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An almost reverent wonder haunted her voice.
    He had never in his life been jealous of the way a woman looked at a house, but damn if he didn’t wish she would look at him that way.
    “This street has a reputation as one of the most beautiful in the state.”
    “I can see why.”
    “In a few weeks the leaves will start to turn. When they reach their peak, it’s an awesome sight.”
    She finally allowed her gaze to meet his. And then she smiled. Hank’s heart stumbled.
    “I can’t wait to see.”
    She tilted her head to look past him at the squirrels scampering around in old man Stedman’s yard. There wasn’t much of a resemblance between mother and daughter. Melissa evidently got her blonde hair and blue eyes from her father.
    Nothing—not even the name of the father—appeared on the child’s registration papers. What did it take, Hank wondered, to make a woman hate a man so much that she wouldn’t even give their child his name? Maybe the man didn’t want the child. Ridiculous, Hank concluded. Who wouldn’t want a sweet little girl like Melissa?
    Who wouldn’t want a woman like Donna Jacobs? What fatal flaw lay beneath that beauty and professional title?
    “By the way,” he said, “I saw a marked improvement in Melissa’s behavior today. I guess all she needed was you.”
    “Good.” She glanced around as if looking for an excuse to escape. “This is my street.” She nodded toward Lucas.
    “Mine, too.”
    “You live on Lucas?” She looked startled at the news.
    Something else her sister hadn’t told her. “Three houses down from you.” He couldn’t help but smile at her dismayed expression. “You don’t mind, do you?”
    “Of course not.” She looked away and hurried forward.
    Hank frowned as he followed along behind her. In all his thirty years he never had to worry about people liking him. Popularity came naturally, even when he didn’t necessarily want it to. He never had to work at it, it just was. This lady sure knew how to put a dent in a guy’s ego.
    Not that he intended to give up. He liked a good challenge. “What made you decide to become a doctor?” he asked, pausing to kick a small rock and send it skipping down the sidewalk.
    She cut him a look that suggested she considered the question none of his business. “Probably not the same thing that made you decide to become a professional football player.”
    Ouch. So the lady had no respect for pro athletes. “Guess not.”
    She stopped and looked at him. “If that’s the life you prefer, then why did you become a teacher?”
    Hank jammed his hands into his pockets and studied her more closely for some indication as to why she had taken an instant dislike to him. “It seemed like the right thing to do,” he finally said. “My degree is in education.”
    “But it wasn’t your first career choice,” she nagged.
    “No,” he conceded. “But it was my choice.” Irritation pricked him. Why the hell was she attacking him? Most folks thought it was noble that he’d come back here, to his hometown, to support the community.
    She lifted her chin in challenge. “So you’d rather have two hundred and fifty pounds of sweaty, angry muscle charging at you than to be chasing a room full of kindergartners?”
    Now he was pissed. “That’s no longer an option,” he said a bit too sharply.
    Regret stole across her holier-than-thou expression. “I’m sorry.” She blinked furiously. “I meant that you’d probably be happier anchoring some sports program than wiping noses and teaching ABC’s.”
    A burst of frustrated air hissed past his lips. “But I’m not, am I?” He twisted his lips into a wry smile. “I’m a firm believer in making the best of things. Besides, I love the kids.”
    “That’s good to know,” she allowed before moving forward again, leaving Hank to wonder if that was her off-handed way of giving a compliment.
    They turned up the sidewalk to Donna’s house. The old Langford house. Hank knew it well.