their classr
ooms.

Claudia shoved a thin newspaper in Lucy's hands. “This morning's edition of
Talk of the T
own
.”

CAROLINA VIPERS STRUGG
LE AS

HOCKEY HUNK COMES HOME TO
STAY

Lucy stopped. “Seriously?
That
made the news­pa
per?”

“Of course.” Claudia juggled books as she reached for her classroom door. “Don't give me that look. First of all you have to consider that the Kincade brothers
are
hot and hunky. Then you have to consider that the brother in question is a rich and famous hockey player who has left his team in the lurch while they head toward the playo
ffs.”

Lucy didn't have to ask how Claudia knew that. Her friend followed sports. She'd had no choice, growing up in a household with three brothers, and now she was married to the king of watching sports on TV all weekend, every weekend. Where Lucy didn't know the difference between offsides and a false start, Claudia could recite exactly who the Seattle Seahawks had taken in the NFL draft and how much they'd been
paid.

“He didn't leave his team in the lurch. In case you've forgotten, his parents were killed.” Not that Lucy felt the need to defend him—­even after the hot kiss they'd shared—­but as she glanced toward her own classroom door, she saw Nicole walk inside and some kind of weird protectiveness thing eme
rged.

Jordan had been so nice last night. So caring and considerate. He genuinely seemed concerned about his little sister. Call it compassion or whatever you wanted, right now Lucy didn't want anyone using him or anyone else in his family for that matter, as a source of go
ssip.

“The woman that runs that paper is nasty,” Lucy said. “All she wants to do is cause trouble. Jordan Kincade stayed to help out his family. But that doesn't mean he's giving up hockey or that he's blowing off his commitment to his t
eam.”

“Doesn't mean he's not either.” Claudia opened the door, leaned against it to hold it open as her students piled in, and grinned. “He's been away from the team for two weeks. They're barely hanging on by a skate's e
dge.”

“Surely one man can't be the savior for an entire t
eam.”

“Sometimes it's more than just what they do on the ice, or the field, or the court, depending on what sport they play. Sometimes that one person offers leadership to a team and invokes the confidence the players need before they step into the ar
ena.”

“That's a whole lot of pressure for one per
son.”

Claudia shrugged. “It's all part of what they do. That's why you won't find any sissy men in contact sports. They have to be tough in both mind and b
ody.”

Well, Jordan did have a perfect body. That was for sure. And he definitely knew how to
kiss.

“Now, as for the unfamiliar SUV being parked in front of your house last night?” Claudia grinned. “Loooocie, you got some splainin' to
do.”

Before Lucy could respond, Claudia winked, then disappeared into her class
room.

Thank
God.

She didn't know what she would have said. It wasn't anybody's business an
yway.

A number of problems existed when you lived in a small town. Any one of them could prevent a person who craved privacy from moving in. When you added in a busybody who ran the small local newspaper, you doubled the dilemma. Until the past couple of nights Lucy's life had been too boring to pop up on anyone's radar. She minded her own business and always hoped everyone else would do the
same.

Yes, she had skeletons deep in her closet, but no one who'd known her before she'd left for college would have had a clue of what she'd been through. When her father died six months after Lucy had gone off to college, her mother had moved to Oklahoma to live with Lucy's aunt, who also had alcoholic tendencies. She hadn't spoken to her mother in a long time. Maybe she should feel guilty about that. But for her own peace of mind, she di
dn't.

No one in Sunshine knew Lucy had gotten married except Jordan. No one even remembered her when she came back. So no one was the wiser and she planned to keep it that way. She'd worked way too hard to put the past behind her to allow anyone drag it out into the
open.

As she entered her own classroom, the bell rang and Cody Christianson slipped into his seat just in time to receive her death g
lare.

“You're pushing your luck, Mr. Christian
son.”

“Made it before the bell en
ded.”

Lucy set the box in her hands down on her desk without giving the handsome young man another look. She already knew she'd find his endearing smirk and matching flash of mischief in his green eyes. Cody was one of those students who pushed the envelope just far enough to make him feel like he was spreading his wings, but never too far to get himself in actual trouble. He reminded her a little bit of what Jordan had been like back in their school days—­a hell-­raiser in training and so charming no one had a
clue.

Finally she turned to face her class. She flashed Cody a look and waited until he took out his notebook. Then she scanned the roomful of students. Toward the middle of the class she found Nicole deep in thought as she read something inside a very pink and flowery journal. Lucy bit back a smile, because Nicole also held a bright purple gel pen in her
hand.

Looked like Jordan's thoughtful gift hadn't gone up in smoke after
all.

For a few minutes, Lucy discussed that in creative writing, the ability to look deeper than what the eyes immediately registered was key. As an example, she pulled out a clear clamshell package that contained a small plastic toy bear wearing a Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses. The class twittered with laug
hter.

“Pretty obvious, right?” she asked the class. “Bear on a vacation. Anyone see anything differ
ent?”

Cody raised his hand. “Bear undercover for Miami v
ice.”

She smiled. “Good one, Cody. Anyone else?” When she received no further responses, she continued with the assignment. “When I look at this bear I see that after twenty years of working without a vacation, he's finally enjoying some time off. But since he's not smiling, I see him as on that vacation alone. The sunglasses hide his tears and the Hawaiian shirt hides his broken he
art.”

In the classroom of twenty-­four students, you could hear cric
kets.

Lucy knew that, for the moment, she'd made them stop and think. Hopefully. Which had been her plan. Even Nicole appeared to be paying atten
tion.

“Your assignment—­which will be handed in before you leave the classroom today—­is to look deeply at the next object I pull out of the box and write its story.” She glanced about the room and saw frowns, blank stares, and very few encouraging
nods.

Nicole's expression gave away not
hing.

“Ready?” Lucy reached inside the cardboard and pulled out a bedraggled stuffed bunny she'd once seen at a thrift store and hadn't been able to leave it behind. So she'd taken it home and given it a place to live on a shelf in her living room. After propping the bunny up on her desk so all the students could see, she said, “You only have until the end of the hour to tell me his or her story. So get star
ted.”

After five minutes, the quiet in the room stunned her. Usually there were whispers, note passing, under-­desk texting, or a giggle here and there. Today every student appeared to be working—­even Nicole. A sense of accomplishment floated over Lucy. Maybe she'd finally found the key to what worked for this class. Then again, she wouldn't be surprised if a few of them wrote line after line of “I can't think of anything.” She'd seen that happen be
fore.

The minutes dragged on in silence and when the bell rang, a few students flinched like they'd been caught off g
uard.

“Please turn in your papers on your way to the door. No sneaking out. If you don't pass by my desk and hand in the assignment you get a big fat zero for the day.” She hated threats, which was why she usually saved them for the end of c
lass.

As the class filed out and each student passed her desk and dropped a paper on the surface, Lucy beamed. Some had written only a paragraph, others a full page. When it came Nicole's turn, she dropped a paper that appeared to be full of delicate handwriting on both sides of the pink floral paper with purple pen. A completed assignment. Lucy's heart r
aced.

“Nicole, could you stay after class for a few minu
tes?”

From beneath her heavy brown eye shadow, Nicole rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” Bad attitude dripping like toxic waste, she went back to her desk, clearly expecting to be reprima
nded.

When the classroom emptied out, Lucy motioned Nicole to come forward. With a huff, the teen got up and approached Lucy's desk, accompanied by irritated stomps of her Ugg b
oots.

“I'm proud of you,” Lucy said. The lift of delicately arched brows said she'd obviously shocked the
girl.

“
Why?”

Lucy lifted the paper. “Not only did you finish an assignment, but you handed it
in.”

“Whatever.” Nicole glanced away as if she was either embarrassed or waiting for the other shoe to
drop.

“How about we celebr
ate?”

Nicole's head snapped around. “W
hat?”

“Come on, Nicole. You know you've got talent. I know you've got talent. You accomplished something today that matters. I say that calls for a couple of warm cookies and a cup of hot tea. You g
ame?”

“I have talent?” She pressed a hand to her chest, and moisture sparkled in her
eyes.

“Loads.” Lucy stood, fighting the urge to pull this poor—­now parentless girl—­in for a hug. “And aside from being your teacher, I'd love to talk to you about the ways you can use that talent and creativity all the way into your future. So come on, it's the last class of the day, what do you say? I'll even spring for cheesec
ake.”

“I'd . . .” The girl hesitated, then let go of the first genuine smile Lucy had seen all semester. “I think I'd like t
hat.”

Sometimes accomplishments came easy. Most times you had to work hard for them. Nicole's smile and willingness had been like a ray of sunshine on this gloomy day. Lucy would not call it a complete success until they had a chance to talk. Maybe she'd gain some insight, or maybe all Nicole really wanted was a sugar rush and a chance to get away from school and home. Whatever the reason, Lucy planned to make the best o
f it.

L
ight rain drizzled down from a bank of low, steely gray clouds while Jordan waited in front of Lucy's cottage for her to come home. She'd called him little more than an hour ago and asked him to meet her. He didn't know the reason she wanted to meet. He didn't ask. She'd called, and that's all he cared a
bout.

Last night after he'd left her house, he realized he'd probably drilled her pretty hard about her marriage. Maybe too hard. Her past wasn't any of his business. And yet he wanted—­needed—­to
know.

What made Lucy
tick?

What did she love? Hate? What was her favorite flavor of ice cream? Did she like her steak rare or well done? Or since—­aside from an obvious passion for cookies—­she seemed so health conscious, was she vegan? Did she like to make slow, sweet love on rainy days? And why had the man she married not seen her value when
he
had seen it all the way back in their senior
year?

Yeah, his plate was already full and he didn't have the time or capacity for this sudden attraction to her. He'd always liked her, but now it was like seeing her in a completely different l
ight.

Lucy had subst
ance.

Digging emotionally deeper with a woman wasn't his usual thing. Yet now with Lucy, it became something he cr
aved.

And she had h
eart.

Made obvious by her willingness to help his si
ster.

When he'd figured out she didn't seem to smile as much as she should, he wanted to be the one to put a smile on her face. He wasn't quite sure how to make that happen but he wanted to know. He wanted to spend more time with her. Figure things out. See what Lucy was all a
bout.

The only thing he was damn sure about was that after kissing her he wanted to go back for
more.

Moments later when her little white Honda pulled into the driveway, he was out of his SUV and at her car by the time she parked. He helped her from the car, then rolled her bag into the house just as the rain began to fall ha
rder.