"That lady wasn't nice to Lana, Daddy."

"How so?"

Lana put a hand on Paige's shoulders. "It's all right, Paige. Let's not talk about it anymore. We won't let her spoil our fun, okay?"

Paige looked from Lana to Davis. The longing to tattle was clear and Davis wanted to know what Retta had done, but he didn't push.

"Okay." Paige took a deep breath. "But I'm gonna pray for that lady."

Lana's closed face softened. She pulled his little girl close to her side in a gentle hug. "That's exactly the right thing to do, Paige. Thank you."

Lana's response encouraged Davis. Though he was a Christian, he didn't push his faith on other people and he normally didn't pry into their business. But he wanted to know if the woman up the street was a good influence on his children. Not that being a Christian made her perfect. Lord knows he had his share of negatives. But if she was a woman of faith, perhaps Jenny would stop nagging him. Or not. Jenny had her own way of looking at things.

The line shifted and they moved closer to the concession counter. With an effort at keeping the conversation flowing, he said, "Do we have our orders ready? This place is a madhouse tonight."

"We do." She patted her notebook. "Jotted them down so I wouldn't forget. Chili, popcorn and Coke for you, right?"

"Right." He pulled his wallet from his pocket.

Lana pushed his arm away. "My treat, remember?"

"Hey, I was joking. I never let a lady pay."

"I invited you. I pay."

After a bit of haggling, she agreed to let him pay for his children, but not the rest. She paid for his, as she'd promised. The idea felt a little awkward. Call him prideful, but he preferred to buy.

With a mountain of junk food and drinks in hand, they started back through the crowd to their seats. A Latin-themed halftime show was going on in a dazzling display of gold and blue. The uniformed marching band strutted around the empty field behind somersaulting cheerleaders and a flag-waving drill team.

Lana froze in the end zone. "Oh, my goodness, I should be getting pictures of the band!"

She juggled popcorn, coffee and the notebook, finally bending to place them on the ground while she snapped some photos. "I'm never going to be good at this reporter stuff."

She seemed genuinely upset and Davis had a feeling her distress had little to do with missed photos and a lot to do with Retta Jeffers.

"You want to tell me what happened earlier with Retta?" He knew she didn't but he was asking anyway.

"Not particularly."

"Will you?"

She slid the camera into her back pocket and retrieved her belongings from the grassy field. Steam rose from her coffee cup and a few kernels of popcorn fluttered to the ground like snow against the green grass.

"Let's just say she brought up some unpleasant things from our high school days. I was on her hate list."

"That's what I figured." He moved closer, bothered by her downcast eyes and tight mouth. "They should let it go. High school is ancient history."

"Yeah." She sighed and looked down, biting her lip. "But I can't blame someone else for the way I was."

"Hey." Hands full but wanting to comfort her, he nudged his shoulder against hers.

To his chagrin, she took a step away and said, "Better get back to our seats before the game resumes."

Lana's head hurt. After the encounter with Retta, she wanted to go home. A dozen people in the line had heard Retta's snide remarks and innuendoes about Lana and her sister. Worse, she'd insulted Davis, asking how Lana had gotten her hooks into the grieving widower.

She straightened her shoulders, determined not to let one hateful person push her out. She'd known this would happen, known she would encounter people who didn't like the person she'd been thirteen years ago. Even she didn't like the person she'd been in high school. She'd hurt some people, especially the girls, and she'd made her share of enemies.

Now, the last thing she wanted to do was cause gossip about a nice man like Davis Turner. So, she walked a step away, putting distance between them, protecting him and his adorable kids from her reputation.

The inner voice that said she wasn't good enough started talking. She'd worked hard to keep it quiet. Those kinds of thoughts had pushed her to drink, and she wasn't going back there again.

Swallowing hard, she prayed an inner prayer for strength and peace and walked past the now silent Davis.

Such a nice, nice man. What was he doing here with her?

On the way back to their seats, they encountered more familiar faces. Most expressions seemed curious but not malicious like Retta. Lana began to relax again, though her good mood had soured. She understood their curiosity. She'd told the town she was going to be a star. Naturally, they would wonder what had happened.

She stopped occasionally to field the Nashville questions, avoiding the dark side, and simply repeated the limited truth. Things had not worked out in Nashville the way she and Tess had hoped, but they'd learned a lot and met a few stars. The last always turned the conversation away from her and toward the handful of famous people she'd encountered.

When the football game resumed, she breathed a word of thanks. She could do this. She would do this. She had a job to do and, for Sydney's sake, she would not let Retta or the past take away this opportunity.

By the end of the third quarter, Lana was so focused on the game, her notes and the photos that her headache ebbed. As the players trotted off the field and the band struck up a fight song, Paige and Sydney required a trip to the ladies' room. Haley Carter, sitting behind them, asked to tag along, leaving the baby with Creed.

"How long have you and Creed been married?" Lana asked as they walked, jostling shoulders in the crowd, voices raised above the pounding drums and chanting cheerleaders.

"About a year."

Their baby was older than a year, but Lana was certainly not one to comment on that. "Creed was always a good guy. You look happy. So does he."

"He's amazing. The best husband. The best dad. My best friend. Can you tell I adore the man?" Haley laughed softly, her face aglow with a love Lana could only imagine. "Did you know he has a scenic helicopter service?"

"I'm not surprised. He always wanted to fly. That's what I remember most about him."

Creed was also one of the guys too focused on his goals to hang out much with girls, especially girls like her. He'd treated her with respect...and plenty of distance. Except for when they'd been lab partners in biology.

Haley tossed her auburn hair behind the shoulder of her wrap-style coat. "Can you imagine Creed marrying a woman who is afraid of flying?"

"Seriously?"

"Seriously, and he loves me anyway." Haley pushed her hair back, nose wrinkling in amusement. "Which proves he's either a wonderful man or a little crazy. Probably both." They chuckled together before Haley continued. "Davis is a nice guy, too. We attend the same church. Have you been dating him long?"

Lana stopped so fast Sydney slammed into the back of her. "We're not together."

"Oh?"

"I mean, we're together. For tonight. He's my spotter. The football players. For the newspaper. I work there." She was rambling. She clapped her lips shut.

Haley placed a hand on her arm. Her fingers were short-nailed and stained with paint. Lana found the look comfortable. Haley was real. "I assumed and shouldn't have. Never mind. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry." She didn't want to lose this budding friendship. "He's only my neighbor. Really."

Davis Turner was so far out of her league, she'd never considered that people might think they were together, as in a date. Given his children's charming matchmaking attempts, she should have. Well, let them assume. As long as it didn't hurt Davis or his kids.

She was so not the right kind of woman for Davis. Even if she wanted to be.

Chapter Seven.

At 4:00 a.m. Lana leaned her forehead on the laptop keyboard and closed her eyes for a tenth of a second. Exhausted but too worried about the newspaper article to do anything but work, she'd written and rewritten until her eyes were dry and gritty.

"This is harder than it looks," she murmured to the quiet. "A lot harder."

After reading dozens of online posts about writing a newspaper article, she'd hoped to get her thoughts organized. At this late hour, they'd become jumbled and skewed. She had names, positions and plays but what did she do with them? And how did she decide which were most important?

"Aunt Lana?"

She jerked her head up, stunned not to have heard Sydney's footsteps on the wooden stairs. "What are you doing up?"

The little girl's hair was a tousled, curly mess, her aqua eyes droopy with sleep. One leg of her pink princess pajamas rolled back on itself to display a shin bruised from a fall against the school merry-go-round. "I missed you."

Lana's heart constricted with a love she could never put into words, no matter how hard she tried.

Both she and Sydney had been sleeping in Sydney's pink-and-purple room, the first to be redone while working on the rest of the house. For now, Lana knew the arrangement was a comfort to her niece. The old house's squeaks and groans would take some getting used to.

"I'm still working."

Sydney rubbed at her eyes and yawned. "Do you know what time it is?"

The adult question made Lana smile, though her mouth felt too weary to move more than a fraction. "Too late to be working, huh?"

"Will you come to bed now?"

Lana stared at the computer for two beats, sighed and hit Save before closing the lid. "I'll get up early."

Sydney's giggle was drowsy. "You already did."

Wearily, Lana traipsed up the stairs behind her niece. Maybe things would look better after a couple of hours of sleep. They had to. The article was due before ten.

Someone was breaking down the door.

Lana shot up in bed, heart banging wildly against her rib cage. Next to her, Sydney stirred and mumbled something unintelligible but didn't wake.

Lana tossed back the covers, grabbed her trusty baseball bat and tiptoed down the stairs, the wood cold on the bottoms of her warm feet.

The pounding came again, along with voices.

She paused on the bottom step to listen. A man's voice. Then something scraped across the porch. And a dog barked.

She frowned, more curious now than afraid. A burglar didn't bring his dog.

At the door, she peered through the tall glass side pane and spotted three familiar figures. One of them wore a tool belt.

Lana blew out a relieved sigh and yanked the door open. The sun nearly blinded her. "You're up early."

Davis Turner stood on a ladder repairing her gutters. On the porch Paige played tug-of-war with a small, shaggy white dog and a knotted doggy rope.

Davis grinned down from his high perch. He looked really good this morning. Too good. "I said I'd be here by eight. Remember?"

Shock made her jerk. "Is it after eight?"

He glanced at his watch. "Eight-thirty-five. I take it we woke you up? You gonna hit me with that thing?"

Lana looked down at the bat in her hand. "I forgot."

"I can see that. Sorry. Want us to leave?"

She propped the bat against the wall of the house, trying to get the cobwebs out of her head. She must look a sight. Barefooted. Ancient gray sleep sweats. Hair everywhere.

"What time did you say it is?"

"Eight-thirty-seven now." He backed down the ladder. "Want me to make some coffee?"

Dismay filled her. "I was supposed to turn in the article by ten."

"You've got time."

"No, I don't. It's not finished." But she was. Finished. Kaput. Out of a job.

"How long could it take to write up a football game?"

She glared at him and reconsidered the ball bat. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

He dropped his hammer and fittings into a toolbox. The metallic clatter gave her a headache. The glare gave her a headache. Her utter failure gave her a headache.

"Oooh," she groaned, backing into the house. She was awake now, fully aware of her disheveled state, the unfinished article and one very appealing neighbor standing in her living area in a tool belt and a gray plaid shirt.

"Have you started on it?"

"Worked until four this morning but it still doesn't seem right."