Читать книгу Pine Country Cowboy - Glynna Kaye - Страница 11

Chapter Three

“Hey, who’s the gal with Davy Diaz?”

Jake Talford, standing outside the front door of Canyon Springs Christian Church, nodded toward the education wing of the building.

Brett turned to take a look and his spirits inexplicably took flight. As always, he felt a sense of anticipation as he approached the native stone building nestled among tall-trunked ponderosa pine trees, its bell tower topped by a cross. But today that expectancy was heightened by the sight of Abby ushering her nephew toward a side door. So she hadn’t gone home yesterday after all.

Abby was dressed in a black skirt, burgundy V-neck top and what his sisters called espadrilles, with her hair fastened behind her head in a schoolmarmish bun. Despite her reserved manner, the look didn’t suit her.

He watched until the pair disappeared inside, then turned back to his friend. “That’s Abby Diaz. Joe’s sister.”

The city councilman raised a brow. “You’re kidding. I didn’t know he had a sister.”

“Welcome to the club.” At least he wasn’t the lone person Joe hadn’t confided in.

They chatted for several more minutes about the promising Arizona Diamondbacks season and Jake and his fiancée’s wedding plans. But Brett had a hard time concentrating on the conversation. If Abby was at church with Davy, did that mean Meg had safely delivered the baby—or not?

As an older couple approached the doorway where the two men stood, he stepped back and gave Jake a parting nod. “See you later.”

He jogged down the covered walkway to the education wing door, whipped off his hat and entered. What was Davy now? A first-grader until school let out for the summer? Abby would likely have been taking him to his classroom, then maybe joining one of the adult classes as he, too, intended to do.

He peeked in the interior window of the first grade class and spied Davy pulling out a chair at the table. Brett opened the door with an apologetic smile at the teacher and whispered to Abby’s nephew. “Davy, where’s your aunt?”

The boy looked up and smiled a greeting. “She’s teaching kindergarten for Mommy.”

His heart hitched. Kindergarten. Roughly the same age as Jeremy when he’d held him in his arms those final hours and kissed him goodbye.

Squaring his shoulders, he nodded his thanks, then shut the door. At the next classroom he looked through the window. Sure enough, a bewildered-looking Abby stood in the midst of half a dozen or so little kids, the noise level rising with every passing second even with the classroom door closed. Unsmiling, she appeared to be pleading with her charges to settle down, but the kids didn’t pay her any attention.

This looked to be a rescue operation.

He opened the door and slipped inside. Then he shut it behind him, tossed his hat to the top of a supply cabinet and squatted to kid level, savoring the memorable scent of glue sticks and crayons. It took two seconds for the majority of the children to come running. The remaining two, probably summer visitors, hung back, watchful.

The local kids crowded in close.

“Hi, Brett! Can I wear your hat?”

“Are you going to teach our Sunday school class?”

“Did you ride your horse to church?”

“Where’s Elmo?”

Laughing, he glanced up at Abby, who didn’t look happy at the interruption. Couldn’t she see he’d come to her aid? He gave each child a hug, then shook the hands of the new kids, solemnly introducing himself and asking their names.

“Brett is awesome,” Betsy Davis, motherlike, assured the visitors. “We love him.”

“Yeah.” A ponytailed Mary Kenton, the pastor’s oldest daughter, gave him another hug.

The others joined in with a cacophony of affirmations and the noise level escalated again. Conscious of the nursery across the hall and the adjoining first grade classroom, Brett stood and placed his finger to his lips. “I think it’s time to play—”

“I do have a lesson prepared.” Abby lifted a teacher’s guide in protest as if suspecting he intended to hijack the sharing of God’s word for an hour of recreational pursuits.

“Little red schoolhouse!” the local kids shouted in unison, guessing the game Brett had been about to suggest. Giggling, they hurried to be seated around a low, rectangular table.

He shrugged as he shot Abby a grin that she didn’t return.

“This is so cool,” Betsy informed the visitors as the chatter continued around the table. “His mom taught him this game.”

“And her mom taught it to her,” Brett added. Grandma was a sly one. As a youngster, he’d fallen for it for years. Glancing at an obviously disapproving Abby, he merely waved her toward one of the diminutive chairs. “Come on, ma’am, you won’t want to miss this.”

With a crease still etching her forehead, she pulled out a chair and carefully perched on it, almost as if expecting it to collapse like in the old Goldilocks tale. He gave her an approving nod, but didn’t coax out a smile.

“Okay now.” Brett clapped, getting the attention of the still-jabbering children. “When I say the words little red schoolhouse...one, two, three, what do we do?”

“We see who can go the longest without saying anything,” Betsy piped up, proud that she knew the answer.

Abby’s eyes widened as she stared at him in disbelief. Catching on now, was she?

“Does the winner get a prize?” one of the visitors demanded, his freckled face screwed up in concentration at the challenge ahead.

Brett’s Jeremy had sported freckles, too. Blond hair and the biggest blue eyes, just like his mama. “There’s no prize. But it’s fun, so we don’t need prizes.”

The boy didn’t look convinced, but Brett pulled up another tiny chair and sat down, too. Then he leaned forward to clasp his hands on the table and the children likewise clasped theirs. After a slight hesitation, Abby followed suit.

“Are we ready?”

Nods all around the table. A giggle from Mary garnered her a glare from the others.

“Okay, here we go. Say it with me.” He made eye contact with each eager face, making sure all were on board. This was such a fun age. Or it could be when kids were healthy and whole, not laboring for every breath drawn into fragile lungs.

“Little red schoolhouse...” a chorus of childish voices chimed in with his. “One...two...three.”

Blessed silence descended as each child pressed lips tightly together, watchfully peering around the circle of faces in search of the first culprit to break the quiet.

As the blissful moments stretched, a broad smile appeared on Mary’s face and several others pointed accusingly, hands clamped to their own now-smiling mouths to keep from saying anything.

“She’s still in the game,” Brett assured softly. “She hasn’t said anything.”

Mary gave them a “so there” look, lips tightening with renewed resolve. Brett winked at Abby, who slowly shook her head. He imagined she’d remember this crowd control ploy for some time to come. It was so quiet he could hear a baby crying in the nursery across the hall.

Abruptly, the boy who’d demanded a prize gave a loud, overly dramatic gasp and gulped in mouthfuls of air. “I can’t breathe!”

Initially startled, the other kids stared with rounded eyes. Then almost in unison, they cried out in grinning triumph. “He talked!”

“You don’t hold your breath, silly,” red-haired Skyler admonished with a sigh of disgust. “Can we start over, Brett? He’s doing it wrong.”

Brett leaned over to pat the visitor on the back, making sure he was okay. He was fine, but liked putting on a show.

“That’s right, don’t hold your breath. You can breathe through your mouth or through your nose or...through your ears if you want to.”

The kids giggled.

Mary plugged her ears with her fingers and made a face of distress. “I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe!”

The room erupted in laughter, and Brett caught Abby’s eye. She was laughing, too, and his heart unexpectedly lurched. Man, was that glimpse behind the starchy-mannered exterior worth waiting for.

The now-composed boy grinned. “I won’t hold my breath again. I promise.”

“We’ll play one more time.” Brett again caught their teacher’s eye. “Then I believe Miss Abby here has a Bible story for us and probably something fun to make to take home.”

Abby nodded and the kids turned to look at her as if noticing her for the first time. Another round of the game and the kids were settled down enough to focus on a Bible lesson. All except Skyler, that is, who gave Mary’s ponytail a tug. Brett hauled him into his lap and, after a halfhearted struggle, the boy finally relaxed against him, a too-familiar weight and little boy scent that brought back memories. Wrapping his arms around Skyler’s waist, Brett rested his chin atop the soft thatch of hair and nodded for Abby to begin.

David and Goliath. A bittersweet heaviness settled into Brett’s chest. Wouldn’t you know it? One of Jeremy’s favorite stories. Right up there with Noah and the ark, Jonah and the whale, and Daniel in the lion’s den. Thankfully the Lord had gotten hold of that precious boy’s daddy just in time or he’d never have heard those stories—or about how Jesus loved the little children.

Brett swallowed, forcing away the past as he concentrated on the woman in front of him. She recited the story slowly, with enthusiastic animation, as she moved magnetic cutout characters across the whiteboard. The gentle voice, tinged with a slight huskiness that lent it a distinction of its own, held the children riveted.

Brett shifted Skyler on his lap, as captivated as any of the kids. His ex-wife, Melynda, never read Bible stories to Jeremy. She’d wanted no part of God after the cystic fibrosis diagnosis, and no part of her husband, either, once Jeremy passed away. Brett didn’t often allow himself to dwell on those dark times and God had been faithful to ease the relentless, piercing pain of loss. So why today?

If there was anything he’d learned over the past seven years since losing Jeremy and the shock of his wife’s departure, it was that there were good days and there were bad days. On both, he could only thank God for allowing him to have a wife and a son in his life for as long as He had—and take another step into tomorrow without them.

* * *

Abby had never seen anything quite like it. The man had merely entered the classroom and suddenly the world was all about him. Or the children’s world anyway. Even when at the hour’s conclusion they’d gathered up their papers to await their parents, Brett had once again become the focus of their attention and she was all but invisible.

Had she known Brett went to Canyon Springs Christian, she wouldn’t have been so easily persuaded to take on Meg’s Sunday school class. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate how he’d settled the children down with that clever schoolhouse game of his. She’d been on the verge of panic before his arrival. But really...had he needed to remain through the entire lesson? Help out with the crafts? Not that she wasn’t grateful for the assistance, but his watchful eyes, teasing remarks and knowing smiles had made it harder on her, always wondering what he was going to do next.

That was one thing she’d appreciated about Gene, her steady-as-he-goes fiancé. Twelve years her senior, the long-widowed university professor was a man of fixed routine and predictability. A creature of habit. No surprises there. Or at least that’s what she’d thought until he broke off their engagement, annoyed that she’d be unable to fulfill her part of the marital bargain and had messed up his carefully laid plans to father a child of his own. He’d acted as if it hadn’t been as equally a painful blow to her.

Brett saw the last of the kindergartners off with a wave, then turned to where Davy had joined her to help gather materials back into his mother’s canvas bag. Snatching up a roll of paper towels, the cowboy moistened a few in the room’s corner sink, then wiped down the tables with every bit as much enthusiasm as he seemed to lavish on anything he set his mind to. Which, she had to admit, could be irritating. Must be nice not to have a care in the world.

But why did he keep hanging around? Didn’t he have any place he needed to be?

Slinging the lesson bag over her shoulder, she patted Davy on the back. “Why don’t you find Grandpa? I’m sure he’ll be expecting you in church.”

Davy’s brow wrinkled. “You’re not coming?”

“No, I have a few things to attend to. But I’m sure your grandpa will see that you get lunch and bring you home afterward.” Or at least that’s what he used to do when she was a kid.

Even though only the Diaz children—not the adults—had actually attended church, Dad enjoyed Sunday family times and they’d given his wife a break from meal preparation. Mom still hated cooking. Dad had done much of it whenever he could, so they’d probably consumed way too many meals prepared on his oversize grill and Sunday specials at Kit’s Lodge.

“You’ll still be there when I get home, won’t you?” Davy’s eyes sought hers for reassurance. Thank goodness his mother would return this afternoon. Abby was already losing her heart to this little guy and he seemed to be latching on to her, too.

“I’ll be there. Me and that shoe-chewing pooch of yours.”

Davy grinned, then with a wave to Brett he disappeared out the door.

“Good kid.” Brett retrieved his hat from atop the supply cabinet, a version that was in more pristine condition than the one he’d worn at the equine center yesterday. He’d donned his Sunday best, too—well-oiled boots, dark jeans and a crisp white Western-cut shirt. “So how’s his mom and the bambina?”

So that’s why he’d lingered. He wanted an update on Meg.

“She and the baby are both stabilized and she’s hoping to come home this afternoon. She can’t return to work, of course, but at least she may be able to wait things out at home.”

“Glad to hear it.” Rotating his hat in his hands, he didn’t seem in any hurry to be on his way.

She patted the bun on her head, ensuring it was still secure, then took a step toward the door. “Thank you for helping out. That little red schoolhouse thing is ingenious.”

“I was more than happy to assist.” He cocked his head, eyes twinkling. “But I thought you librarians knew all the tricks in the book about kid control. Assuming, of course, they still have story hours at libraries these days.”

Abby shrugged. “I was a high school librarian.”

“Was?”

Ugh. He’d picked up on that slip of the tongue.

“Yes, was.” But she didn’t intend to discuss it. Cutbacks in funding weren’t kind to a private school librarian with a paltry four years of experience. Even with a master’s degree, she’d been among the first to be let go at the end of the spring semester.

In the weeks since school ended, she had no idea how she’d managed to motivate herself to apply for the few available librarian job openings in the Tucson area, let alone make a good showing in the interviews. Nevertheless, she hoped to hear an affirmative for the fall semester soon. It didn’t much matter which one. With an apartment to maintain and car and education loans to pay off, she couldn’t afford to be choosy.

Eyeing her curiously, Brett nevertheless didn’t press her for an explanation, for which she was grateful.

“There you are.” A masculine voice came almost accusingly from the doorway. Her dad. The stocky, mustached Bill Diaz stepped into the room, wire-rimmed glasses perched on his hawklike nose and salt-and-pepper hair highlighted by the fluorescent overhead lights.

“Hey, Bill.” Brett stepped forward to shake his hand.

He knew her dad?

The older man’s smile broadened. “I should have known you’d manage to find the prettiest girl in the building.”

Brett darted a look in her direction, the first uncomfortable one she’d seen coming from him. Had he naively assumed she hadn’t already heard of his ladies’ man reputation and thought Dad was spilling the beans? He must have forgotten she’d observed him with the women at the equine center and borne the impact of his heart-stopping grin.

Brett sheepishly returned her father’s knowing smile. “Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on them. Keep the rounders at bay.”

“You’re the man for the job, son.” Her father gave him a nod of approval, then turned to pin Abby with a frown. “What’s this Davy’s saying about you not staying for church? Come on now, folks are wanting to see you again. Since you’re staying the weekend after all, you need to give your old man a chance to show off his beautiful daughter.”

Why was Dad being so jolly this morning? When they’d last spoken as she packed her car on Saturday morning—before Meg’s SOS to help with Davy’s riding lesson—things had been extremely awkward. “Dad, I don’t want to be shown off.”

“Indulge me. Sit beside me during the worship service and join me and Davy for lunch at Kit’s.”

Her hopes lifted. Did he want to put more effort into bridging the gap of too many lost years? To try again to establish a relationship with his long-absent offspring?

Then she remembered Sharon.

“I don’t want to intrude.”

He lowered his glasses on his nose to peer at her. “Intrude? On what?”

She cast an uneasy look in Brett’s direction. He didn’t need to be privy to family matters. “I assume Sharon’s joining you?”

Her father’s brows took a dive. “She’s not. She has a ladies luncheon to attend. But what if she were coming? She wants to get to know you better, honey, just like I do.”

“Dad—”

“You can bring your friend here, too.” He waved his hand toward Brett.

Brett wasn’t her friend. He wasn’t her anything. “Dad, I don’t—”

“You both have to eat, don’t you? My treat.”

Brett shook his head. “Thank you, sir, but—”

“Come on, join us. Abby needs to get to know some young folks in Canyon Springs. Maybe you can talk her into staying a few weeks. Maybe all summer.”

Hope flickered. Dad wanted her to stay? It sure hadn’t felt like that yesterday morning. He’d seemed as bewildered as she was about how to build a real-life bridge between them, not just communicate through birthday cards and an occasional ill-at-ease phone call. The past few days she’d spent with him had seemed, well, more than weird. And disappointing. Maybe he’d been disappointed, too?

“Come on, Brett,” Dad urged again, almost as though needing an ally in the struggle to find comfortable ground with his only daughter. A third party to balance things out?

While her instincts warned to stay away from Brett—he was a heartache waiting to happen—his presence at lunch might ease the tension between her and Dad. He and Davy would keep conversation at a superficial level and his happy-go-lucky approach might deflect the wounding sparks that sometimes flared between father and daughter. Despite her misgivings, Brett’s accompanying them suddenly seemed vital to paving the path to a harmonious connection with Dad.

Brett’s eyes narrowed as if trying to read her thoughts, then he dropped his gaze to the hat in his hands. “I appreciate the invitation, Bill, but I’m sure Abby can make up her own mind as to how long she wants to stay in town.”

He moved toward the door.

“You’re welcome to come.” Her rapid response provoked a surprised lifting of a brow as his gaze met her now-pleading one. Couldn’t he see that just as he’d barged into the Sunday school class, he needed to barge in here now, too? Needed to be a buffer between her and Dad?

Come on, cowboy. Say yes.