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  Sandwiched in between their sleek figures, Joanna felt like a clumsy elephant. Although she wasn't fat by anyone's standards, she was not a lean, mean fighting machine. No, she was a twenty-nine-year-old teaching assistant at Stanford University working on her Ph.D. in American history -- and she was tired.

  She had spent nine months supporting her father during a futile struggle with lung cancer that he'd lost two months earlier. She'd given up her apartment, her job, and her boyfriend -- actually, he'd given her up -- to help her mother take care of her father. She'd lost just about everything in her life during the past year except the extra ten pounds she'd gained sitting by her father's bedside.

  Her mother, of course, had not gained an ounce. Caroline's stress had led to days of wanting nothing more than a bowl of soup and a cup of tea. Her mother found comfort in classical music and long walks on the treadmill. Joanna found comfort in chocolate-covered strawberries -- make that chocolate-covered anything.

  "Let's go now, ladies. Follow me." Elise pranced around the room, leading something akin to a conga line. Joanna reluctantly joined in behind her mother, who didn't even appear to be sweating.

  But then Caroline Wingate never perspired. A petite ash blonde, with a hairstyle that never went limp, Caroline was the exact opposite of her daughter. Joanna had long, curly brown hair that drifted past her shoulders and always looked a bit wild, full breasts, and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

  As the conga line neared the doorway, she dashed out and collapsed against the wall outside, rubbing the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. A minute later she was joined by her longtime friend, Nora Garvey, a plump redhead who was working off the lingering weight of her second pregnancy,

  "Are you okay?" Nora asked.

  "I need oxygen." She bent over, placing her hands on her knees.

  Nora laughed and patted Joanna on the back. "Shall I call 911?"

  "Just shoot me and put me out of my misery."

  "You've got to be strong, you've got to be tough," Nora teased.

  "I've got to be crazy for letting my mother talk me into this."

  Nora leaned against the wall. "Your mother is amazing. She doesn't look a day over forty. She's in great shape."

  "Tell me about it." Straightening, she walked over to the water fountain and took a drink. Then she stepped aside so Nora could take a turn.

  The fitness club, which was popular with the downtown San Francisco work crowd, was filling up, although Friday nights tended to be slower than the rest of the week. Most people probably had dates, she thought with sigh. She picked up a complimentary towel and wiped the sweat off her face.

  She was not only out of shape, she was also out of sorts. Bored, restless, frustrated were only a few of the words that came to mind whenever someone asked her how she felt. Of course, she didn't express those words aloud. She simply said she was fine and kept her private anguish to herself, a trait she had learned early on from her mother. Caroline didn't confide in anyone, and to a certain extent Joanna didn't either. The only one who had even an inkling of the misery she had been in since her boyfriend dumped her and her father died was Nora.

  As Nora turned away from the drinking fountain, Joanna tossed her a towel, Nora missed, and the towel landed at the feet of an incredibly tall and muscular man. He picked up the towel and handed it back to Joanna as she stared at him in amazement.

  Good Lord, the man's muscles were huge. His round, bulging pecs glistened with sweat or some kind of body oil. He wore a tight tank top and a pair of small shorts that emphasized his other bulges. He was the most incredible specimen of a male she had ever seen. Pure brawn.

  Nora cleared her throat, and Joanna realized she was staring.

  "Uh, thanks," Joanna said.

  His eyes drifted over her body. She hadn't had a man look at her that way in quite some time. She wondered what she would do if he asked her out.

  Nora would say go for it. A new man was just what she needed to take her mind off her problems. But this man was not her type. She dated intellectuals, thin men with glasses and faraway looks and hair that needed cutting and clothes that needed fitting. This man didn't need clothes, period. Maybe she ought to expand her horizons.

  "Why don't you give me a call?" he said.

  "Maybe," Joanna prevaricated.

  The man reached into a tiny pocket in the back of his shorts and pulled out a card. "I could whip you into shape in no time," he said with a smile as he continued down the hall with an arrogant swagger.

  She looked at the card. "Hawk Cunningham, personal trainer. I guess he didn't want my body after all."

  "He wanted your body all right."

  "Yeah, as a before picture. Now I'm thoroughly depressed."

  "Don't be," Nora said. "Personally I've never liked a man who has bigger breasts than I do."

  She laughed. "True. But I'm not sure what my type is anymore. I thought it was David, but that obviously didn't work out." In the past five years she'd dated a variety of men. One had been too short, the other too tall; one too studious, another too boring; one talked incessantly about global warming and another had spent one very long dinner hour describing the different types of bacteria she was putting into her mouth with each bite of food. She'd thought she'd hit the jackpot when she'd met David Richardson, a professor of English literature at Stanford. Unfortunately he'd turned out to be as big a jerk as the rest of them.

  "David was an idiot. And he wasn't for you."

  "I thought he was."

  "No, you picked him because he was safe, just like the others. You knew exactly what you would get. It was a no-risk situation. You're not very adventurous when it comes to men."

  "What do you want me to do -- date an ax murderer?"

  "I want you to date an interesting, exciting man, not some scrawny professor who cares more about his research than his girlfriend, and thinks having a good time is spending the evening at the library."

  "I like the library," Joanna protested.

  "You might like a few other things, too, if you ever gave them a chance."

  "Like what?"

  "Like sex."

  "I've had sex. And it's nice but not exactly earth-shattering."

  Nora laughed. "Then you haven't had good sex."

  "Oh, please, are you going to tell me you see fireworks, that the room spin arounds in dizzying delight, and you think you'll die from the passion?"

  Nora smiled somewhat smugly. "I'm not going to tell you anything, except this. If you find yourself the right man, I guarantee all those things will happen."

  "Yeah, and I believe in magic, too," Joanna said.

  Actually she wanted to believe in love and magic. Unfortunately reality kept slapping her in the face. "I think it's time to go back into the torture chamber." She motioned toward the aerobics room.

  "My muscles are still burning," Nora complained.

  "I think that's the point."

  "Your mom seems to be doing well these days," Nora commented as they glanced into the aerobics class, where the group was dancing to a new beat, "At least on the outside."

  "She likes to stay busy. It keeps her mind off the fact that my dad is gone."

  "You're lucky to have a mother like her. She's always been your best friend, one of the girls. You wouldn't catch my mother in an aerobics class to save her life."

  "Your mother is wonderful, always baking cookies and pies and decorating your house for every holiday," Joanna said wistfully. "My mother hasn't cooked a Christmas turkey in twenty years."

  "We always want what we don't have."

  "I guess." As an only child Joanna hadn't wanted for much. She had been the focus of her mother's life. They had done everything together -- gone to the ballet, art museums, and the symphony. She had accompanied her parents on trips to Europe and the South Pacific. She'd been incredibly fortunate. The only thing she'd ever lacked was a little space for herself.

  Since she'd given up her apart
ment and since her father had died, things had gotten worse. Her mother wanted to do everything with her. As if on cue, Caroline appeared in the doorway.

  "Joanna, there you are," she scolded, shaking her finger, "You need to cool down or your muscles will tighten up. Come walk with me."

  "Too late. My muscles are on a coffee break," she said, retreating against the wall. "I can't move until they come back."

  "Really, Joanna." Caroline smiled at Nora. "I love your haircut. I'm thinking of doing something different with my hair, something more cool," she said with a self-conscious smile. "That is the right word, isn't it?"

  Nora laughed. "You are the coolest, Mrs. Wingate. I go to Capelli's down on Union Street."

  "Mm-mm, I may have to try them." Caroline patted her hair, which she had worn in the same style for the past twenty years. "Do they do manicures? I'd love to get one. And a pedicure would be heaven. I'll call them on Monday. We can make a day of it," Caroline said, gaining enthusiasm. "What do you think, Joanna?"

  She smiled faintly. Her mother seemed to be on a quest to find something new to do each day. She never wanted to just be home. "I'm not sure what my plans are for Monday or next week for that matter." The summer was looming ahead of her and she needed to do more than just keep her mother company.

  "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about your summer plans," Nora interrupted. "One of the teachers at Happy Hollow School is having a difficult pregnancy, and her doctor wants her to go to bed for six weeks. The summer session starts Monday and, well, we're desperate for a first grade teacher. I thought of you."

  She looked at Nora in amazement. "Seriously?"

  "Yes. You love kids, Joanna. And you're an experienced teacher."

  "For eighteen-year-olds, not six-year-olds."

  Nora waved a hand. "Oh, there's hardly any difference. The lesson plans are done. You just have to follow the schedule."

  The offer was tempting. She needed to do something different for a few months. Since her father's death, she'd lost interest in her life and her old goals. Her thesis on the structure of family throughout American history no longer held any interest for her. She had several hundred pages and tons of photographs, but she just couldn't find the heart to finish it, especially since her own family had been shattered.

  "What do you say?" Nora asked. "It's only six weeks, and you'll love the summer program. We do a unit on gardening, and the children plant their own vegetable garden. We also cook. You love to cook."

  "It does sound like fun," she admitted. "And not that long either."

  "But what about that trip to Hawaii we were planning," her mother asked. "And the line dancing class? You said you'd sign up with me."

  She didn't want to learn line dancing or go to Hawaii. She also didn't want to hurt her mother's feelings. "You can do those things without me," she said.

  "It wouldn't be the same without you."

  She hesitated. Her mother was still grieving. Was it fair to leave her alone every day? But it had been two months, and she simply could not continue to spend every second with her mother. She needed time for herself -- a chance to figure out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. One thing she'd learned from watching her father die was that life was far too short, and she'd already wasted too much of it.

  "I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have brought this up," Nora said apologetically.

  "No, I'm glad you did," she said. "I've been feeling restless. Maybe this job will help me figure things out."

  "I don't understand," her mother interrupted. "Why take a preschool job now? What about your Ph.D.? You've worked so hard, and you're so close. How can you even consider taking a part-time job when you could be working on your thesis?"

  "I can't do it right now. My mind is blank. Sometimes I don't know why I started it in the first place." She rested her palms against the wall, taking pleasure in the feel of the cool plaster beneath her fingertips. "The last time I spoke to Dad, he told me he didn't regret anything he had done in his life, only the things he hadn't done, because he was too afraid to take a risk or too busy to take the time. He told me not to make the same mistake, to dream, to reach for the stars, to grab on to something and make it mine."

  Her mother looked at her as if she'd lost her mind, but then Caroline was not a dreamer. She was a doer. She got up in the morning, looked at her calendar, and followed her schedule. At night she sat down and planned the next day. Her life was a series of little things, and they seemed to keep her happy.

  "Joanna, it's only natural that you feel empty, but you'll get back in the swing of things."

  "Mom, please, at least let me think about it."

  "Fine, I'm going to cool down." Caroline returned to the aerobics class, her shoulders stiff, her head erect.

  "Sorry," Nora said with a sympathetic glance. "I didn't realize your mom had so many plans."

  "My mother always has plans."

  "They sound fun. Hawaii would be great."

  "I've been to Hawaii. I'd rather spend time looking for an apartment."

  "You're tired of the luxurious Bellarmine Towers?"

  "I'm tired of living on the eighteenth floor. I want a garden and a deck. I want to look up at the trees and the sky instead of down at traffic jams."

  "But you're so close to everything, the theater, great restaurants, shopping."

  "I want dirt under my feet, land, trees, a view of something that isn't concrete. I want to walk out my front door and not look at an elevator panel." She shook her head, feeling her frustration boil to the surface.

  "Then come and work at the school, Joanna. I can guarantee you a ground floor classroom, lots of sunshine, and plenty of dirt. It's only for six weeks. Just think, you can fill their little minds with history."

  "I'll do it," she said impulsively.

  "Good. You'll love the kids. First grade is an adorable age."

  * * *

  Bloodcurdling screams did not sound adorable, Joanna decided as she walked out of the teachers' lounge on Monday morning. The school was a long one-story building with the office in the center and two hallways leading to the classrooms in each wing.

  Joanna spied Nora standing behind the reception desk, apparently oblivious to the racket.

  "Is something wrong?" Joanna asked.

  "What?" Nora looked up, her mind still focused on the papers in front of her. She was a veteran of eight years in the elementary school trenches and didn't exhibit any of the signs of nervousness that Joanna had experienced since she woke up that morning.

  "The screaming," she said as a fresh burst of wailing rang through the open front door.

  "Oh. That's just the sound of first day jitters."

  "Really?" Joanna walked across the hall and looked out the front door.

  Two identical twin girls were clinging to a tall dark-haired man. Their clothes were completely mismatched. One wore jeans, a T-shirt, and different colored socks; the other wore a long-sleeved dress that would have her sweating in the summer sunshine before noon. Their hair was falling out of rubber bands, made worse by the rapid shaking of their heads every time their father told them to go into the school.

  "Looks like it was a tough morning," Joanna said.

  Nora joined her at the front door. "Oh, my. Where did he come from -- the cover of GQ?"

  "It looks like it." The man on the street wasn't just attractive, he was gorgeous. Taller than average, he was athletically built, with dark curly hair a shade too long for his fine Italian suit. His tie was a daring shade of red, a contradiction to the conservative gray of his coat and pants.

  This man would look good in a boardroom, surrounded by other power suits, but she doubted he could be more appealing than he was right now, with a crooked tie, a large wet spot on his jacket, and a doll poking out of his pocket. There was something about a man with his children that tugged at Joanna's heart.

  "Those two are obviously running the show," Nora commented.

  "Maybe we should help."

&nbs
p; "Let's give him a chance. It's better in the long run to have the parents and children separate on their own." Nora nudged Joanna with her arm. "But you know all about that, don't you -- Miss College Professor."

  "We don't have to worry about separation anxiety with eighteen-year-olds." Joanna shook her head. "I must have been crazy to take this job. I don't know how to teach little kids."

  "It's not that hard. Besides, you're the most educated person I know."

  "Educated in history, not six-year-olds." Joanna winced at a particularly shrill shriek. "They do eventually stop screaming, don't they?"

  "If you're lucky. Relax. This job will be good for you. You said you were tired of your thesis, tired of spending all your time reading about dead people. This is real life, kiddo. If you can handle six-year-olds, you can handle anything."

  "Right." Joanna moved closer to the door so she could hear the conversation going on outside.

  "We talked about this," the man said, squatting in front of the girls. "You have to go to school today because you made Mrs. Polking leave, and I don't have anyone to watch you."

  The two girls crossed their arms at the exact same moment and tilted their chins in the air like warriors going into battle. One girl shook her head so hard, her ponytail fell out. She looked down at the rubber band on the sidewalk and began to cry.

  "It's okay, Rose," the man said. "I'll fix it." He grabbed the rubber band and roughly pulled her hair into it. The little girl cried louder.

  "I wonder where their mother is," Joanna said quietly.

  "Probably at work or home sick. I've never seen them before. They must have just signed up. I think they're in your class. I saw twins on the list. Their names are like flowers. Lily and Rose, I think."

  "How sweet."

  Nora laughed. "They look anything but sweet."

  Joanna reluctantly had to agree as one of the girls took off running down the street.

  "Come back here, Lily," the man said.

  Lily stopped ten yards away from him and pointed in another direction.

  "We're not going home," he said. "I told you, I have to go to work so I can make money to buy you clothes and toys and food. Okay? Now, listen, if you go to school, I'll buy you a big pizza at Grandpa's restaurant and we'll rent a movie tonight."