Summer Lovin': A Wounded Hearts Novella by Jacquie Biggar Page A

sight of their children, welcoming smiles broke out and arms opened wide to hug them close. The gentlest of breezes, just enough to take the heat out of the early summer sunshine, teased the girls’ dresses and flirted with the boys’ jackets. It was like a Hallmark movie.
    She lifted the strap of her purse higher, plunked her hat on her head, and dodged families as she made her way across the playground, intent on reaching the bike rack where her prized baby blue Schwinn waited with a sturdy padlock.
    A boy, maybe grade three going by his size, was crouched near the back tire of a beat-up black bike covered in superhero decals. He looked near tears as he fought to free the bike from its lock. Rebecca hesitated, anxious to get going, but the kid’s obvious turmoil tugged at her heart.
    “Hi,” she said brightly. “Looks like you have a problem there. Can I help?”
    The boy looked up at her through the thickest set of dark lashes and puppy dog eyes. She moved closer and his grubby fingers covered the combination while his gaze became even more fearful.
    Rebecca stopped and raised her hands. “It’s okay, kiddo, I work here.” She pointed at the school behind them. “In the office. I’m Miss Sorenson. What’s your name?”
    He looked down, wiped his nose with the sleeve of his jacket, and mumbled, “Tommy.”
    Becky crouched and set her purse beside her on the tarmac. She knew most of the children attending Cascade Elementary, but not this little guy.
    “What class are you in, Tommy?”
    He flushed and looked toward the kids romping on the playground. When he turned back his face was belligerent. “I don’t go to this dumb school.”
    Well, that explained why she didn’t recognize him. She started to rise, saw the hint of desperation in his gaze, and stilled.
    She nodded toward the bicycle. “That’s a pretty terrific bike you have there. Do you want me to try and get that lock for you?” She hoped he wasn’t trying to steal the machine. It looked as though his life might already be rough enough without adding theft to the mix.
    He shook his head once, then reluctantly changed it to a nod. When he got up to give her room she noticed his threadbare sneakers. She gave him a reassuring smile and picked up the rusty lock. That was no doubt half the problem; the mechanism needed oiling. She was relieved to see that he’d used the right combination though. An experimental tug or two later proved her theory. Becky reached into her open bag and searched until she found the small tube of Vaseline she kept for chapped lips. Tommy looked anxious and confused when she handed him the ointment.
    “Buddy, I need your help.” She wiggled the lock. “I need you to rub some of that lotion onto the lock as I pull. Hopefully we’ll get a little bit inside and it’ll loosen the mechanism, how does that sound?”
    Becky waited while he considered her idea. He finally nodded hesitantly.
    “Don’t worry,” she smiled. “We’ll get this.” She positioned the lock between them. “Okay, partner, now.”
    He opened the tube and carefully squeezed it over the lock.
    “That’s great, Tommy. Now rub it in for me.” She kept up a push-pull on either side of the lock until gradually it loosened and finally popped open.
    His eyes widened with delight. “You did it,” he said, his voice filled with awe.
    Rebecca grinned, impressed it actually worked. “No, we did it,” she said and impulsively leaned over to give him a hug.
    He held himself stiff for a moment, then his arms wrapped her middle and squeezed the heck out of her. Warmed by a sudden burst of affection, she dropped a light peck on the top of his head.
    A rough tug yanked the boy out of her arms.
    “I told you to get yer damn bike and git yerself back home, boy.”
    Rebecca gasped, startled. A brutish man stood, legs astride, in front of them aiming a malevolent glare toward Tommy. His bullish face sported a bulbous nose lined with ugly red veins and lank,