The Long Hot Summer - By Rochelle Alers Page 0,4

perfume. Her exposed arms and legs shimmered with a dewy glow from a scented cream that sent a jolt of electricity through his body. Biting down on his lower lip, he struggled for control.

Sean tugged at his father's hand. "Do I have to go to school, Daddy?"

"Yes, you do."

Sean pushed out his lower lip. "But I don't want to."

"We've talked about his, Sean." Ryan's voice held a thread of hardness.

"No! I'm not going. I hate school!"

Kelly stared at Sean for several seconds. It was apparent the child was as stubborn and opinionated as his father. "School's not so bad," Kelly said, trying to calm the little boy down. "How about coming by the schoolhouse after dinner to check it out?"

Tears filled the boy's eyes. "No!"

Ryan opened his mouth to reprimand his son for being rude, but Kelly shook her head. Threatening or bullying the child was not the solution. She'd discovered gentle persuasion usually worked well with young ones.

She met Ryan's gaze. "I'm going to hold an open house for all of the children tomorrow morning at ten to show them their new school." She stared at Sean. "You are more than welcome to come."

She hadn't planned to show the children their new classroom until Monday morning, but she would make an exception if it meant winning Sean over.

Tightening his grip on Kelly's elbow, Ryan led her and Sean toward the entrance to the dining hall. Leaning closer, his moist breath sweeping over her ear, he whispered, "Thank you."

Holding the door open, Ryan permitted Kelly and Sean to precede him into a large, one-story brick building that had been referred to over the years as the dining hall. The entryway was crowded with people, some he had known for most of his life. The tantalizing aromas coming from the kitchen reminded him that he had come home.

He reached for Sean's hand while his free hand rested at the small of Kelly's back as if it were a gesture he'd done many times before. She stiffened slightly before relaxing her back beneath his splayed fingers.

Closing her eyes briefly, Kelly endured Ryan's touch and his closeness. It reminded her of what she had missed. There was never a time when she went out with Simeon that he hadn't silently announced she was his. Whether it was cradling her hand in the bend of his elbow, or circling her waist with an arm, he'd communicated possession and protection. She opened her eyes to find Ryan staring at her, his expression impassive.

"Have you met everyone?"

Kelly shook her head, thick dark strands moving fluidly with the slight motion.

"I haven't had the time," she explained in a soft voice. "It took me a week to settle into my bungalow, and all of my free time has been spent readying the classroom for Monday."

He frowned. "Why didn't you get someone to help you?"

"I did. Your father made Dennis available for me whenever I needed to move or lift something heavy."

Kelly, Sean and Ryan walked into the central dining hall amid a rousing round of applause and whistles. Sheldon stood under a colorful hand painted banner reading: Welcome To Blackstone Farms. Red and black helium-filled balloons - the colors of the farms' silks - tied with contrasting ribbons served as centerpieces for each white cloth-covered table. A dozen tables, each with seating for four, were filling up with employees who lived on the property.

Sheldon motioned Ryan closer. "You, Sean and Miss Kelly will sit with me."

Ryan pulled out a chair for Kelly, seating her while Sheldon performed the same motion for his grandson. He ruffled the child's curly black hair.

Kelly removed the strap to the tiny black purse she'd slung over her chest, placing the crocheted bag on her lap. Her gaze swept around the large room.

The exterior of the dining hall, as with most of the buildings on the farm, was deceiving. Simply constructed of brick or wood, the interior was extraordinary. The dining hall's furnishings rivaled those of any upscale restaurant in any major city. Dark paneled walls with decorative moldings, wide windows with stained-glass insets, plush carpeting, cloth-covered mahogany tables, Tiffany-style table lamps, fine china, crystal stemware, sterling silver and softly played taped classical selections set the stage for exquisite meals prepared by a resident chef.

Blackstone Farms was a thriving, profitable working horse farm and Sheldon had made certain it maintained a certain image given the numerous purses won by Blackstone champion Thoroughbreds over the years.

Still on his feet, Sheldon held a goblet filled with