The seven-year-old girl shook her head, bouncing her blonde corkscrew pigtails. “Huh-uh. I looked.” “Look again.” “But you’re the librarian. You always help me.” “This time is different, sweetie, because your teacher wants you to find the book. It’ll improve your alphabetizing skills.” Libby resisted her impulse to smooth the girl’s puckered brow. “I wish you were my teacher, Mrs. McKay,” she announced before flouncing away. I wish I had a little girl just like you. Libby briefly squeezed her eyes shut. Don’t go there. She had enough issues and failures to deal with, thank you very much, starting with the demise of her marriage to Quinn McKay. Damn stubborn man. What would spur him into action? To get across this wasn’t a game? This was their life hanging in the balance. Quinn hadn’t balked at her demand of a trial separation. He’d taken it in stride and blithely continued his day-to-day life on the ranch, content to hole up in the horse trailer until she “came to her senses”.
