Free A Better Father (Harlequin Super Romance) by Kris Fletcher Page B

treasure hunts and highlighted books of other supposed lost riches—and,
for the older patrons, other tales of star-crossed lovers.
    She dropped off her books at Returns, stopped to talk to the
volunteer behind the circulation desk and had just headed for the children’s
room to pick up a few books for the camp when she spied one of Gran’s friends,
Verna Collins, loading up on board books. Years of regular tennis games had left
the woman fit and fast enough to ride herd on the Sunday school classes she
still led, just as she had once taught Libby.
    “Mrs. Collins, how are you?”
    They chatted for a few moments about mutual friends and the
latest escapades of Verna’s out-of-town grandchildren, until Libby checked her
watch.
    “Oops. It’s later than I realized. I need to grab some books
and get out to the camp.”
    Verna nodded and waved her away. “You go on. I’m sure we’ll get
plenty of chances to catch up over the summer.”
    “Not that many,” Libby reminded her with a short laugh. “I
don’t make it into town much once the campers arrive.”
    “Oh, I know that. I mean, what with me working out there
now.”
    Working at the camp? What? Verna wasn’t on any of the staff
lists Libby had seen. Unless Sam had hired her himself, to do—what? Keep his
house clean for him and the unnamed person he was working so hard to hide from
her?
    The anger she’d managed to tamp down reared its head once more.
Did Miss Hidden From Libby know that Sam was in the habit of leaning too close
when looking at computer screens, talking in a voice low and soft enough to
guarantee flashbacks and wholly inappropriate tingles?
    Not that she cared. Whatever happened between Sam and
his—whatever—was of absolutely no concern to her. Except, of course, for the
phone calls she would end up fielding from outraged parents.
    Verna looked at Libby as if wondering who had stolen all her
marbles. “Well, yes. I thought for sure you knew. I’ll be starting in a couple
of days. You know.” She hefted the pile of board books. “I’ll be looking after
Casey. Mr. Catalano’s little boy.”
    * * *
    S AM WAS DOWN AT THE INLET , talking to the
contractor about the schedule for the pavilion construction, when the
walkie-talkie at his hip crackled.
    “Catalano?”
    He winced inside. Libby. And judging from the way she had
barked out his name, she wasn’t happy.
    He tossed an apology to the contractor, walked a few steps
toward the woods in an illusion of privacy and pulled the walkie-talkie
free.
    “Hey, Lib. What’s up?”
    “We need to talk. Now. You have five minutes to get your sorry
self up to your house or I swear I am going to—to—to hunt you down and do this
in front of anyone who might be within hearing distance. And trust me, this is
not a conversation that you will want other people to hear.”
    Oh, shit. There was only one thing he could think of that would
leave her spitting fury this way. Why the hell hadn’t he made himself tell her
already?
    “I’ll be there in ten.”
    Before she could say anything else, he hit the power button.
She’d said she would hunt him down, but he knew, as did she, that it would take
longer than ten minutes for her to find him. She would wait.
    In the meantime, he’d bought himself a few moments in which to
figure out how to handle the inexcusable without coming out with the total
truth. Because somehow, he didn’t think that saying, Sorry,
I tried to tell you about my kid but I got freaked out because his mother
looked like you and I’m worried I might have got you two mixed up in my mind was going to improve the situation.
    He made his apologies to the contractor and trudged up the
hill. For what seemed like the first time ever, he didn’t run into anyone else
on his way. Maybe they’d all heard Libby’s blast over the walkie-talkie and
ducked into the woods for shelter.
    He couldn’t really blame them.
    Things were so quiet that when he heard his name being called
as he passed