A TIME TO FORGIVE Harlequin Superromance July 2006 EXCERPT “Ms. Abby Reed is here to see you, Mr. Smith.” The name was naggingly familiar, but Connor couldn’t place it. He glanced down at the list of appointments scheduled for that day, but didn’t find an Abby Reed. Had his usually efficient secretary added an appointment she hadn’t told him about? He pressed down on the intercom button. “Does she have an appointment, Mary Beth?” “She says she’s here about Jaye.” Connor grimaced, although he wasn’t surprised. In the five rocky weeks Jaye had lived with him, every day brought a new problem. He depressed the intercom button. “What was her name again?”

“My name’s Abby Reed.” The voice that traveled over the intercom and filled his
office had a low, sultry quality even though it was heavily laced with annoyance.
“I’m Jaye’s strings teacher. And I’m not leaving until you see me.”

Of course. Abby Reed was the Ms. Reed who had been leaving messages at his office
and home, trying to get him to reconsider his refusal to allow Jaye to attend a field
trip. He’d neither the time nor inclination to call her back, because he had no
intention of changing his mind.

But what was she doing here? The Silver Spring office of the Capital Company was
only a mile from Blue Moon Elementary, but he’d never known a teacher to make
office calls.

Jaye’s reign of terror on the fourth grade must have taken a turn for the worse.

“I can vouch that she’s serious when she says she’s not leaving until you see her,”
his secretary added.

Connor pinched the bridge of his nose. He really did not have time for this, but he
couldn’t send the child’s teacher packing.

“Send her in,” he said and took off his headset.

The door flew open, and a slender, dark-haired woman marched to his desk with a
determined stride. Her hair was cut so short it fell shy of her collar, giving her face a
gamine quality and making her resemble the young Audrey Hepburn in the old movies
he liked to watch. Her lips were unpainted, her makeup minimal and brown eyes
angry.

He wasn’t a stupid man. Recognizing the signs of an imminent verbal eruption, he
took the offensive. “I don’t intend to make excuses for Jaye, Ms. Reed. So just tell
me what she’s done now.”

She recoiled. “Excuse me?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “What’s Jaye done? Gone on musical strike? Bashed
in an instrument? Bloodied a classmate's nose?”

“What makes you think she’s done any of those things?”

“She’s no angel,” Connor said, wondering at the narrowing of her eyes. “And you
wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t done something wrong.”

She placed her palms flat on his desk and leaned forward. She couldn’t have been
much older than twenty-four or twenty-five, but projected an air of authority a
senior statesman would envy. “The reason I’m here, Mr. Smith, is that you haven’t returned my calls.”

He quickly rationalized away his flash of guilt. She’d clearly stated the unsigned
permission slip as her reason for calling.

“If you had phoned me about a problem with Jaye instead of about a field trip, I
would have called back,” he said.

Her lips thinned and her low voice grew even lower. “The problem I’m having isn’t
with Jaye. It’s with you.”

“Excuse me?”

She removed a sheet of paper from her handbag, unfolded it and slapped it down on
his desk. He picked it up, recognizing it as the permission form he’d refused to sign. Somebody had forged his signature with a childish scrawl.

“Son of a bitch,” he said, then raised his eyes to where Abby Reed leaned over his
desk. “So how much trouble is Jaye in?”

“You haven’t been listening, Mr. Smith,” she all but hissed. “You’re the one I’m having
trouble with.”

“I didn’t forge a signature.”

“Jaye wouldn’t have felt the need to forge one either if you’d signed the form in the
first place.”

“So you’re not here about the forgery?”

“I’m here to make you understand how badly Jaye wants to go on the field trip. She’s
the only student in the class who doesn’t have permission.”

Connor blinked. Was Abby Reed for real? Had she actually all but stormed his office
because he had the sense to realize his niece didn’t deserve to go on a field trip?

“You must know how disruptive Jaye has been since she started school this year,” he
said slowly. “Who knows how she’d act on a field trip. She’s not what you’d call well-behaved.”

She straightened from the desk and placed her hands on her hips. She was dressed
the way a teacher should dress, in a modest-length dark skirt and nondescript blouse,
but he still noticed her gentle curves. Her voice wasn’t gentle. “Then you chaperone
the trip and make sure she acts the way she’s supposed to.”

Connor blew out a breath. “Why would I reward her with a field trip? She’s flunking
almost all her classes.”

“It’s hard to move to a new school in the middle of the year. And she’s not flunking
strings.” Abby Reed seemed to stand up even straighter. Still, she wasn't very tall.
Five feet four tops, he guessed. “She’s one of the best students in the class.”

Connor wasn't nearly as surprised as he’d been when Jaye asked if he’d rent her a
violin so she could take the strings class. He knew his niece practiced, because he’d heard muffled musical sounds from behind the closed door in her bedroom. So far, she
refused to play for him.

“I”m pleased to hear she’s doing well, but I still won’t sign the permission slip.”

She released a short, harsh breath. She seemed to be making an effort to hold on to
her temper. She failed. “You are a piece of work.”

“Excuse me?”

“We’re talking about a child who’s in trouble.”

“I know that she’s—”

“This is a child who needs to feel passionate about something. The field trip is to
hear an ensemble of National Symphony Orchestra musicians. Do you know how
inspiring that could be?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Jaye’s only started to learn and she already loves playing the violin. You’d recognize how much music could come to mean to her if you paid her any attention at all.”

He felt his blood pressure rise and his head pound, the dangerous signs of his own
temper about to erupt. “You don't know what you're talking about.”

“I know that Jaye goes to after-school care, which she hates, and that you don't
pick her up until it closes at six o’clock. And that half the time your girlfriend picks
her up for you. A girlfriend who told her, incidentally, not to get too comfortable
because she wouldn’t be staying with you for long.”

He breathed sharply through his nose. “I can’t believe Isabel said that.”

“How do you know what anybody says to Jaye when you’re never around her?”

“I’m a busy man, Ms. Reed,” he said, holding on, just barely, to his temper.

“Too busy to go on a field trip, obviously.”

“I have a demanding job,” Connor said in his defense.

“Your most important job is to take care of Jaye,” she said and his head spun. His job wasn’t the reason he’d refused to sign the slip.

“I am taking care of her.”

“Not well enough. You should realize she needs extra attention after losing her
mother.”

Connor might have asked how much she knew about Jaye’s situation if her insult
hadn’t registered. “I’m doing the best I can,” he said tightly.

“Then help to nurture her interest in music. Jaye’s heading toward trouble. She needs something to care about. That something could be music.”

“I don’t disagree,” he said.

“Then sign the permission slip and chaperone the trip,” she challenged.

The concert was three days from now. That was a Friday, which was no less busy
than any other weekday. He’d have to reschedule a business lunch and no fewer
than three appointments.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Smith?” she asked. “Are you too busy for Jaye?”

The dare was in her stance as well as her eyes. Somehow he’d failed to convey that
he was a well-meaning uncle doing the best he could for a child he loved but hardly
knew. He didn’t know why Abby Reed’s opinion mattered so much, but he hated that she thought so badly of him.

He picked up a pen, scribbled his name and handed her the permission slip.
“Satisfied?”

She took it without the smile of triumph he’d expected.

“If I let myself become satisfied so easily, Mr. Smith, I hardly would have come to
your office. The bus leaves Friday at nine-thirty sharp. Chaperones should arrive at
nine-fifteen.”

Without another word, she swept out of the room. The quiet was absolute when she
was gone, as though she’d taken all the life and energy of the day with her.

He sat stock still behind his desk, thinking about his jam-packed work week.

Why, then, had he signed up to chaperone a field trip he hadn’t wanted Jaye to go
on in the first place?