Читать книгу The Nanny's Texas Christmas - Lee McClain Tobin - Страница 13

Chapter Three

The next Monday, Flint was teaching three of the teenagers how to take apart and grease a balky hay baler when he saw the elementary school bus chugging toward the ranch.

“Stick with it,” he told them, “and help Ben get up to speed, okay?” He was glad that Ben Turner had joined the group. The boy wasn’t always so good with social interactions. But to his surprise, Robby Gonzalez and Ben were hitting it off, which was good; they both needed a friend.

Flint jogged up toward the ranch house, Cowboy trotting alongside, tongue hanging out. They arrived in time to meet Logan as he came off the bus.

He was starting to get the hang of this single dad stuff. After his conference with Lana Alvarez last week, he’d made a commitment to himself to spend more quality time with Logan.

Logan’s coat was half on, half off, and Flint knelt to adjust it as Logan talked a mile a minute. “How’d you put a note in my desk, huh, Dad? That was cool!”

Flint pulled out his phone and showed Logan the picture of himself sitting in Logan’s place at school. “I wanted to see your classroom, buddy. Pretty neat desk you keep.”

“Oh man, that’s cool!” Logan started pulling papers out of his backpack. “Look, Dad! I got a star and a sticker on my Write-and-Draw!”

Taking the paper, Flint examined the carefully formed letters that spelled out “Dad” and “Logan.” Logan had drawn a small figure and a larger one, hand in hand, at the top of the sheet.

Flint’s throat tightened. He’d made some mistakes in his life, but Logan had come out of one of them. Maybe God knew what He was doing after all.

“And Miss Alvarez wrote you a note, too! Only I can’t read it.” Logan pulled out a sheet of note paper with a border of colorful crayons and a couple of sentences of neat handwriting, and thrust it in Flint’s face. “What does it say, Dad?”

Flint read it aloud: Logan was very cooperative today about doing his reading and cleaning up his part of the classroom. He’s excited to have his dad help at the Christmas party.

“Yeah!” Logan yelled. “Miss Alvarez said I did good! And—” he cocked his head to one side “—she even said you’re going to come help with our party.”

Flint nodded. “That’s the plan.”

“Will you know how to do it, though?” Logan asked doubtfully. “Like, to make crafts and stuff?”

“I’ll figure it out,” Flint promised.

“Okay.” Logan accepted Flint’s word without question, making Flint doubly determined to shine as a school dad.

They walked beside the main ranch house together, heading for the barn. As Logan chattered on about his day at school, Flint’s mind wandered to Lana Alvarez. It had been nice of her to send home some positive reinforcement, both for his sake and for Logan’s. She was a good person. He’d thought about her a number of times since their conference and then dropping her off at the church.

In fact, it was hard to get her off his mind. But as for Marnie’s talk about their dating—which the inquisitive, good-natured cook had brought up again to him, twice—no way. No way. Lana Alvarez was the last woman he’d want to date. Even if she weren’t Logan’s teacher, she was way too young and way too pretty. In other words, way too much like Logan’s mom.

As they passed the parking lot behind the ranch house, a car door slammed, and Avery Culpepper sauntered forward, a plate of cookies in her hand.

Who had she come to see? He wasn’t aware of the newcomer having any friends at the ranch. She’d done a better job of making enemies. Yes, she was Cyrus Culpepper’s granddaughter and heir, but the fact that her grandfather had left her only a small cabin and a bit of land had made her bitter. She’d threatened to contest the will, get control of the ranch and sell it off. Her plan, if she was able to go through with it, would ruin a lot of boys’ opportunity for a second chance, but that didn’t seem to bother her. Her latest stunt had been to try to pressure the Lone Star Cowboy League, who controlled the ranch, into giving her a large amount of money to prevent her going to court.

Not a nice woman. “Can I help you?” he asked, stepping in front of her.

“Sure, cowboy,” she said, raising her eyebrows and tossing back her brassy-blond hair.

If that was supposed to have an effect on him, it didn’t work.

Logan was another story. He stepped toward her with a winning smile. “Those cookies smell good!”

“They are good,” she purred, squatting down in front of Logan and waving the plate in front of him.

“Can I have one?” Logan started to reach for a cookie.

Avery pulled the plate back. “Not so fast. Are you one of the, ah, troubled boys?”

Logan looked up at Flint. “Am I, Dad?”

“No.” He leveled a glare at Avery. “I can deliver those to the residents if you like.” After checking them for cyanide. Since when did Avery Culpepper give a hoot about the boys who lived here?

“No, that’s all right,” she purred. “I’m sure you have all kinds of big, important things to do.” She shot him a challenging stare. “While you can.”

So she was still bent on destroying the ranch. At least, that was how he interpreted her remark.

Which made her gift of cookies seem like a ploy rather than a charitable gesture.

“Come on, Logan.” He didn’t want his son anywhere near this woman.

“But, Dad—”

“Now.”

“Listen to your daddy, little boy,” Avery said, dismissing Logan with a wave of her fancy pink-fingernailed hand.

Logan trotted after Flint and, when he caught up, shot a resentful look back over his shoulder. “She didn’t even give me a cookie, Dad. And what’s ‘troubled’ mean?”

“We’ll talk about it later. Nothing to worry about.”

“She’s pretty, but I don’t like her.”

“Neither do I.” None too soon for Logan to learn that “pretty” didn’t necessarily mean kind or worth getting to know. That it was actually, usually, something to watch out for. “Come on, you can play with Cowboy and the barn kittens while I finish working with the older boys.”

* * *

Lana pulled into the ranch house parking lot just in time to see Logan and Flint turn away from Avery Culpepper and head toward the barn.

She got out of her car slowly, watching the pair. Flint had slowed his strides to match Logan’s, and Logan was obviously chattering a mile a minute.

“Cute, aren’t they?” Avery Culpepper approached and nodded toward Flint and Logan, a catlike smile on her face. “Do you have a thing for the ranch manager?”

Lana’s face heated. “No! Logan’s in my class at school—”

“And he’s almost as cute as his daddy.” Avery frowned darkly. “Too bad Flint’s involved with that Lone Star Cowboy League.”

Rumors of Avery’s beef with The League had circulated around church and school, but Lana didn’t know enough about it to take sides. “The league does a lot of good,” she said mildly.

“So they claim.” The woman’s mouth twisted.

“O-kaaay.” Lana didn’t know how to respond to that. “I’d better get to my tutoring. The boys are probably waiting.”

Lana headed toward the ranch house, Avery falling into step beside her. Jagged thoughts pierced Lana’s contentment in the midst of a peaceful day. What had Avery and Flint been talking about? Was Avery interested in Flint?

Was Flint interested in Avery? She didn’t seem like his type, but you never knew with men. Even those who seemed to hold admirable values could end up letting you down.

Lana drew in a breath and looked skyward, centering herself. It didn’t really matter if Flint and Avery were interested in each other, because she, Lana, wasn’t going to get involved with any man. She’d tried and failed. She just wasn’t good at dating, love, relationships.

It wasn’t in the cards for everyone, getting married. And she had plenty to do, and plenty to be thankful for, without being on the arm of a man.

“So how are you liking life in Haven?” she asked Avery, determined to be cheerful.

The woman laughed without humor. “It’s not what I’m used to.”

“Oh?”

“I’m more of a city girl. Grew up in Dallas.”

Lana nodded. “I lived in Austin for a while, during college and for a couple years afterwards. It was fun to have so many choices about what to do.” Although Lana was perfectly content with a small town now. When one of her college teachers had recommended her for a job in the city of Dallas, she’d thanked him—but inside, she’d known she wouldn’t consider it.

“Yeah, instead of sitting home all weekend, or going to the same two bars and seeing the same people.”

Lana laughed. “I can relate. Well, not to the bars, but I sit at home too much.” She felt like she ought to propose they get together, but the truth was she didn’t feel very drawn to Avery. They probably didn’t have much in common.

Still, the woman was new in town and seemed lonely.

Inspiration hit. “Would you like to come to church with me next Sunday? I haven’t seen you there.”

“Me? Church?” Avery looked sideways at her.

“Sure! We have a very welcoming, warm congregation. It’s a great place to make friends.”

Avery sighed dramatically. “Maybe church would be good for me. I’m... I’m just so sad lately.”

“I’m sorry.” They’d reached the point where Lana needed to head toward the library, but instead, she turned to Avery. “Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. There’s nothing you can do.” Avery looked off into the distance, brushing her fingers under her eyes. “It’s just hard that I never got to know my grandfather. Maybe if I’d grown up here, I’d understand the people and feel more a part of things.”

“That is sad.”

Avery shrugged. “When you grow up in foster care, you learn how to make the best of things.”

Sympathy twisted Lana’s heart. She’d had a warm, loving family herself—up until the accident—so she felt for people who hadn’t been so fortunate. “I really hope you’ll come to church on Sunday,” she said, patting Avery’s arm. “I’ll give you a ride.”

At that minute, Marnie Binder came out of the main ranch house’s back door, letting the screen slam behind her. She approached Lana and Avery, stopped, and put her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here?” she asked Avery.

“I thought I’d like to look around,” Avery said. “And look, I brought some cookies for the boys.”

“We have plenty of cookies already,” Marnie said. “And if you want to look around, you need to take it up with Beatrice Brewster. She’s the ranch director.” Marnie turned and stomped back into the house.

What was that about? In the months Lana had known Marnie, the woman had never been anything but kind to others.

Avery looked annoyed. “What’s her problem? Can’t a girl do a good deed?” She thrust the cookies into Lana’s hands. “Here, send these along to the boys. I’m going to take a look around the ranch. Without anyone’s approval.”

Avery headed off in the direction of the barn, leaving Lana thoroughly confused about who Avery was and what she was looking for.

* * *

In front of the barn, Flint, Robby Gonzalez and Ben Turner had just gotten the harvester back together. They fired it up and listened to the newly smooth sound of the engine. While the boys high-fived each other, Flint felt an uneasy prickle in the back of his neck.

He turned around. He hadn’t seen Logan in a while, but he was probably still content in the barn with the new kittens and a video game.

Somewhere behind the barn, Cowboy was barking as if he’d cornered a cat.

Avery Culpepper came from the same direction as Cowboy’s commotion, heading toward one of the older boys who’d been helping with the harvester before, Stephen Barnes. What did she want with him? Stephen was supposed to go home for good at Christmastime, and all the staff was hoping he could keep it together and get along with his stepfather well enough to make it happen.

A moment later, a shout from the other direction spun him around.

And then a familiar, high-pitched scream.

Logan. The voice sounded like Logan.

Flint was running before the sound died out, running toward the other side of the barn. As he came around the corner, horror struck him.

One of the open-air tractors was rolling down a slope with Logan at the wheel.

Dimly aware of Cowboy loping beside him, barking, Flint ran faster, his eyes on the drama still half a football field’s distance away from him. Panic hammered at his chest.

Logan’s mouth was open, and he was screaming. He held on to the wheel, but clearly more to keep from being thrown out of the tractor than because he could control its direction. And now Flint realized that Robby Gonzalez ran beside him, yelling something about the brake.

Could Logan even reach the brake? Flint forced his arms and legs to pump faster, at the same time trying to calculate what had happened. Logan must have knocked the tractor out of gear. And the vehicle was headed toward a metal gate. If the tractor hit it, Logan would go flying. Might be badly hurt, even—

Robby took a flying leap, trying to grab on and climb into the driver’s seat with Logan, but his foot slipped, and he fell backward with a yell. Cowboy raced ahead and reached Robby’s side.

“Get help!” Flint roared at Ben Turner as he passed the boy, his heart and lungs burning, running faster than he’d ever run in his life.

The tractor was picking up speed, and if Logan tried to jump...

“Stay there, Logan!” he yelled, jumping over sagebrush and dodging clumps of grass. “Just stay! I’m coming!”

Behind him he heard shouting, a commotion, but his focus remained on one thing: Logan. Flint was gaining on the tractor now. He couldn’t let it hit that gate.

All thought left him, and he was just a body, running as he’d run in wartime, even faster, because it wasn’t just any life at stake, it was his son’s.

A prayer sprang from deep inside him: Help us, Lord!

Somehow, he found his timing and took a flying leap into the tractor. He grabbed Logan in one arm and the steering wheel in the other, slid his feet into place and hit the brake.

The tractor jolted to a halt, jerking both of them hard.

And then everything was still.

Gasping for air, his heart pounding like a posthole digger, Flint pulled Logan onto his lap. Reached down and put the tractor back in gear. Set the brake. And then brushed Logan’s hair back and studied him, checking for damage.

Logan seemed to catch his breath again then, and he started to cry. A normal, scared-kid cry. Not an “I might get killed” cry.

Praise the Lord.

Blessed. Just for this one moment, he and Logan had been blessed.

“I was scared, Daddy!”

Flint held his son in his arms and sent up a prayer of thanks. His son was safe. He had a second chance.

His heart still pounded so hard it felt like his chest would explode. Delayed reaction nerves had his hands shaking.

He pulled Logan close against his chest. “Never scare me like that again, buddy.”

Logan rubbed his face on Flint’s shirt. “I’m sorry.”

Ben and several of the other boys from the ranch arrived at the tractor, with Marnie and Lana Alvarez close behind them.

“What happened?” Lana asked. “Is Logan okay?”

“He’s fine.” Flint didn’t even have it in him to feel ashamed that the teacher had seen his son in danger. He was still too shaken, too thankful that Logan was alive.

But not too shaken to check for other casualties. “Is Robby all right?” he thought to ask. “He did his best to try to help. Took quite a fall.”

“I’m fine,” the boy said, stepping out from the little crowd. “Sorry I couldn’t stop the tractor.”

“Mr. Rawlings flew!” said one of the other boys.

“Come on,” Marnie said, taking charge. “Let’s get Logan inside. I’ve got a plate of cookies with his name on it. Homemade by me,” she added, with a dark look in Avery Culpepper’s direction.

Flint realized then that Avery hadn’t joined the crowd around them. She was disappearing over the hill, in the direction of the parking lot. Weird.

So they all walked back toward the ranch house together. For the teenage boys, the situation had evolved into something cool, and they traded stories about what they’d seen, how Robby had tried to jump on the tractor, how Ben had run race-pace to get help.

Marnie was still muttering about Avery. “I wouldn’t doubt if that woman had something to do with this,” she said.

Flint was holding Logan, focusing on him, but he had to correct that unfair accusation. “She wasn’t anywhere near, Marnie. I’m pretty sure Logan brought this on himself, playing with the gears on the tractor.” He eyeballed his son. “Right?’

“She didn’t touch the tractor...”

“What?” Flint snapped to attention.

“Miss Culpepper didn’t touch it,” Logan repeated. “She just told me if I climbed up she’d take my picture.”

“I knew it!” Marnie’s hand went to her hip. “I’m going to have a word with that girl.”

“Get in line,” Flint said.

Lana put a hand on both of their arms. “I’m sure she didn’t mean for all of that to happen. And we need to keep the focus on what’s most important.” She nodded toward Logan.

“Am I in trouble?” Logan asked, sniffling.

How did you discipline a kid when his whole life had just flashed before your eyes? Flint schooled his features into firmness. “One thing’s for sure, tractors are going to be off-limits for a long time.”

Logan just buried his head in Flint’s shoulder.

As they all started walking again, Flint felt that delicate hand on his arm once more.

“You doing okay?” Lana Alvarez asked.

He shook his head. “I just got a few more gray hairs. I should’ve been watching him better.”

“Maybe so,” Marnie said. “But you can’t, not with all the work you have at the ranch. So I think we can all agree—you need a babysitter for Logan.” She stepped in front of Lana and Flint, causing them both to stop. “And the right person to do it is here. Miss Lana Alvarez.”

“Oh, Flint doesn’t want—”

“You’ve got time after school. And a Christmas vacation coming up.” Marnie crossed her arms, looking determined. “Logan already loves you. You could help to keep him safe and happy.”

Flint’s desire to keep Lana at a distance tried to raise its head, but his worry about his son, his gratitude about Logan’s safety, and the sheer terror he’d just been through, put his own concerns into perspective.

Logan took priority. And if Lana would agree to be Logan’s nanny on a temporary basis, that would be best for Logan.

And Flint would tolerate her nearness. Somehow.

“Can she, Daddy?” Logan asked, his face eager.

He turned to Lana, who looked like she was facing a firing squad. “Can you?” he asked her.

“Please, Miss Alvarez?” Logan chimed in.

Lana drew in a breath and studied them both, and Flint could almost see the wheels turning in her brain.

He could see mixed feelings on her face, too. Fondness for Logan. Mistrust of Flint himself.

Maybe a little bit of...what was that hint of pain that wrinkled her forehead and darkened her eyes?

Flint felt like he was holding his breath.

Finally, Lana gave a definitive nod. “All right,” she said. “We can try it. But I’m going to have some very definite rules for you, young man.” She looked at Logan with mock sternness.

As they started walking toward the house again, Lana gave Flint a cool stare that made him think she might have some definite rules for him, too.