Heaven's Touch by Jillian Hart

back in the water.”
    He looked at her, helplessly folded in two, his feet at the surface, his arms flailing to keep his face above water.
    â€œYou’re doing good. Just reach back.” She lifted her arms again so he could imitate her, and it seemed to help. He stayed rigid, bent in the middle, but at least he was lying back on the water.
    Except he was also submerging. He came up sputtering, treading water.
    â€œThat’s good. Try it again from the wall. You’re getting it. It just takes practice, okay?” She said it kindly, because she knew the other kids were trying not to snicker and failing. She shot them a firm glance, arching one brow to look more imposing. “You may have the same trouble, you know. That’s great, Travis. Reach behind you. Don’t look at your toes!”
    He struggled, but he moved sluggishly across thepool. Andrea had already climbed out and was dripping on the deck.
    Ben’s here.
    She could feel his presence like a touch. Her heart skipped a beat. It was as if the world froze in time for one fraction of a moment as she gazed upward exactly to where he stood in a middle aisle of the half-filled bleachers. She wanted to scold herself for having such a strident reaction to Ben’s arrival. Was it old feelings long buried? Or was it because she could look at him and no longer feel the pain of regret?
    He caught her gaze and gave her a small, tight salute, the dimples cutting into his cheeks as he slouched down onto an empty bench. He looked away, breaking their connection.
    The moment faded, leaving only the present—the call of other instructors’ voices on the other side of the pool echoing overhead, the slosh and splish of the water, the rush of kids swimming, the glare of sunlight through the skylights. Travis reached the far end and she congratulated him, then called in the last pair for the last swim of the day.
    By the time she made promises for practicing their dives next time and said goodbye, her next class was lined up on the wooden benches along the wall, shivering from their shower. Ben’s nephew was among them, lean and spare, looking wide-eyed at the wateras if he thought swimming lessons were the worst idea ever.
    Remembering how his family had said he’d nearly drowned in the river last month, she didn’t blame him one bit. She hopped in to help switch the ropes, dividing the pool widthwise rather than lengthwise. Peggy rolled her eyes in silent misery. She liked teaching the deep end of the pool the least, but Cadence loved it all. Every class, every stage, every student.
    Because of the work they did here, the chances of these children drowning in a preventable incident were drastically reduced. She’d never know how many lives she saved by teaching kids to swim and swim well, and it heartened her as she clamped the final rope, ducked beneath it and approached the shallow end of the pool.
    Eight little kids stared back at her in various stages of eagerness. From confident Kaylie in her pink ruffle suit and hair in neat little braids, to Jacob with a glint of trouble in his eyes ready for the class to be over, to Westin who’d gone pale when he realized other classes were being called to the water’s edge. His class was bound to be next.
    Yep, she had her work cut out for her. And she liked it that way. Placing her hands on the deck, she studied her cute little students. “Hey, I’m so jazzed to see you guys again. Did any of you remember to practice like I asked you to?”
    Kaylie’s hand shot up. “I did! I did! I blowed the biggest bubbles ever!”
    â€œRight.” Jacob rocked back to stare at the ceiling, as if he were contemplating shimmying up to the rafters and seeing if the skylights opened—his only chance of escape.
    Westin swallowed hard. His hand waved. “Do I hafta put my face in?”
    â€œWe’re only doing it halfway,” she answered. “Don’t