Читать книгу A Time To Forgive - Darlene Gardner, Darlene Gardner - Страница 9

ABBY STOOD IN FRONT of the school bus, her arms crossed over her chest, the sole of her right shoe tapping on the pavement. All of her students and two of her three chaperones were on the bus, not so patiently waiting for her signal that they could leave.

She checked her watch, the face of which showed one minute before she’d told her third chaperone the bus was leaving. It was well past the time she’d instructed him to arrive.

Damn it. Where was that arrogant Connor Smith?

She had half a mind to hop on the bus and tell the driver to head out, but the other half warned her of the consequences.

The principal had made it crystal clear that Jaye Smith couldn’t attend the symphony unless Connor Smith chaperoned. If Connor didn’t show and she allowed Jaye to come along anyway, Abby would be in a world of trouble.

She had no intention of denying the child an opportunity to hear the symphony, but she’d prefer accomplishing that without jeopardizing her job.

She leafed through a folder, searching for the emergency care form on file for Jaye. Hopefully it would list a cell-phone number for Connor Smith.

Abby was pulling the form from the stack when a sleek silver sports car slid into the parking lot. She didn’t need to see the driver to know who was behind the wheel.

Blue Moon Elementary School was in Silver Spring, one of the priciest communities in prosperous Montgomery County. A fair number of well-to-do families sent their children through the excellent public-school system, but almost all of them drove sensible vehicles.

A Porsche 911 Turbo was not sensible, but then in her estimation neither was its driver.

She waited impatiently while he unfolded his long length from the car and walked unhurriedly to the bus with a limp so slight she wondered if she imagined it. Probably. He was so perfectly put together, he could have been plucked straight from an ad in a magazine aimed at the young, affluent professional.

She couldn’t recognize brand names but his dove-gray suit was expertly cut to flatter his tall, leanly muscular frame. His burgundy tie—silk, of course—perfectly complemented his dark gray shirt. His leather shoes were a tasteful cordovan.

The wind gently gusted through the parking lot, rustling his coffee-brown hair. It was skillfully cut, not too long, not too short. It looked just right, like the rest of him.

His handsome face—with the requisite square jaw, dark eyes spaced the perfect distance apart and sculpted cheekbones—split into a smile when he spotted her. As he got closer, it surprised her that his grin was slightly crooked and that his nose wasn’t entirely straight. She wasn’t about to give him points for his physical imperfections, though. Especially when they only served to make him more attractive.

“You’re late,” she said.

His smile disappeared, and a crease appeared between his brows. He looked down at his watch, which was probably a Rolex.

“It’s exactly nine-thirty,” he said as he reached her. She expected him to reek of expensive cologne but she smelled soap and warm male skin. “That’s right on time.”

“I told you the bus was leaving at nine-thirty,” she said. “Chaperones were supposed to arrive fifteen minutes ago.”

He shrugged. “As long as I’m not holding anybody up, I don’t see the problem.”

“Are we ready now, Miss Reed?” the bus driver called, his white teeth flashing against his dark skin. His name was Mr. Greeley, and he was a retiree who’d been married for thirty-five years. During the wait, he’d confided that his wife had urged him to apply to drive a bus three months into his retirement because she was tired of him following her around the house.

Abby swallowed the urge to argue with Connor Smith. Although she had a fiery temper, she could usually keep it under control, but this man had gotten under her skin and burrowed.

“We’re ready, Mr. Greeley,” she said.

Connor indicated the school-bus stairs with a sweep of his hand. “After you.”

She trudged up the stairs before he could do some other faux-gallant thing, like offer her a boost. The murmuring on the bus died down and the children, all of them fourth-and fifth-graders, gazed at her expectantly. She smiled at the sight of their eager young faces, her mood instantly brightening.

“Are you ready for some symphony?” she shouted, and at least half of them cheered. “Then let’s go.”

The bus driver chuckled as she settled into the seat behind him. “That was priceless, Miss Reed. You make going to the symphony sound as much fun as a football game.”

“That’s because it is,” she told him, then became aware of Connor hovering over her.

“Mind if I sit down? Jaye’s back there, but she didn’t save a place for me, and I don’t see any other spots.”

Before she could answer, he slid into the seat beside her. She scooted over, the side of her body slamming uncomfortably against the wall of the bus.

“I don’t know about the symphony beating out a good football game,” Mr. Greeley said conversationally, “especially if you drink a couple of beers while you’re watching.”

The bus pulled out of the parking lot onto the highway, and the children resumed their happy chatter. Abby preferred to believe they were in high spirits because they looked forward to the symphony, but realistically knew they’d celebrate any reason to get out of school.

The soft strains of Bach’s Fifth Sonata filled the bus. She’d asked Mr. Greeley to tune the radio to a classical music station before they left, but Bach didn’t have his usual calming effect on Abby. Not with Connor Smith sitting so close that their shoulders almost touched.

“I’m a football-and-beer guy myself,” he announced in a voice loud enough for both her and Mr. Greeley to hear.

She gazed at him, thinking she’d never seen a man who looked less like a beer drinker in her life. “Oh, yeah. Which brand?”

“I usually drink whatever’s on tap,” he said.

“Really? And here I would have guessed you drank a specialty brand from some microbrewery.”

“I’d guess that you drink milk.”

She frowned at him, and he smiled as though he’d gifted her with a compliment. She had a sneaking suspicion, though, that it had been backhanded.

She straightened her spine, annoyed at herself for letting Connor Smith get to her. Normally she’d be eagerly anticipating the performance. She’d attended the symphony countless times, but every time was a treat.

Music had been a major part of her life since her childhood when she’d found her grandmother’s violin and fallen in love hard and fast. Her cash-strapped mother, who was too sentimental to hock the instrument, couldn’t afford to get her private lessons.

So Abby had taught herself to play, filling the hours with music while her mother had worked two jobs and Drew had been off getting into mischief.

Abby’s love of music had turned out to be a godsend, getting her through her darkest days. There’d been a lot of them, none darker than when Drew had been accused of murder and subsequently convicted.

Abby supposed she should take the milk-drinker comment as a compliment, after all. Connor might not have issued it if he knew about her family.

“I like milk,” she said, hating the defensiveness that crept into her voice.

“And chaperones who arrive early.”

“Arriving fifteen minutes before the bus is scheduled to leave is not early. It’s on time.”

“You ever heard the one about time being money? Those fifteen minutes, which I spent getting a floor broker on the New York Stock Exchange to dump some shares, made my client a lot of it.”

“And yourself a healthy commission, I’m sure.”

He shrugged. “Nothing wrong with that. It’s how I make my living.”

“Hey, you a stockbroker?” Mr. Greeley asked without taking his attention from the road.

“Sure am.”

“You any good?”

“Yes, I am,” he said.

She was prepared to erect another black mark against him for boasting but he didn’t sound like he was bragging. He sounded confident. Since she tried to instill that quality in her students every day, she couldn’t fault him for that.

“Maybe I can hire you to give me some financial advice,” Mr. Greeley said.

Abby waited for Connor to dissuade the bus driver of that notion. She’d seen his pricey office and doubted he catered to the common man.

“Be happy to,” he said instead. “Remind me to give you my business card later.”

He leaned back against the bus seat, looking completely relaxed. Abby felt herself vibrating with suppressed energy.

He tilted his head and gave her a lazy look. His eyes were hazel with little flecks of gold in the irises. He was clean shaven but she could tell he wouldn’t be for long, another hint of imperfection.

“I’m hoping you’re right about letting Jaye go on this field trip,” he said in a soft voice. “Because I’m still not sure it’s a good idea.”

“It is a good idea,” Abby said with the same confidence she’d displayed earlier.

She swiveled her head and located Jaye in the back of the bus. Because of her blond hair, the child was easy to spot. She sat perfectly still, giving the impression that she was all alone even though she was surrounded by classmates. They laughed and sang and talked, but Jaye didn’t seem to be part of any group.

Abby turned back around. “She’ll be just fine. You’ll see.”

She’d barely finished her sentence when a shrill, childish voice rang out. “Row, row, row your bus, gently down the stream. Throw your driver overboard and listen to him scream.”

Abby whipped her head around to locate the culprit but already knew who she’d find. Jaye Smith’s mouth formed a perfect O as she sang at the top of her pretty little head.

CONNOR NEVER TOOK PLEASURE in saying “I told you so,” so he kept quiet.

It was hardly Abby Reed’s fault that he’d caved in to her pressure to sign that permission slip, not when Connor had suspected his niece would create some sort of scene.

He could have stood his ground. He damn well should have. But he hadn’t, so now the bus was pulling up in front of the Kennedy Center at barely ten minutes before the performance was to begin.

It had taken a good fifteen minutes to deal with Jaye’s outburst. When Jaye wouldn’t stop singing, Mr. Greeley had pulled the bus over to the side of the road. She’d quieted quickly then, but had resisted Abby Reed’s order to trade seats with a student at the front of the bus. Jaye had only complied when Connor had insisted, but then it was Connor who’d ended up in the other student’s seat with Jaye sitting next to Abby.

Now it was up to Connor to see that Jaye suffered the consequences of her actions. When the bus stopped, he’d call a taxi and instruct the driver to drive them home. A girl who erupted into spontaneous song on the bus couldn’t be trusted not to do so at the symphony.

He made sure he got off the bus before Jaye, then put a restraining hand on the girl’s arm so she couldn’t lose herself among the crowd headed for the Kennedy Center.

“You’re not going anywhere, young lady,” he said.

She directed a mutinous glare at him but held her ground while her classmates disembarked. Abby was at the back of the group, organizing the students into a cohesive pack and issuing orders about walking in an orderly manner.

“Miss Reed,” he called, “can I have a word?”

Her eyes widened. “Now? We don’t have much time. The performance is starting soon.”

“This won’t take long,” Connor said.

She hesitated, casting a glance over her shoulder at the impatient group. But then she nodded to a stern-faced chaperone Connor had overheard say she was retired military.

“Mrs. Bradford, would you see to it that the group gets to the Concert Hall?” Abby asked. “I’ll catch up in a minute.”

“I’ve got it,” Mrs. Bradford said before assuming her position at the front of the class and issuing orders for one of the other chaperones to bring up the rear.

The group hurried off. Abby Reed, her foot tapping and her body coiled for flight, obviously longed to join them. She gazed at him expectantly. “What is it?”

“I’m calling a cab and heading home with Jaye.”

Abby’s expression fell, but Jaye was the one who exclaimed. “No!”

He directed a hard look at the child. “After that outburst on the bus, Jaye, you don’t deserve to see the performance.”

Jaye’s chin lifted, and her expression turned mutinous. “See if I care. It’s just a stupid concert.”

“Then you won’t mind missing it.”

“Why would I? Who cares about the stupid violin anyway?”

“Then it’s settled.” Connor switched his gaze to Abby. Her brows and the corners of her mouth were turned downward in a classic expression of disapproval. But what else was new? She’d disapproved of him from the first.

“Excuse us for a minute, Jaye,” she said.

She took Connor’s upper arm in a surprisingly firm grip and led him away from the defiant child. It was the first time she’d touched him, causing his awareness of her to heighten. She looked lovely in a simple slim-fitting navy skirt topped with a dark pink sweater that complemented her dark hair and creamy complexion. But her eyes were flinty.

“Let me guess,” he said on a sigh. “You don’t agree with me.”

“Normally I would agree that you shouldn’t award that kind of behavior,” she whispered, meeting his gaze head on, “but I’m afraid Jaye will never pick up her violin again if you take her home.”

“She’ll learn a lesson.”

“At what cost? You already know she’s not headed in the right direction. Weren’t you listening to me in your office? The violin could save her.” Her voice grew impassioned, her eyes shone, her hand on his arm tightened. “Kids like Jaye need to care about something. When their troubles get too big, they need something to bring them out of the darkness into the light. Music can do that. It lifts the spirit with its beauty. It makes the world seem like a better place.”

He stared at her, this attractive, accomplished young woman who seemed so very sure of herself. When she’d made a similar speech in his office, he’d thought she was talking only about Jaye. But now he was certain there was more to what she was saying. She had layers, and one of them had peeled away as she made a case for Jaye.

“Is that what music did for you?” he whispered. “Gave you a refuge from your troubles?”

A shutter closed over her face. “We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about Jaye.” She nodded toward his niece. “Punish her some other way,” she said in an urgent tone, “but don’t take the violin away from her.”

He glanced at Jaye. The girl’s small chin was still raised stubbornly, but she was blinking rapidly, as though fighting tears.

“If we don’t hurry, we’ll miss the start of the performance.” Abby leveled him with another of her challenging looks. “Are you and Jaye coming?”

She expected him to say no. He could see the resignation in her eyes, as though she believed he couldn’t possibly understand that nurturing Jaye’s love of music could benefit her.

“Yeah, we’re coming,” he said, enjoying her look of surprise. In a louder voice, he called to Jaye, “C’mon, Jaye. We don’t want to miss the beginning of the concert.”

The child’s defiant expression lifted, replaced by hope. “Do you mean I can go?”

“As long as you understand this is the last place you’ll be going all week. You’re grounded, young lady. You also have to sit next to me and promise to behave yourself.”

She seemed about to protest, but then nodded. Walking past Connor, Jaye told her teacher, “Thanks, Miss Reed.”

Abby smiled, transforming her face from merely attractive to beautiful. Connor wondered if she’d ever smile at him that way.

“You’re welcome,” she said and took the girl’s hand. “But now we have to dash if we’re going to make it on time.”

Connor followed them into the Kennedy Center as they hurried down the red carpet of the Hall of Nations past the walls draped with the colorful flags of foreign countries en route to the Concert Hall.

Before Abby had pleaded for Jaye outside the Kennedy Center, he’d thought of the teacher mainly as a nuisance to bear. But something had changed in that instant when she’d pleaded his niece’s case and he’d gotten an inadvertent glimpse into her soul.

This was a complicated woman, with hidden depths that made her the most interesting person he’d met in a very long time. The passion she could interject into a simple sentence got his juices flowing the way no woman had for as long as he could remember.

Somewhere along the line, the annoyance she’d inspired had turned to attraction. Abby Reed was somebody he’d very much like to know better. A hell of a lot better.

“THAT WAS TOTALLY AWESOME. Wasn’t that totally awesome, Miss Reed?”

Jaye Smith didn’t try to contain her excitement as the bus barreled away from the Kennedy Center north on New Hampshire Avenue toward Silver Spring.

“Totally awesome,” Abby agreed. The only thing that had prevented Abby from completely sharing in her enthusiasm had been the feel of Connor Smith’s eyes on her throughout the performance.

She’d ensured he didn’t sit next to her by positioning him at the flank of the group of students. But every time she’d turned her head, she’d caught him looking at her.

She wasn’t sure why she noticed. He was exactly the kind of man who didn’t interest her. Even though she gravitated toward the world of music, she wasn’t drawn to the sophisticated, moneyed sort of male who inhabited that world. The men she’d dated in the past had been simpler, the sort who took her to a pizza place for dinner and ordered beer.

Despite his earlier attempt on the bus to portray himself to Mr. Greeley as the common man, Connor Smith seemed like he’d order champagne. Probably at a five-star restaurant. He’d given in and allowed Jaye to come to the concert, but she had a dozen other reasons to dislike him. The way he put his work before his daughter, for one. He’d left the performance at one point to take a call. The phone hadn’t rung, but she’d seen him remove the slim device from the pocket of his suit jacket and check a number.

She turned her head. Connor was sitting two rows behind the seat she shared with Jaye on the opposite side of the aisle. Their eyes locked, and she quickly broke the contact.

“I’ll never be able to play like that.”

She transferred her full attention to the girl, dismayed at how quickly the excitement had leeched from her voice. “Why would you say that, Jaye?”

“Didn’t you hear them? They were totally awesome.”

“If you want it bad enough, you could be awesome, too.”

The eyes that raised to hers looked hopeful. “You really think so?”

“I really think so. But you’d have to put your mind to it and practice hard.”

The hope disappeared from Jaye’s face in another lightning-quick change of moods. “I’m not allowed to practice.”

“Oh, I can’t believe that,” Abby said. “I’ve never heard of a parent who didn’t encourage their child to practice.”

“Mine doesn’t.” Jaye’s mouth set in an obstinate line. “And he was really mad about me singing on the bus. He says he’s going to punish me. He’ll probably take away my violin.”

“He won’t do that, Jaye.”

“How do you know?”

Abby hesitated. “I’ve talked to him. He seems like a reasonable man.”

“He locks me in my room without supper,” she announced. “And he makes me go to sleep at seven o’clock.”

Jaye’s pronouncements reeked of exaggeration, however tempted Abby was to believe the worst of Connor Smith. By the same token, Abby could tell that father and daughter were not as close as they should be. That was evident in the rebellious slant of Jaye’s mouth.

She tried to put herself in Jaye’s position. After all, she’d grown up without a parent, too. But in Abby’s case, that parent had been her father and he’d been absent by choice. It was far worse to be forced to deal with the death of a mother. Especially at Jaye’s young age.

She was no guidance counselor, but she longed to help the girl. She couldn’t do that without more information. All Jaye had told her so far was that her mother had succumbed to cancer. “How long has your mother been gone?”

Jaye sniffed. “About a month.”

Abby bit her lip. She’d known the loss had been recent but hadn’t realized how recent. “How long had it been before then that you’d seen your father?”

“A long time,” Jaye said. “Years.”

“One or two years?” Abby pressed.

“More.” Jaye turned her face away and stared out the bus window. They were passing through a particularly lovely section of northwest D.C. Rock Creek Park was immediately to the west, and large colonial and Tudor-style houses lined the street, their lawns losing the dullness of winter and starting to turn a richer shade of green. Abby doubted Jaye saw any of it. “Mom and I lived in Tennessee.”

Physical distance, in Abby’s opinion, was no reason to keep emotionally distant from a child. Especially when it was your own. But she was jumping to conclusions without all the facts. She didn’t know for certain that Connor Smith hadn’t kept in touch with his daughter.

“It must have been tough living so far away from your father,” she said, leading into her question as tactfully as she could. “It’s a good thing for telephones.”

“He never called me,” Jaye muttered, her face still turned to the window.

Abby’s estimation of Connor plummeted, but then she reminded herself that he was trying to do right by Jaye now. Whatever his sins of the past, he had an opportunity to atone for them.

“He’s here now, Jaye.” She tried to dredge up something encouraging to say. “He probably wants to make up for lost time.”

Jaye’s head shook violently back and forth. Her shoulders trembled, as though she were fighting tears.

Abby laid a hand on her arm, unsure of what she’d said wrong. “What is it, honey?”

Jaye looked at her then, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “My dad doesn’t want to make up for lost time. He doesn’t want me at all.”

Emotion clogged Abby’s throat, making it tough to speak. She’d run out of words anyway, not that anything she’d said so far had made Jaye feel the slightest bit better.

The cheerful chatter of the children behind them contrasted vividly with the despair on Jaye’s face. Abby stroked the girl’s arm as resentment built inside her toward Connor Smith.

She knew his type all too well.

Her father hadn’t wanted her, either.