Читать книгу The Rancher and the Girl Next Door - Jeannie Watt - Страница 9

CLAIRE SMILED AT HER NEW class—all ten of them—and wondered who’d masterminded the snake incident. They all looked more than capable of it, but at least the younger students, the fifth and sixth graders, were smiling back at her with varying degrees of curiosity and friendliness. By contrast, the five older students, the seventh and eighth graders, stared at her with impassive, just-try-to-engage-us-and-see-how-far-you-get expressions.

“I’m Miss Flynn,” Claire said, as she wrote her name on the overhead projector.

“We know who you are,” one of the kids muttered snidely. Claire glanced up, startled by the blatant rudeness, but she couldn’t tell who’d spoken. “I’m looking forward to a productive year, and I thought that in order to—”

One of the eighth-grade boys raised his hand.

“Yes?”

“Do you think you’ll be here for the whole year?”

“It’s one of my goals,” Claire said dryly. She knew that her class had had three teachers in two years, each less effective than the previous one. “As I was saying, in order to get to know each other better, I thought we could all introduce ourselves and tell one thing we did this summer. How about starting on this side of the room?” She nodded at the boy in eighth grade, Dylan, who sat farthest to her right.

“I think everyone knows who I am. This summer I slept.” He fixed her with a steely look.

Claire quelled an instant urge to jump into battle, as her instincts were telling her to do, deciding it would be wiser to bide her time and get a read on her opponent.

“How nice,” she said. She nodded at the girl sitting next to him.

“I’m Toni.”

“Did you accomplish anything this summer?”

“No.” But then Toni suddenly made an O with her mouth. “Yes,” she amended, with a satisfied expression. “I almost talked my mom into getting rid of her bum of a boyfriend.”

Claire gave the girl a tight smile and moved on.

“My name is Ashley,” the redheaded girl sitting next to Toni chirped. “This summer I totally revamped my wardrobe.” She jangled the bracelets on her wrist as if to prove the point.

Claire was saved from the remaining introductions by the sudden appearance of a first grader.

“Mrs. Gunderson said to tell you we have sheep!” he squeaked, his eyes wide with excitement.

“Sheep?”

“On the play field.”

“And…?” Claire asked with a frown, but her students were already out of their seats and heading for the door. She followed them, wondering if this was an elaborate ruse and if she should order them back into the classroom, but then Bertie emerged from the office.

“Sorry about this. The older kids herd sheep better than the younger ones. It should only take a few minutes. I’ve just called Echetto and told him to get his buns over here and take care of his flock. The man really should leave his dog when he goes somewhere. The dog works a lot faster than the kids.”

A thundering herd of woolly bodies circled past the front of the school and disappeared around the side. Bertie’s class was crowded onto the steps. Trini, the school aid, had the four kindergarten kids perched on the windowsills in Bertie’s room, where they laughed and giggled as the sheep ran by again, the older students in hot pursuit.

“They like to watch,” Bertie explained, before cupping her hand to her mouth and yelling at Claire’s students, “Just get them into Echetto’s front yard. He can put them away when he gets back.”

Claire was impressed by the way the kids worked in unison to gather the sheep and herd them off the play field, onto the road and then halfway down the block to the house that apparently belonged to Echetto, whoever he was. Ashley and Toni hung toward the rear, but when a couple of ewes made a break for it, they expertly chased them back into the flock. A few minutes later all the kids returned, filed past Claire into the school and took their seats. They’d been smiling while they were outside, but the older ones were once again stony faced—except when they looked at each other.

“Well, this is a first,” Claire said. “We don’t have many sheep emergencies in Las Vegas.”

No one smiled back. In fact, they were making a real effort to make her feel stupid for trying to talk to them like people. “Are you always this rude?” she asked softly.

The younger kids glanced down. The older ones continued to stare at her.

“We can work on manners,” she added.

No response, although she noticed the younger kids were now watching the older students, looking for cues.

“This morning I’m going to have you take placement tests, so I can plan the English and math curriculums. Then, after break, we’ll do a writing activity. I need you to clear your desks and we’ll get going on the tests right now, while you’re fresh.”

The older kids grudgingly shoved notebooks into their desks, a couple of them muttering under their breath.

The rest of the day passed so slowly and dismally that Claire was beginning to wish the sheep would escape again. She knew the younger ones were not on board with the older ones—yet. But they were watching and learning.

She had to do something. Fast. The headache that had begun shortly after the sheep roundup was approaching migraine status by now.

“I have a list of supplies I’d like you to have within the next week,” she announced just before afternoon recess.

Ashley raised her hand and Claire nodded at her. “What about the kids who can’t afford supplies?”

A reasonable question, and one that might have denoted concern for those with financial limitations—if it hadn’t been for the girl’s condescending tone. Ashley, with her salon-streaked hair, Abercrombie T-shirt and Guess jeans, was obviously not going to have difficulty buying five dollars’ worth of supplies. And then, as if to make it perfectly clear that she was establishing her own status, she glanced pointedly over at one of the fifth graders, a rather shabbily dressed boy named Jesse.

Claire looked Ashley straight in the eye. “If you have trouble affording supplies, please see me in private.”

The girl flushed. “I wasn’t talking about myself,” she snapped.

“Well, it is kind of you to be concerned about others,” Claire interjected, before the girl could name names. “If any of you do not have the opportunity to buy supplies, we’ll work something out. Please see me.” She smiled at Ashley. “Does that answer your question?”

The girl did not bother to reply. Claire decided to fight the politeness battle later. She noticed a couple of the younger kids trying not to smile. Apparently they appreciated Ashley getting hers, and Claire made a mental note to find out more about the girl and her family.

The last two hours of the day passed without incident, although it became apparent by then that Ashley held a grudge and owned a cell phone. Ashley’s mother arrived just before school ended. She waited in the hall outside the classroom, marching up to Claire as soon as the room had emptied of students.

“Miss Flynn. I’m Ashley’s mother. Deirdre Landau.”

Claire could see the resemblance in both features and clothes. In fact, the mother was dressed almost exactly like the daughter, in pricey jeans and T-shirt, with expensive hair in a make-believe color. Claire was in no position to comment on make-believe hair colors, since she was a little blonder than nature had ever intended, so she overlooked that detail.

“You embarrassed Ashley today.”

“I apologize for that,” Claire said honestly. And she was sorry. She wished the incident had never happened, but she wasn’t going to let Ashley humiliate a defenseless fifth grader, either.

There was a silence.

“That’s it?” Deirdre finally asked.

“What more would you like?” Claire asked reasonably.

The woman’s mouth worked as she fought for words. She’d received an apology. Readily and sincerely. And that was the problem. She’d wanted Claire to grovel. Or protest. Or, at the very least, put up a struggle. She tried again.

“A promise not to do it again.”

“Fine. As long as Ashley understands that I will not tolerate an intentional attempt to hurt another student’s feelings.”

Deirdre looked shocked. “Ashley would do no such thing.”

“Then perhaps I misread the situation,” Claire said in an agreeable tone. “So the next time it happens, I’ll just give you a call and you can come to the school and we’ll discuss it while it’s fresh in everyone’s mind.”

“I would welcome that.”

“Great, because I believe that communication among parents, students and teachers is imperative in an educational situation.”

Deirdre blinked. “And I want you to apologize to Ashley in front of the class. After all, she was embarrassed in front of the class.”

“Sure.” Again, Claire did not hesitate in her response, and it seemed to confuse Deirdre. She frowned suspiciously.

“Tomorrow.”

“First thing.”

“All right.” It was obvious the woman didn’t trust Claire’s easy acquiescence. “Ashley’s waiting. I need to be going.”

Claire refrained from saying “See you soon,” even though she had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before she and Ashley’s mom were face-to-face again.

Claire called Regan that night. “What do you do when you’re teaching the undead?” she asked as soon as her sister answered the phone.

“Excuse me?”

“Zombies. My older kids behave like zombies, except for when they’re herding sheep or sniping at me.”

“Echetto’s sheep got out again?”

“This is common?”

“Couple times a year.”

“Sheep I can live with, but these older kids are mean, Reg. I thought I’d have a group of sweet rural kids who’d been left to their own devices for too long. And instead I have three snotty ringleaders trying to get the best of me, and a bunch of younger kids learning to follow their lead. Can you tell me anything about Toni Green, Ashley Landau and Dylan Masterson that might help me?”

“Not a lot,” Regan confessed. “The only one I know is Dylan, and he wasn’t bad as a fourth grader. He just needed a strong hand.”

“Well, he didn’t get it.”

“As to the zombie issue, you’re going to have to live with it.”

“Meaning?”

“It’s a control thing, and you can’t force them to be enthusiastic learners. But you can do what Will does when he trains a horse. If they show an appropriate response, reward them. If they act like zombies, ignore it and do your job.”

“Kind of like the extinction theory?”

“Pretty much.” Regan’s voice softened. “You do know you may have a power struggle for a while?”

“I’m getting that idea.”

“Stay consistent. Stay strong.”

“I’ll be Hercules.”

“You may have to be,” Regan said with a laugh. “Call any time you need moral support, all right?”

“Are you sure you mean that?” Claire asked ironically. There was a time when she’d automatically called Regan before even thinking about a problem.

“I mean it. Anytime.” A muffled voice sounded in the background. Regan laughed, then said, “Kylie wants you to promise to come watch her ride at the regional horse show and to wear something to impress her friends.”

“Tell her I’ll get right on it.”

Claire felt better for having called. She had no intention of crying on Regan’s shoulder every time something went wrong, but it was good to know she had backup if she needed it.

“BEFORE WE START CLASS, there’s something I need to attend to,” Claire said as soon as the students were seated following the Pledge of Allegiance. Ashley was already smirking.

“Yesterday I embarrassed Ashley, and I want to apologize for that.”

The girl nodded, like a queen granting pardon to an offending subject.

Claire hitched a hip onto the edge of her desk and swung her foot. “In order to avoid this happening in the future, I think I should explain some things to you as a class. I don’t want anyone to be embarrassed, but if I see you trying to hurt someone else, I will call you on it. It may embarrass you. It’s called a consequence. I don’t know how many of you have been following the latest developments in self-esteem studies…” The class stared at her blankly. “But the pendulum is swinging from the stroking of egos back to consequences for actions.”

Rudy tentatively raised his hand.

“Yes?”

“Would you please translate that?”

“If you do the crime, you’ll do the time.”

A look of dawning awareness crossed ten faces. Ashley’s mouth flattened so much that Claire wondered if it would stay that way forever.

“I’m not exactly stupid,” Claire continued. “I can tell when someone is trying to hurt someone else, and I will not put up with it. Any questions?” Several kids shook their heads. “Great. Please get out your math homework.”

The fifth and sixth graders had their homework ready. One of the seventh graders had half of the assignment done. The remaining four older students had nothing.

“Where’s your homework?” Claire asked.

“I didn’t do it,” Dylan answered nonchalantly.

“Any particular reason?”

He shrugged. “Mr. Nelson never made us. Homework was just practice. It was the tests that counted.”

“If we could pass the tests, he said we really didn’t have to do the homework,” Lexi chimed in.

“And did you pass the tests?”

“Yes,” the older kids said in unison.

Which made Claire wonder if Mr. Nelson had even bothered to grade the tests. Because after looking at the math placement results from the day before, she was thinking these kids had either gotten a case of collective amnesia over the summer or they hadn’t learned the concepts in the first place.

“Well, things have changed,” Claire said. “Homework is no longer optional. It is very much required. If you don’t do your homework and show me your work, you will not pass math.”

The kids looked as if she’d just told them that lunch was canceled for the year.

“But if we can pass the tests…”

“I’m sorry,” Claire said pleasantly, “but this is not a negotiable issue.”

“That’s not fair.”

She simply smiled. “In order to be fair, I’ll let you do last night’s homework tonight. We’ll review today. Then, starting tomorrow, homework counts. Now, let’s see what you remember from yesterday.”

It was another long day. With each lesson she taught, it became more and more apparent that these kids had some serious holes in their education.

After school, Claire was sitting with her elbows planted on her desk, her forehead resting on her fingertips, pondering the situation, when she heard the door open. She shifted her hands to see Elena standing there, biting her lower lip.

“Hi, Elena. What can I do for you?”

“I forgot my math book.” The girl went to her desk and took out the book. She hesitated, then asked, “Are you feeling all right?”

Claire smiled. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.” And discouraged.

“We’ve never had a teacher that looked like you before,” the girl said shyly. “I like your shoes.”

Claire smiled again. She liked her shoes, too. It had taken her most of the summer to find the shade of green that perfectly matched her skirt. “Thanks. Hey, can I ask you a question?”

Elena nodded.

“Do you understand the math?”

“I do now.”

“Did you yesterday?”

She shook her head, her dark braids moving on her shoulders. “Today you went slower, and I think I got it.”

“Thanks, Elena. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you, Miss Flynn.”

So she needed to slow down. All right. She could do that. But it killed her to be reviewing multiplication facts and long division, when she was supposed to be moving on into other aspects of math.

And as far as English went…She glanced down at the stack of poorly punctuated drills in front of her. Yowza. She hadn’t created this monster, but she was supposed to tame it.

Welcome to the real world of education.

BRETT SAT DOWN at his computer and took a deep breath. The chores were done, and there was nothing pressing at the Ryker place. It was time. In fact, it was well past time.

Brett was going to college. Online. He just hoped no one found out—in case he failed.

During junior and senior high he’d been a poor student—not because he couldn’t do the work, but because he wouldn’t. His dad had made a career of comparing Brett’s achievements to Will’s, and Brett had invariably failed to measure up. Finally, he’d accepted the fact that in his dad’s eyes he was never going to be as good at anything as Will was, so he quit trying, telling himself he wasn’t really a loser, since he wasn’t playing the game.

But still, he had silently resented Will for being so damn good at everything, and resented their dad for constantly reminding him of it.

Brett had eventually gotten his petty revenge, though, and had done a pretty fair job of messing up a number of lives in the process. Not bad for an underachiever.

Okay. First lesson. Concentrate.

Brett started by reading the introduction. Then he reread the introduction, and wondered if maybe he should start with his humanities class instead of algebra.

There was a knock on the door and he literally jumped at the chance to put his education on hold again.

And then he looked out and saw who it was. Claire. With a bottle of wine, no less.

This could not be good.

He opened the door, but only because he had no other option.

“Yes, I know,” she said, as she walked in without waiting for an invitation. “We’re holding on to our personal space, but I need some help, and damn it, Bishop, you’re the only one who can give it to me.” She handed him the bottle and walked to the cupboards. “Where do you keep your glasses?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re pushy?”

Claire smiled at him over her shoulder as she opened a cupboard. “All the time.”

“And it doesn’t slow you down?”

“Not in the least.”

Brett gave up. “Next to the fridge.”

Claire opened the cupboard he indicated, then frowned as she pulled out a smallish glass. “What’s this?”

“It’s a wineglass.”

“No. This is an overgrown shot glass. And where’s the stem?”

“It’s a poor man’s wineglass. I can’t afford stems. You’re lucky it’s not a jelly glass.”

She smiled again as she took out a second one. “All right. But it’s small, so we’ll have to fill them more often.”

“How long do you plan on staying?”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re tactless?” she asked.

He smiled instead of answering.

“And that doesn’t slow you down?”

“Not in the least.”

Brett pulled a corkscrew out of the utensil drawer before Claire had a chance to tear the kitchen apart looking for it. He plunged it into the cork with a little more force than necessary.

“White wine?” he asked.

“Is that a problem?”

“I prefer red wine when I solve problems.”

“I’ll make a note of that.”

“Actually, I can’t see us doing a lot of joint problem solving,” he said pointedly.

Claire settled herself on one of the mismatched kitchen chairs. “I know that Will asked you to help me when you could. And I may need a lot of help before this year is over.”

She accepted the glass he offered, took a bracing drink, then reached up with her free hand to ruffle the top of her hair in a gesture that clearly suggested exhaustion, or possibly frustration. “Are you renovating?” She looked down the hall to the living room, where he was in the process of tearing up the old floor so he could lay a new one.

“The place needs work, so I try to do a little every month. Now, what can I do for you?”

“I’d like some information.”

“On…?”

“My kids. My students. I’ve survived day two, and I’m not ashamed to admit that these kids are close to getting the best of me. That means I have to plan a strategy.”

Brett was impressed, in spite of himself. He’d always admired proactive people, as long as they weren’t running roughshod over him—or trying to.

“I’ll tell you what I know, but you gotta realize I haven’t lived here that long.”

“But you’re a native of the area.”

“My grandfather and great-grandfather were natives. Granddad sold.”

“Well, you’ve got to know more than I do.” Claire reached down for her purse and pulled out a small spiral notebook. “I’m thinking that if I can just understand the lay of the land, who’s related to whom and who does what, maybe I can connect better with the kids. I don’t want any dirt or gossip. Just information that’s in the public domain.”

Brett lifted the wine to his lips, sipped. It really wasn’t that bad for white wine. “Don’t you have school records with that kind of information?”

“Allegedly, but they’re in pretty bad shape. The district is sending me copies of missing documents, but I want to know about families. Where they live. What they do.”

Brett shrugged. “I’ll tell you what I can.”

“Okay, first off, tell me about the Landaus.”

“They’re rich.” Claire waited, and he expanded. “They’re one of the few families here that are not land rich and cash poor. Landau’s a nice guy. Ashley is his stepdaughter. Only child. He married the mother about three years ago, I think.”

“How about Jesse Lane?”

Brett shook his head. “Don’t know any Lanes. They aren’t locals. It might be that new guy who has the trailer north of town.”

“Elena and Lexi Moreno.”

“They’re related to the Hernandezes.”

“Ramon and Lily?”

“Hardworking families. The Hernandezes work for the Landaus. The Morenos have their own place.”

“So I have cousins in the classroom, as well as brothers and sisters,” Claire said musingly. “Okay. Rudy Liscano.”

Brett smiled slightly. Everyone knew Rudy. Everybody liked Rudy. “Rudy’s another cousin to the Hernandezes and the Morenos. His dad works for the county-road department. He’s the one you yell at when you blow a tire.”

“I see. How about Rachel Tyler?”

“Her family has the oldest ranch in the area. They raise nice horses.”

“Dylan Masterson?”

“I’m not certain. The Mastersons aren’t local. I think they own some businesses somewhere and are out here escaping. I know they built a hell of a place on the other side of town.”

“You mean, that A-frame?”

“That’s it.” Brett drained his glass. “I think she’s an artist or something.”

“And Toni Green.”

“Her mom works at the bar. They live in the rooms over the bar.” Brett had been invited to see those rooms before the latest boyfriend had taken up residence, but he’d declined the invitation. “I think she’s escaping, too, but for a different reason.”

Claire flipped her notebook shut. “Thanks.”

“I didn’t give you all that much information.”

“I just want enough to understand where my kids are coming from, and I didn’t want to ask Bertie. I think the ones who are ranch kids for real probably have different references and values than the imports.” She refilled their glasses without asking. “In one of my college classes, the prof said that home visits were a must in order to understand your students, but…I think in a community like this, visits might be seen as nosiness unless the families invited me.”

“You’re right,” Brett agreed.

“So, I decided to rely on hearsay.”

“Then you should hit the post office and the mercantile.”

“You gave me what I need.” She leaned back in her chair, studying him in that steady way of hers. Her lips curved slightly. She had a really nice mouth. “So, tell me again, Brett. Why is it that we can’t socialize?”

Brett felt his own mouth tighten.

Claire shrugged. “Hey. You’re the one who laid down the rules. I was just wondering why.”

And then he saw that he’d probably made a major tactical error. He’d already figured out from their first few encounters—and from the fact that she’d taken a teaching assignment in Barlow Ridge—that Claire was a woman who loved a challenge. And that was exactly what he’d given her. Stupid move.

“I didn’t say we couldn’t socialize. I said I wasn’t much on socializing.”

“You seemed to do okay at the wedding, except with me.”

“Claire.”

She raised her eyebrows, making her green eyes even wider beneath her pearly lavender eye shadow. He frowned, annoyed at the way she shook his concentration. “We can socialize, but it has to be on a certain…level.” She tilted her head inquiringly, but Brett had a suspicion that she knew exactly what he was referring to. “You were coming on to me at the wedding.”

“A little,” she agreed, totally missing his point.

“We can’t…I mean, we’re practically related, and I don’t want to create a situation.”

“Wow.” Claire took a careful sip of wine, her expression maddeningly calm. “You certainly extrapolate things out, don’t you? That’s almost like jumping from a simple hello into marriage.”

“No. It’s not.” He didn’t like the way she made him feel foolish for a perfectly logical statement of fact.

“Well, I think you’re dodging stones that haven’t even been thrown.”

“I like to err on the side of caution.”

“That’s not what I hear,” she said softly. “Rumor has it you were a wild guy back in the day.”

“Where’d you hear that?” he asked in an equally quiet tone.

“Around.”

“Regan?” Damn, he hoped not. He didn’t want Claire to know his story. But she and Regan were sisters.

“No. Actually, a couple of women were discussing you in the bar when I went in for a sandwich yesterday. You were a rodeo star, according to them.”

“Yeah. I was.”

Too close for comfort. Those rodeo days had ended up being the dark point of his life, and he wasn’t going to discuss them. Period.

Brett slid the cork back into the bottle. Rudeness and tactlessness seemed to be his best strategies. He pushed the bottle across the table toward her. “I was kind of in the middle of something when you came.”

She nudged it back toward him before she stood. “You keep it.”

“You’ll probably need it more than me.” He picked up the wine and pressed it into her hands.

“Thanks for the help, Brett. See you around.” A few seconds later, the screen door banged shut behind her. Brett watched her walk down the path for a moment, admiring the subtle swing of her hips beneath the swirly skirt in spite of himself.

Claire Flynn was not going to be good for his peace of mind.