âAre you always this relentless?â
âOn occasion Iâve been considered determined,â Shane admitted. âI just feel bad about what happened.â
âWell, donât. It wonât change anything.â She hopped out of the SUV and leaned back in when Shane and Jason stayed put. âAre you two coming in?â
âIn a while. Weâll walk around here first. Visit the playground.â
Whitney grinned at the child and walked toward the main entrance. Once there, she peered back at the SUV. She glimpsed Shaneâs attention directed at her, and a shiver of awareness shimmied down her back. He was an attractive man, but their worlds were vastly different. Sheâd promised herself she was going to start over, make something of herself. Finally get her plans in place. And they certainly didnât include getting involved with a man. Especially not Shaneâ¦
âThis is not negotiable. My son will attend your school, starting this Thursday.â After dealing with a suicidal teenage girl most of the night, Dr. Shane McCoy didnât need this.
âWe arenât equipped to deal with him. Jason should go to Eisenhower Elementary where thereâs a class for children like him,â the principal said in a tight, highly controlled voice.
The womanâs last sentence shredded what composure he had. Pacing his bedroom, Shane plowed his fingers through his hair and tried to remain calm. He gripped the phone. âYouâve known he would attend for months.â
The rumble of thunder in the distance drew him toward an upstairs window at the front of his house. Jason didnât do well in thunderstorms. Please, Lord, donât let it rainânot today. He drew back the drapes and searched the sky. Dark clouds raced toward the east, away from his house.
âWeâve tried to find the right staff to handle your son, butâ¦â The woman paused, taking a deep breath.
Jason appeared on the sidewalk leading from his house. What was he doing out front? Going to get the newspaper for Aunt Louise?
âBut there arenâtââ the woman continued on the other line.
When his son ignored the paper lying in the grass, concern shot through Shane. He hurried toward his door. âIâll be there for the meeting this afternoon. Iâve got to go,â he said, and clicked off the cell phone.
Am I making a mistake?
As the question intruded into Whitney Maxwellâs mind, her long hair whipped across her face, momentarily obstructing her view of the street she drove down.
âJason! Stop!â
To the right of her someoneâs frantic tone pierced the early morning air. Whitney fought the wayward strand, finally managing to hook it behind her ear at the same time her gaze riveted to a sudden movement. A child disappeared between two parked vehicles ahead of her, a second later reappearing in the path of her car as he raced across the road.
Clenching the steering wheel of her convertible Volkswagen vehicle, she jerked to full attention and slammed on the brakes. Not soon enough.
Without thought Whitney swerved her VW to the right. Into a big SUV. The sound of crunching metal drowned out the thundering of her heartbeat in her ears. When she was thrown forward, her seat belt halted her progress. The strap cut into her chest, disrupting her shallow breaths.
Almost to the other side of the street near a yellow trash can, the little boy stopped, pivoted and came straight toward her. When he reached the crash, he slid his hand over the smashed hood of her car, his gaze glued to it.
âJason! Jason!â the woman screamed, her view blocked by the big SUV.
The little boy looked up, cocked his head, then whirled around and ran back the way he cameâstraight into the arms of the older woman who rushed between the parked vehicles. Whitney stared into the ladyâs pale face as she quaked and hugged the child to her.