A Mate's Redeeming Touch

by Merryn Dexter

  A Mate’s Healing Touch by Merryn Dexter

  Chapter One

  Hannah Fuentes checked her watch and shifted in the hard plastic chair outside the principal’s office. The terse call at lunchtime had insisted she be available for an urgent meeting at 2:30 p.m., and she had dropped everything to make sure she was on time. It was now edging toward 2:45 p.m., and her anxiety about her daughter, Jessie’s, welfare was marching steadily toward anger. The cause of the summons perched next to her, feet swinging as she colored in her favorite fairy picture book. After her storm of tears had passed, she’d blurted out what happened. Hannah had reassured her she was not angry. Not angry with her daughter, anyway.

  She checked the time again, and her foot started to tap as her irritation built. Will and Bridie had enough on their plate without her being absent from the diner when the early dinner crowd started. Five more minutes, she promised herself, and then she was leaving.

  A little hand patted her thigh in a comforting gesture belying her daughter’s tender years. An old soul, Bridie called her, and she had to agree. Her daughter had inherited more than the thick black curls, brown eyes, and tan complexion of the Mexican half of her bloodline. She picked up her daughter’s little hand and fluttered her lashes across the back of it in a burst of butterfly kisses. The resultant giggles lifted her heart. Regardless of the traumatic circumstances six years before, which had left Hannah beaten, pregnant, and homeless, her little girl was the absolute center of her world.

  The office door swung open and a sharp frown of disapproval creased the overly made-up face of Ms. Brackley, Jessie’s first grade teacher, as she regarded the interaction between mother and child. Hannah pressed another kiss to her baby’s hand before rising to face her nemesis. Although they’d gone to school together, they’d never been friends. Carla had been a member of the popular crowd circling Robert McKinley, son of the local preacher and undisputed golden boy of Hennessey High.

  “Half-breed Hannah”—one of the nicer monikers she’d been stuck with—never ran with the so-called “cool” kids. More, she was a reluctant member of the congregation, an outsider who arrived in Hennessey at the age of fifteen when her aunt had taken her in following the death of her parents. Her lack of popularity hadn’t stopped Robert from befriending and eventually seducing her, although she was sure she could count on the fingers of one hand the number of people who knew he was Jessie’s father.

  Carla smoothed her impeccable blonde bob as she sneered down her nose before turning abruptly and stepping back into the principal’s office. Hannah rolled her eyes and refused to check the hasty ponytail containing her thick, wild curls. With a quick instruction to her daughter to stay in her seat, she straightened her skirt and followed, closing the door behind her with a bang.

  Daniel Smith, the unctuous principal, remained seated behind his desk, tapping a pencil, as Carla crossed the room to take the chair beside him. A hard chair, a twin to the one in the corridor, stood isolated in front of his oversize oak desk, and Hannah dumped her purse onto it. She folded her arms and remained standing. The chair was lower than the desk, and she was only five foot three. She would not submit to the deliberate insult of allowing the likes of Daniel Smith to look down upon her. Not anymore than he already did.

  “Daniel, what’s this about?” she said, allowing her irritation to shade her tone.

  The principal raised his brows before dropping the pencil onto the desk. He raised his hand to check the strands of his ridiculous comb-over before shooting the cuffs of his cheap, shiny suit.

  “Mrs. Fuentes,” he began, stressing the title, and she interrupted him with a snort of derision.

  “It’s Miss Fuentes or Hannah. Not Mrs. I’ve never been married as you well know, Daniel.” She knew she was being provocative, but she didn’t give a shit for the small-town minds she faced every single day.

  His shoulders stiffened, and she smirked just a little at how much it annoyed him when she used his first name. Hennessey thrived on petty status labels—Preacher McKinley, Principal Smith, Mayor Brackley. She had collected a few of her own—half-breed, whore, Jezebel.

  “We need to talk about your daughter’s unacceptable behavior, Miss Fuentes. Physical violence against another pupil cannot be tolerated. Jessica is suspended for a period of two weeks, effective immediately,” he snapped.

  “From my understanding of the situation, my daughter acted in self-defense after being verbally and physically assaulted. That little shit is lucky he escaped with only a black eye, I would have kicked his shriveled little balls up into his throat if he’d abused me like that.” Fury vibrated along her spine, and she fought hard to moderate her tone. Her fists screwed tight at the thought of her baby’s distress when the older boy had yanked her dress up on the playground.

  “I have spoken to the boy concerned; he assured me it was an innocent game of chase. He grabbed her clothing accidentally.” So that’s how this will play out.

  “And calling her a bastard child of the devil? That accidentally slipped out of his mouth, did it?” She was about ready to clamber over the big desk and give the principal a black eye of his own, and a kick in the fucking balls, too. Her gaze flicked to where Carla sat primly and her lip curled in disdain at the sight of Ms. Butter-Wouldn’t-Melt.

  “I wonder where he heard something like that. Let me guess—his family is part of the congregation. We all know what Preacher McKinley thinks about children born out of wedlock.” The faint blush staining Carla’s peaches-and-cream complexion gave Hannah some small satisfaction. She stepped to the desk, placing her palms flat on the surface as she leaned across it and got right in Carla’s face.

  “If I find out he heard it from you, you righteous little bitch, then I will break your pretty face. Do you hear me?” The ability at the very center of her being stirred, so she took a breath and stepped back. It responded to strong emotion, and she needed to calm down.

  “It’s no wonder your child is so badly behaved, if this is typical of how you carry on, Miss Fuentes. Perhaps the preacher is right and it’s time for your aunt to take a role in Jessie’s life.” High spots of color decorated his fat, sweaty cheeks, and the little fleck of spittle at the corner of his lip turned her stomach.

  Ice gripped her heart at the words. Thomas McKinley wanted to have her daughter taken away? He’d never shown the slightest interest before, although he surely suspected she was his grandchild. After that terrible night, the McKinleys and her aunt had acted as though Hannah and the subsequent baby didn’t exist. Robert never asked, and she’d avoided him at every turn. Not easy in a small town, but she stayed away from those places the congregation frequented.

  She grabbed her bag from the chair and slung it over her shoulder as she marched toward the door.

  The preacher would get his hands on her baby over her dead body, or his, if it came down to it.

  ***

  A fat raindrop plopped onto the pavement in front of her and they hurried along the street, darting into the diner as the skies opened. They shook themselves like a couple of rats then hurried through the busy room toward the door at the far side leading to their apartment. She called an apology to Bridie as she fiddled with the lock and pushed Jessie through and up the stairs.

  They quickly shed their coats. Hannah managed to get a brush through her daughter’s hair and tied the wayward locks into a bouncy ponytail high on her head. She urged her to select some books to keep her occupied downstairs while she brushed out her own hair and tied on her apron. The white streak over her left temple stood stark against the raven-black waves, a permanent reminder of the horrors of the past. It had resisted all attempts at dyeing until she’d given up. So much a part of her now, it often surprised her when a stranger remarked on it.

  Downstairs once more, she settled Jessie in the booth closest to the counter before sweeping away the Reserved sign Bridie had placed there. Digging her pad and pen from the pocket of her apron, she circulate
d the room. That familiar sweet giggle caught her attention, and she glanced over with a smile. Bridie placed a strawberry shake in front of the little girl then swooped in for kisses and cuddles. Hannah sought out Will and her jaw dropped when she found him talking to the finest specimen of manhood ever to grace their little corner of Hennessey. Feelings long buried stirred and her hand lifted involuntarily to the heat flushing her throat. She hadn’t been on so much as a date since Robert and had buried all those desires and wants deep, focusing all her love on her child.

  The stranger raised his head sharply, as though sensing her attention, and captured her in his piercing gaze. The heat at her throat rushed to her cheeks as he stared at her. Her eyes roamed hungrily from his firm jaw dusted with dark hair to the matching curls on his head. Broad shoulders filled out his black T-shirt, and he towered at least half a foot over Will. His irises were light, gray or maybe blue; the urge to move closer and study them had her stepping forward.

  A cough beside her brought her out of her trance, and heat warmed her face again. She dragged her attention away from the delectable feast of a man and turned to Mr. Crawford and his booth full of dominoes cronies. Four Cheshire-cat grins had her scowling as she raised her pen to her pad. She knew what they would have, coffee and Bridie’s pie of the day. Same thing they always had, but she made a big performance out of taking their order, and they played along.

  As the familiar banter flew, she placed her hand on Mr. Crawford’s shoulder and rubbed gently. Her palm grew warm as her ability responded, and she massaged the stiff joint until he relaxed. His age-spotted hand rose to pat hers where it rested, and she flexed her fingers in response.

  The stranger’s pale, pale eyes never left her, his attention a brand between her shoulder blades. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she tried to keep her mind on business. She had no interest in him—nor any other man.