The Lucky One

She really wished she were inside the house doing… some' thing. Anything. Even doing laundry was more exciting than sitting out here. Out here, she had way too much time to think. Not only about Ben, but about Nana, too. And about whether she would teach this year. And even the sad state of her love life, which never failed to depress her. It would be wonderful, she thought, to meet someone special, someone to laugh with, some-one who would love Ben as much as she did. Or even to meet a man with whom she could go to di

But no big deal, right? She'd survived without a relationship this long, and she'd soldier on. Besides, most of the time it didn't bother her. If it hadn't been such a miserably hot day, she doubted it would bother her now. Which meant she definitely had to cool off. Otherwise she'd probably start thinking about the past, and she definitely didn't want to go there. Fingering her empty glass, she decided to get that ice water. And while she was at it, a small towel to sit on.

As she rose from her seat, she peeked down the empty gravel drive, then she scribbled a note saying she'd be back in ten minutes and tacked it to the front door of the office. Outside, the sun pressed down hard, driving her toward the shade offered by the ancient magnolia and guiding her to the gravel path that led toward the house she'd grown up in. Built around 1920, it resembled a broad, low-country farmhouse, banded by a large porch and sporting carved molding in the eaves. The backyard, hidden from the ke

After reaching the front porch and opening the door, Beth was hit by a blast of cool air so refreshing that she stood in the doorway, savoring the feeling.

"Close the door," Nana called over her shoulder. "You're letting the air out." She turned in her chair, giving Beth the onceover. "You look hot."

"I am hot."

"I take it that the office feels like a furnace today."

"Ya think?"

"I think you should have opened the door to the ke

Beth motioned to the set. "How're the Braves doing?"

"Like a bunch of carrots."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Can carrots play baseball?"

"I guess not."

"Then you have your answer."

Beth smiled as she walked to the kitchen. Nana always got a little edgy when the Braves were losing.

From inside the freezer she drew out an ice tray and cracked out a few cubes. After dropping them into a glass, she filled it and took a long, satisfying drink. Realizing she was hungry as well, she chose a banana from the fruit bowl and went back to the living room. She propped herself on the armrest of the couch, feeling the sweat evaporate in the cold draft, half watching Nana and half watching the game. Part of her wanted to ask how many touchdowns had been scored, but she knew Nana wouldn't appreciate the humor. Not if the Braves were playing like a bunch of carrots, anyway. Glancing at the clock, she exhaled, knowing she had to get back to the office.

"It was nice visiting with you, Nana."

"You too, sweetie. Try not to get too hot."

"I'll do my best."

Beth retraced her steps to the ke

Figuring they'd reach the office at about the same time, she waved a greeting and was surprised when the man paused to stare at her. The dog did the same, his ears rising, and her first thought was that he looked a lot like Oliver, the German shepherd Nana had brought to the house when Beth was thirteen. He had the same black-and-tan markings, the same tilt of his head, the same intimidating stance in the presence of strangers. Not that she'd ever been afraid of Oliver. He'd been more Drake's dog during the day, but Oliver had always slept beside her bed at night, finding comfort in her presence.

Brought up short by memories of Drake and Oliver, she didn't realize at first that the man still hadn't moved. Nor had he said anything. Odd. Maybe he'd expected Nana. Because his face was in shadow, she couldn't tell one way or the other, but no matter. Once she reached the door, she took down the note and propped the door open, figuring he'd come to the office when he was ready. She walked around the counter and saw the vinyl chair, realizing she'd forgotten the towel. Figured.

Thinking she'd get the paperwork ready for the stranger to drop off his dog, she grabbed a sheet from the file cabinet and attached it to the clipboard. She rummaged through the desk for a pen and set both on the counter just as the stranger and his dog walked in. He smiled, and when their eyes met, it was one of the few times in her life that she felt at a complete loss for words.

It had less to do with the fact that he was staring than with the may he was staring. As crazy as it sounded, he was looking at her as though he recognized her. But she'd never seen him before; she was sure of that. She would have remembered him, if only because he reminded her of Drake in the way he seemed to dominate the room. Like Drake, he was probably close to six feet and lean, with wiry arms and broad shoulders. There was a rugged edge to his appearance, underscored by his sun-bleached jeans and T-shirt.