Everybody's Hero

Everybody's Hero
Karen Templeton

He could handle raising his orphaned little brother. He could handle his demanding career.But what Joe Salazar couldn't handle was this quirky little town where people actually cared. People like Taylor McIntyre. She had worked wonders with his heartbroken little brother, but she scared the hell out of Joe. Because no kindergarten teacher he'd ever met before could make him hot with desire just by looking at him. Could make him want things he had no business wanting–not when the only way Joe knew how to live was by putting duty before desire….

“If you don’t want me to worry about you, fine. I won’t.”

Her eyes narrowed. “But Seth is part of both our lives, and if you think that child isn’t picking up on how overworked and exhausted and stressed you are, you’d better think again.”

“Okay, I’ll admit I’m going through a rough patch right now, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Then you’d better tell that to Seth.”

She laid her hand on his arm. Joe frowned down at her fingers and told himself it was just a trick of his imagination that a single light touch could make him that hot, that fast.

Everybody’s Hero

Karen Templeton

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

KAREN TEMPLETON,

a Waldenbooks bestselling author and RITA

Award nominee, is the mother of five sons and living proof that romance and dirty diapers are not mutually exclusive terms. An Easterner transplanted to Albuquerque, New Mexico, she spends far too much time trying to coax her garden to yield roses and produce something resembling a lawn, all the while fantasizing about a weekend alone with her husband. Or at least an uninterrupted conversation.

She loves to hear from readers, who may reach her by writing c/o Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279, or online at www.karentempleton.com.

Author’s Note

Children with Down syndrome display an enormous range of ability, interests and mental acuity; therefore, the character of Kristen Salazar is in no way meant to represent all children with DS, but merely one child; nor are her limitations meant to infer that other children and young adults with DS might face the same limitations.

I’d like to thank the many posters on the message boards at the National Down Syndrome Association for their help and guidance during the early stages of writing this book, especially those of you who took the time to write to me privately to share your stories. The children in your care are truly blessed by your love.

Karen Templeton

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 1

The child’s cry knifed straight to her soul.

Although how in heaven’s name Taylor heard it over the din of little banshees currently running amok in the Sunday school room, she had no idea. Frowning, she scanned the swarm of Frazier and Logan kids streaking across the room, but nope—everybody certainly seemed fine in here….

Seven-year-old Noah Logan bounced off her thighs, knocking her off balance.

“Sorry, Miz Taylor,” he mumbled breathlessly, taking off again as she grabbed the window sill to right herself…and saw the man standing outside by the mud-splattered SUV, the sobbing child clinging to him as though he’d fall off a cliff if he let go.

“Keep an eye on things, Blair, would you?” she said to the auburn-haired teenager a few feet away and then scooted outside, her retinas cowering in the blazing June sunlight. Barely eight in the morning and heat already oozed off the parking lot black-top, welding her feet to her running shoes and promising to be one of those just-wanna-take-off-your-skin days. Then a dollop of shade bumped the sun from her eyes and heat took on a whole ’nother definition. Even without being able to fully see the man’s face.

Strong, broad back underneath a khaki workshirt. Broken-in jeans smoothed over a butt that was truly the stuff of fantasies. Bourbon highlights etched in short, dark, finger-tingling wavy hair. Tall enough to definitely get a girl’s attention.

And send that girl’s libido streaking like an overfriendly pup through the door of her common sense.

With a sigh, Taylor grabbed her libido by the scruff of the neck and yanked it back inside, slamming shut the door, thinking, Joe Salazar, I presume. The man Didi had told her about yesterday, who was here for the summer—and only the summer—to oversee the remodel of the Double Arrow, Hank Logan’s guest lodge. Only, judging from the obviously unhappy child currently sobbing his heart out in Joe’s arms, right now the dude had more on his plate than the renovation of an old motel.

Maybe around eight or so and the picture of misery, the little boy noticed her still standing several feet away. Pure terror widened deep brown eyes, which vanished into the man’s neck as he wailed, “Don’t l-leave me, Joe, please don’t leave me!”

“Hey, buddy…we went all over this, remember?” Tanned—and no doubt competent—fingers rubbed the space between the boy’s shoulder blades, belying the frustration lurking at the edges of the low, country drawl not uncommon to Latinos born and bred in this part of the world. “There’s lots of other kids here—”

“But I d-don’t know any of them! What if they’re m-mean? Or they don’t like m-me?”

“I know, I know, this is all real scary. And believe me, I don’t want to leave you, either—”