Propositioned by the Playboy. Cara Colter

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      Ben stood up then, and if he was affected by the long wait, crouched on his haunches, it did not show. Kyle came with no hesitation. Beth could see he was relieved to have been found, relieved his uncle was not angry with him. He had heard his uncle, and somehow his uncle had said exactly the right thing, exactly what that child needed to hear.

      That someone had come back for him.

      No man left behind.

      Watching him watch his nephew, his gaze calm and measured, she understood Ben Anderson was a man who knew instinctively how to get the job done and, more importantly, how to do the right thing. He was a man who trusted his instincts, and his instincts were good, sharp-honed by the fact that he, unlike most men she had met, had relied on his instinct, his gut, for his survival, and for the survival of his brothers.

      If ever there was a child who needed that, it was Kyle.

      But the sneaky appalling thought blipped, uninvited and uncensored through Beth Maple’s brain, And if ever a woman needed that, it is me.

      Wrong, she told herself. He was a man who could turn a swamp into a desert island. She was a woman who could turn a nonexistent person into her prince in shining armor.

      She wasn’t risking herself. She’d learned her lesson. She was sticking to teaching school, giving all her love to the children who came to her year after year.

      A rather alarming picture of her in her dotage: alone, white hair in a crisp bun, marking papers with a cat on her lap crowded into her mind. But she pushed it away and jumped to her feet. The damp had seeped through the jacket Ben had set so chivalrously on the ground for her.

      “Well,” she said brightly, fighting an urge to swipe at her sodden rear end. “Child found. Emergency over. Goodbye.” Totally unprofessional. She needed to discuss the events of the day with Kyle. There had to be consequences for putting the frog in her desk. For uttering the threat. For running away from school.

      Instead she waggled her fingers ineffectually at Kyle, and made the mistake of looking once more at Ben.

      He was looking at her with those sea-green amused eyes, a hint of a smile turning up his way-too-sexy mouth, and she turned briskly away from him and did not look back.

      Because she knew his amusement would only deepen when he saw the condition of her dress, and she could not handle his amusement at her expense.

      She could not handle him at all. He was a little too much of everything—too good-looking, too good with his instincts, too charming, even, stunningly, too poetic.

      Her world was safe, and a man like that spelled one thing, danger.

      “Hey, Beth?” he called after her.

      She turned reluctantly, planning to tell him it was Miss Maple, especially in front of children, but somehow she couldn’t. Somehow they had progressed beyond that, without her permission, when he had told her about swimming in the warm Pacific Ocean with the stars.

      She hoped he wasn’t going to remind her of her responsibilities, that they needed to deal with Kyle.

      Oh, no, it was so much worse than that.

      “You should have a bubble bath when you get home. It will take the chill off.”

      She was that transparent to him. He probably knew just how his tales of swimming in the dark had tugged at some secret place in her, too. She spun on the heel of her rubber boot so fast she nearly made her exit even more graceless than it already was by falling.

      She heard the rumble of his laughter behind her, but she didn’t turn to look again.

CHAPTER THREE

       The Top-Secret Diary of Kyle O. Anderson

      BOY, people are dumb, even Miss Maple, who up until yesterday I thought might be one of the smarter ones. She was waiting for me when I got to school. I got the big lecture about saying things that can be misinterpreted. Is it so hard to figure out a kid who protects a frog isn’t likely to burn down the school?

      Sheesh. I only said that because I had read it the night before in The History of Khan. Genghis Khan used to surround a city, and then he gave them the opportunity to surrender. If they didn’t surrender he’d burn it to the ground, until the streets ran with fat melting from bodies. Is that the scariest thing you ever heard? That’s where the expression “the wrath of Khan” comes from. Even Casper, who is really dumb, got it.

      Miss Maple is dumb in a different way than Casper. Not just that she thought I might burn the school down when I couldn’t even hurt a frog, but I saw the look on her face yesterday when she left my uncle. Not much room to misinterpret that. All pink and flustered.

      And him talking about bubble baths. If you want to know what embarrassment feels like, try your uncle telling your teacher to have a bubble bath. I didn’t miss the fact he’s progressed to her first name, either.

      Not that I thought about it, but if I had, I could have guessed her name would be something like Beth or Molly or Emily.

      I was hoping the frog thing would warn her off us, but it kind of backfired.

      She and Uncle Ben, the lady-killer, ended up at Migg’s Pond together. Shoot. It’s full of mud and mosquitoes, but they were talking away as if they were having a glass of wine over dinner at a five-star hotel.

      I didn’t know my uncle Ben came back here because of me and my Mom, though it could be a lie. I bet he knows exactly how to worm into the heart of someone as dumb as Miss Maple.

      If they get together, I bet I’m out in a blink. Nobody wants a dorky eleven-year-old around when they’re getting ready to make kissy-face. Ask me. I’ve been through it before. With Larry and Barry.

      The frog was lame. Well, not totally lame because I still have him. He’s not exactly a great pet, like a dog or a horse, but when I got to the pond, I couldn’t let him go. The weather’s getting colder and I’m not sure what frogs do when it gets cold. I don’t want to think about him dying, that’s for sure. Where would he go when he dies? I’m not sure about heaven. Even if there is one, I don’t know if they let frogs in. I don’t know if they’ll let my Mom in, either. She never went to church, and she sure swore a lot and stuff.

      Miss Maple has the stupidest car you ever saw. It’s like a hundred years old, a red VW convertible. She loves that car. You can tell by the way she keeps care of it, all shiny all the time, the way she drives it with her nose in the air.

      I guess if I really need her to hate me, I could always do something to the car. It would be just too much to hope that I could make her think my uncle did it. Maybe I better wait and think about this. My uncle will probably take my frog away if I do something that bad to Beth. I don’t know how somebody who has probably killed people with his bare hands deals with a frog, but whatever he does, I have a feeling it would be better than if Casper Hearn got his big fat mitts on it.

      I hope I don’t have to do anything to Miss Maple’s car. That will be my last resort. And not because of Kermit. I’m not dumb enough to get attached to a frog.

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