Abby's Christmas. Lynnette Kent

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      “What are you doing back in town, anyway? I thought we’d gotten rid of you for good.”

      Tired of looking up, Noah heaved to his feet, forcing Floyd to take a couple of steps back. “This is my hometown. Why shouldn’t I come back?”

      “Because we don’t want you.” The principal stood with his fat hands on his dumpy hips. He’d gone bald in the last fifteen years. “Because you’re a troublemaker, and if you stick around, there’s going to trouble for everybody. Nobody in New Skye needs you.”

      Noah had to admit the truth of that statement. “Don’t have a stroke, Mr. Floyd. I’m not interested in making trouble.” He ignored the flash of memory that gave him back the sweet, rich taste of Abby’s mouth.

      “I’m going to stand right here until you’ve finished whatever it is you think you’re doing. And I’m going to keep my eye on you until you get off this campus. Don’t plan to come back. We do have security guards, and I will be leaving orders that you should not be admitted to the grounds or the building.”

      “Knock yourself out.” Noah finished his measurements as slowly as he could, for the pleasure of watching Floyd fume. He only regretted the job didn’t take longer.

      The walk back to the front of the school, however, seemed to take a century. Floyd didn’t actually handcuff Noah, but in every other way he acted like a prison guard, to the extent of waving off the kids who came at them with curious faces. They didn’t stop at the office, for which Noah was thankful, but continued through the front door onto the steps outside.

      “Don’t come back,” Floyd warned again. “You’ve got no business at my school.”

      “You’re right about that.” Noah took his time getting down the steps. At the bottom, he turned back. “I don’t suppose too many of the teachers remember me. But I did expect Ms. Lacey to be here for the rest of eternity. Did you fire her or did she finally get fed up with your pompous attitude and quit? She was a pretty good secretary, over all. Not to mention easy on the eyes.”

      Floyd’s face turned an even darker red. “Your mouth was always one of your biggest problems, Blake. Ms. Lacey left us years ago, to be married. Now, get off school property before I call the police.”

      That was a threat Noah took seriously. He didn’t rush to the bike, but he didn’t hesitate or falter, either. His unavoidable appearance at the police department would come all too soon.

      “And stay off,” Floyd yelled over the rumble of the bike’s engine. Noah buckled his helmet, gave the principal a wave and wheeled out of the parking lot.

      ANDY FLOYD HELD TRUE to his promise, watching until Noah Blake’s motorcycle had disappeared in a swirl of dust on the highway. Inside the warm school building, he scanned the halls for tardy students, but wasn’t lucky enough to see any he could nab. They had probably seen him first, and were hiding until he went back to his office.

      When he reached his desk, he dropped into the chair and rubbed his hands over his face. The last person he’d expected or wanted to see this morning was Noah Blake. Nothing but trouble, he’d been, since the day he first set foot on school grounds.

      Worse was the trouble he brought with him. Floyd grabbed the phone and pressed an auto-dial number. “Hey,” he told the man who answered. “We’ve got a problem.”

      “What now?”

      “Noah Blake is back.”

      “Who?”

      “Noah Blake. The kid who ran away before the 1989 graduation, remember? After the fire?”

      “Shit.”

      “Exactly.”

      “What’s he want?”

      “Who knows? But he looks like he usually gets whatever he sets his mind on. A real tough character.”

      After a second, the man on the phone laughed. “A tough character, is he? Good for him.

      “Because I’m a pretty tough character myself.”

      FRIDAY MORNING, NOAH WENT to see the one person in town who knew the truth about him, the one person who had expected him to show his face in New Skye again.

      Rob Warren lived in a peaceful neighborhood on the north side of downtown, in a comfortable-looking house surrounded by plenty of grass and trees. A green pine garland draped the porch rails, tied to the posts with big red bows. Lightbulbs twinkled in the garland and on the holly trees beside the front steps—nighttime would bring on a terrific light display, sure to please the kids. He’d always enjoyed Christmas lights himself.

      Noah rang the doorbell, then stared at the huge wreath on the front door until the panel swung back with a draft of sharp, sweet pine scent and the jingle of small silver bells.

      “Hey, Noah, good to see you. Come on in.”

      Warm and simple, cinnamon-scented, Rob’s house immediately felt like home. Not any home Noah had ever experienced, but somehow he knew this was the way life was supposed to be. The Christmas tree by the front window stretched from floor to ceiling and, even in the daylight, shone with hundreds of lights, as well as ornaments of every kind. A nativity scene took up the entire mantel over the fireplace, complete with camels, cows, sheep, donkeys, chickens, dogs and angels. Noah smiled when he saw an obviously hand-made dog near the manger.

      “Yeah, the kids wanted Buttercup, my sister’s golden retriever, at the stable,” Rob explained. “I whittled and Valerie painted her.” He shook his head. “Good thing we never thought about being artists. I don’t think we can claim a thimbleful of talent between us. Have a seat.”

      Noah sat on the reclining armchair in the corner. “Looks like y’all will have a very merry Christmas morning.” Presents wrapped in colorful paper and decorated with ribbons and bows were piled high at the base of the tree.

      “We’ve gone overboard, I guess. It’s so much fun to be a family—not two single parents with kids—that we’re a little crazy.” Rob shrugged, and his grin displayed not one morsel of regret. “That’s what credit cards are for. Want some coffee?”

      “No, thanks. I’m great.” Between anxiety over this interview and the need to choke down his mother’s scrambled eggs, he’d downed four cups this morning.

      “Okay, then.” Rob folded his long body onto the couch. “Thanks for coming here. My daughter Ginny had some surgery last week, and she’s still recuperating in bed.”

      “I hope she’s okay.” Noah couldn’t imagine coping with a child who needed surgery. Maybe Rob didn’t have such an ideal life, after all?

      “She’ll be better in a few months. Ginny has cerebral palsy, and as she grows the doctors want to make adjustments in her tendons and muscles. We don’t always agree with what they suggest, but she’s been through a growth spurt recently and it seemed like the right thing to do. Even this close to Christmas.”

      Noah started to get up again. “Maybe this isn’t a good time—”

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