Paper Moon by Linda Windsor

right thing.
    â€œSo you’re one of those ‘if you want it done right, do it yourself ’ types, eh?”
    His humor faded. “You said on the plane that you have a daycare center. Is there any other way to run a business?”
    â€œI’ve been lucky enough to find reliable help, so that I can get away from time to time.”
    Blaine smirked. Even so, it was a charming smirk.
    â€œBy the time one finds out the help is unreliable, one can be bankrupt.”
    Her confidence faltered. “Of course I’ve worked alongside my staff, so I’ve learned their strengths and weaknesses. And I realize that no one is perfect, including me.”
    No, she was not perfect, but the God she leaned upon was. She hesitated, succumbing to her old insecurities. Would she downplay His work, His blessings of success? A wave of shame washed over Caroline as she realized her past fears were intimidating her. Frank almost had Caroline believing the day care she’d run from her home was nothing. Even though she’d built it into a successful enterprise, the old hurt and insecurity still raised their ugly heads—especially in the company of professionals like her ex-husband and Blaine Madison.
    Blaine wasn’t even paying attention to her at the moment. With his gaze narrowed like that of a hawk spotting a mouse, he watched as a fair-haired young man from a nearby table asked Karen to dance.
    â€œRelax, they’re just kids,” Caroline assured him.
    â€œWith raging hormones,” Blaine countered. “And the way she dresses and dances—”
    â€œIs normal.” There wasn’t anything seductive about Karen’s dancing. Like Annie’s, her movements were somewhere between a bounce, a flail, and a wiggle without the curves to define it. “It’s a hard age. She’s becoming a woman.”
    â€œNot tonight.” Blaine’s words sounded more like a prayer than a declaration.
    â€œLet her be Cinderella for the night. She’s on cloud nine.”
    â€œHave you seen Annie’s prince?” Blaine nodded to where a tall, lanky young man with red, as in patriotic red, hair talked to her daughter. It looked as if he’d been shot-gunned with studs. They lined his ears, brow, lips—Caroline refused to think beyond that.
    â€œRelax, they’re just talking,” he said, the square of his jaw softening with his “gotcha” grin. Blaine slung a casual arm over the bentwood back of his chair in an attempt to do just that. “You seem to know all these kids pretty well.”
    â€œMost of them since grade school,” Caroline answered. Christie had cried on her shoulder when her parents got divorced. Caroline had carried casseroles over to Eddie’s house while his mom was treated for cancer. And the number of trips she’d chaperoned couldn’t be counted on her combined fingers and toes—the zoos, the camps, the ball games and band competitions, the state and nation’s capitals. “They’re all my kids.”
    â€œLucky you.” He didn’t sound envious.
    â€œYeah,” she conceded, “but Scripture says go to all nations and lead them. These kids are my little nation.”
    With a thoughtful nod, Blaine looked away, losing himself in his surroundings.
    Had she blundered? Some people retreated at the mention of faith as though it were catching.
    All she’d done was to say what she felt and why. It wasn’t as if she were judging him for not being at ease with the kids, or flaunting her faith in his face.
    â€œYou know, their culture is different,” he told her without diverting his attention from the young man who had begun a slow dance with his daughter. “I’m afraid he might take the American girls’ friendliness for looseness, if you know what I mean.”
    Caroline observed the couple without reply. Karen wasn’t exactly dirty dancing. It was more like chatty