Читать книгу The Cowboy's Texas Twins - Tanya Michaels, Tanya Michaels - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Grayson kept half his attention on the twins playing air hockey at the child-sized table behind him, and the other half on the apologetic blonde behind the front desk. He knew it had been a long shot to ask if they were hiring here. The community center was staffed largely by volunteers and high-school seniors, who coached little kids’ basketball. But he’d decided that since he was dropping off Vi anyway, it couldn’t hurt to ask.

“We’re just not hiring right now for any of our full-time positions,” the blonde said. “If there’s a specific area of expertise you think the community will find useful, you can sign up to teach one of our six-week classes. We’ve done whittling, self-defense, introduction to Spanish... Otherwise, all I can do is take your name and number and let you know if anything opens up.” She passed him a clipboard and a pen. “Oh, and if you could list two local references, that would be useful.”

He grimaced, having gotten a similar request at his interview this morning. The construction foreman said he typically preferred three references; he was willing to bend that rule as a favor to Vi. He might also be swayed by Grayson’s roofing experience after high school and willingness to do manual labor in the Texas heat. But if the construction job didn’t work out, Grayson would need local references for his next interview. It suddenly struck him how many times he’d written Blaine Stowe’s name on forms; his best friend and honorary big brother had been everything from a character reference to an emergency contact.

After filling out his contact info, Grayson thanked the woman for her time and handed back the board. Then he collected the boys and they departed. The plan was to run to the nearby library while Violet had her meeting.

“We’ll check out some books and then, if there’s enough time before Vi’s ready to go, you two can play more air hockey. Or we can walk through the rest of the center and see what other activities they have,” he said as he started the truck. “And just wait until summer comes! Cupid’s Bow has a really huge pool. You’ll love it.” He’d promised Vi, for the boys’ sake, that he’d focus on the positive.

His aunt was certainly an inspiration for positive thinking—and for positive action. Her meeting today was with Mayor Johnston and a few other citizens to discuss starting a peer mentorship program where, instead of turning to adults, teens having a difficult time could help each other.

This morning, as they’d cleaned up the breakfast dishes, Violet had said she believed teenagers were more likely to be honest about their problems with kids their own age. Plus, she believed that some teens branded as troublemakers would be motivated to turn themselves around when given responsibility as a peer counselor. That part of the conversation had him choking on his own guilt. Should he confess to his aunt the teenage crimes he’d gotten away with or leave the past alone? She’d worked so hard to shape him into a good person. It would devastate her to learn what a mess he’d been. At the time, he’d convinced himself he was in the right. His rebellions had felt like justice.

After Grayson’s mom left, his father had blamed the town, saying Rachel had hated it here, that Cupid’s Bow hadn’t been good enough for her. Looking back, Grayson could see through his father’s excuses, his inability to accept that perhaps he’d failed somewhere as a husband. But as a child, Grayson had bought in to his dad’s finger-pointing. At least when he listened to his father’s bitter diatribes, Bryant was paying attention to him. So Grayson had been a rapt audience as his dad ranted about everything from the town ruining his marriage to the former business partners who’d screwed him over.

By the time of his father’s crash, Grayson harbored a simmering resentment toward most of the people around him, made worse by the pitying gossip about the “orphaned Cox boy.” He’d sought anonymous revenge in stereotypical misdemeanors, from graffiti and shoplifting to stealing a high-school mascot. He’d smashed the mailbox of the loan officer who’d rejected his dad’s application, a financial setback that resulted in the eventual loss of the store where Bryant met Grayson’s mom. Grayson had reasoned that if his dad still had the store, he wouldn’t have doubled down on his drinking. If Bryant Cox got that loan, he would have still been alive.

That’s not how alcoholism works. Grayson knew that now. But, as a grief-stricken high-school freshman, he’d followed his dad’s example—making excuses, lashing out, blaming others. As amazing as Violet had been, no one person could single-handedly undo the emotional damage that came from years of secondhand rage. Only with time, perspective and friends like Blaine had Grayson regained his balance.

He wasn’t proud of his teenage self, but he didn’t have to be that person anymore. I’m mature now. And well-adjusted. More or less.

To prove it, he climbed out of the truck with a friendly smile on his face, reminding the boys about using their “library voices” as they unbuckled their booster seats.

Just inside the front door of the library, a glass display case caught the twins’ attention. It was full of trains—or, at least, artistic representations of trains. There were paintings and drawings of varying quality, clay sculptures and a colorful model assembled from cardboard. Above the display was a sign announcing that next month’s theme was horses, inviting all the kids of Cupid’s Bow to participate.

He remembered the homemade Christmas cards Miranda used to send him and a framed sketch she’d done of the boys sleeping when they were just babies. “You guys like art projects?”

Tyler nodded enthusiastically. “I like to finger-paint. It’s messy. Red is my favorite color.”

“One time, Mama helped us do an art with sand,” Sam added. “It was real messy.”

“And we played with shaving cream on our art table. It’s squishy. And—”

“Let me guess,” Grayson said. “Messy?”

The boys chorused “yes” amid chuckles. He wasn’t convinced they’d inherited their mother’s artistic sensibility, but they were decidedly pro-mess. He made a mental note to get tarps before attempting any big projects at Aunt Vi’s.

They walked into the library, cool from the humming air conditioner and quiet after the sounds of Main Street. A sense of calm washed over him—until he turned and found himself eye-to-eye with Hadley Lanier.

“Grayson!” She appeared startled, clutching a stack of books against her to keep from dropping them. But then she smiled, her dark eyes as sweet as hot chocolate. “Nice to see you.”

It was a warmer welcome than he deserved, and he grinned back at her. “You, too. Can I, uh, help you with those?” Did he sound like an awkward seventh grader, offering to carry a pretty girl’s books to her locker?

“Sure. I was going to display these on top of the shelves for National Poetry Month.” Passing all but a few of the books over to him, she smiled down at the boys. “Hello, again. I’m Miss Hadley. What kinds of books do you two like to read?”

“Do you have anything with dinosaurs?” Tyler asked. Sam didn’t answer, too busy studying his surroundings.

“We have an entire shelf on dinosaurs. That’s our children’s section.” She pointed to a smaller room, walled in glass and decorated with lots of bright colors. “If you two want to go in there and start looking around, I’ll help you find some dinosaur books in just a moment. Does that sound okay?”

Pausing only long enough to give her a brief nod, Tyler scampered off. Sam hesitated, looking nervously at Grayson.

“I’m going to help Miss Hadley move some books,” Grayson said. “You can stay with me if you want. Or, if you want to go with your brother, you’ll be able to keep an eye on me through the glass. Your choice, buddy.”

The boy swallowed. “You won’t go far?”

“Promise.”

Reassured, Sam turned and followed after his twin.

Grayson felt a tug of pride. The tiny display of independence might not seem like much to someone who didn’t know Sam, but the boy had been understandably clingy in the past few weeks and this was progress.

“You’re good with him,” Hadley said. When he turned to her meet her gaze, her smile became mischievous. “Much better than I would have guessed after the cereal-aisle debacle.”

“Not one of my finer moments. But I hope I’m getting better. They deserve that. This has been so hard for them—their parents, the move. Starting school in the next week or so. I hope they have an easier time at Cupid’s Bow Elementary than—” Was he really about to whine to a beautiful woman about his childhood? Lame. “So, where did you need these books?”

She raised an eyebrow at his abrupt change of subject but didn’t call him on it. “Right over here.”

The shelves in the library weren’t all the same height. Units taller than Hadley lined the walls, but the center was dominated by shorter bookshelves topped with various objects—spotlight collections, winning science-fair projects from the local schools and potted flowers that brought a touch of spring inside.

She led him to a shelf with available space on top, and took a moment to position the books she held before turning to him for a few more.

He passed over the first few without paying much attention, but then a red book cover made him do a double take. “Erotic poems?”

Hadley’s head jerked up. “Shh. This is a library, remember.”

“Sorry. I was caught off guard.”

“By a book? In a library? Yes, what are the odds?” She laughed.

She had a great laugh, he noticed. It trilled out like music, her own personal jingle or theme song.

“These are poems from the 1930s, a part of our literary history, pieces that found beauty and sensuality to celebrate despite difficult times. It’s not like they’re internet porn.”

“So, you’ve read them?”

“I’ve read almost everything in the library,” she said matter-of-factly. “Most of these books were here long before I became head librarian.”

“Now you can read about the Great Wall of China whenever you want.”

She cocked her head, her expression puzzled. “Sure, I guess. My first choice is usually historical suspense. Or romances. And don’t you dare laugh at that,” she said preemptively, as if others had judged her preferences. “I know some people think happy endings are silly, but—”

“Not silly.” His heart twisted as he thought of how much Blaine and Miranda had meant to each other, their dream of growing old together. “Just improbable.”

There was a clattering sound in the background followed by accusatory shouts of “I didn’t do it. You did.” And “Not my fault!”

Crap. Grayson pressed a palm to his forehead. It was the cereal aisle all over again. Apparently, gravity was no friend of five-year-olds. “I’d better go clean up whatever they just destroyed. Please don’t ban us from the library,” he implored over his shoulder.

The boys met him in the doorway, their eyes wide. “It was a accident,” Sam said. “I just wanted to see the octopus.”

A large orange stuffed animal was on the ground, its eight legs in the air as if reaching for help. It was surrounded by children’s books that had no doubt been on display until Sam had reached for the octopus and knocked everything down.

“Thanks for the help,” Hadley said cheerfully. “The children’s room was next on my list. I was going to swap out the marine-life books for books about sports. Of course, I normally put books carefully back on the shelf instead of dumping them on the floor, but to be fair, your way was quicker.”

Sam and Tyler exchanged shocked glances.

“So we’re not in trouble?” Tyler asked.

“Accidents happen.” Hadley kneeled down to grab the octopus. “Just try to be careful with the books you take home. And never, ever mark in them with crayons or pens, okay?” After extracting that solemn promise, she rose. “All right...dinosaur time!”

She took each twin by the hand, and a few minutes later, each of the boys held a nonfiction picture book about dinosaurs.

“Oh, and this one,” Hadley said. “It’s about a dinosaur who has to learn to be more careful because he’s so big he knocks things over and steps on them without meaning to. Like a couple of junior T. rexes I know.”

Tyler laughed outright, then made a rawr noise at her; even Sam smiled shyly.

They all headed back to the circulation desk so Grayson could sign up for a library card, and the boys asked if they could look at the trains again while they were waiting. Since it was within his sight line, Grayson agreed. “Put your hands in your pockets, though,” he suggested. “So that you don’t accidentally leave any fingerprints on the glass.” Or shatter it somehow.

Hadley handed him his new card and the books. “They’re due in a week, but you can renew online if you want to keep them longer. Anything else I can do for you?”

“Actually, yes. But it’s a personal favor.”

She arched an eyebrow. “How personal are we talking?”

“Well, not like erotic-poem personal—”

“Grayson!”

“Shh.” He grinned, charmed by the pink that washed over her cheeks. “We’re in a library.”

Despite her glare, she was obviously fighting a smile.

“I’ve started interviewing for jobs,” he said, “and I’ve already been asked for local references. I don’t suppose...” It was difficult to voice the request, hypocritical to ask her to vouch for him considering how short-tempered he’d been with her in the past. Why had he been such a jerk? It hadn’t been Hadley’s fault that reports of faraway places set his teeth on edge. And it hadn’t been her fault that her steady boyfriend was an SOB—although Grayson had been disappointed someone with her smarts couldn’t see through the guy.

Maybe Grayson had been jealous of her standing in the community. Since the day his mom left him behind, he hadn’t felt as if he belonged in Cupid’s Bow, and with each passing year, he became more of an outsider. Hadley Lanier had been beloved by teachers and friends and teammates; she was probably adored as town librarian. People like her made it look so easy to fit in, but he knew what it was like to feel other people’s whispers like fire ants on his skin.

“Grayson? You okay?”

How long had he been standing here, scowling silently? “I don’t know what I am.” Dammit, he was supposed to be showing her his good qualities so she could rave about him to potential employers. He shook his head. “Being back here has fried my brain. I swear Cupid’s Bow brings out the worst in me.”

“That’s a shame, since it sounds like you’ll be here awhile.” She pursed her lips. “Were you about to ask for my phone number?”

“What? No, I—”

“To put down as a reference?”

“Oh. Yes. That is, if you’re willing.”

She held out her hand. “Got a phone on you?” When he passed it over to her, she typed in her contact information. “There. Now you have my number for job references and picture-book recommendations. Or to, um, invite me to lunch sometime. Maybe all you need to get along with Cupid’s Bow better is the right tour guide.”

Was she kidding? “I grew up here—not much you could show me I haven’t already seen.”

“Do you ever read mystery novels?”

“One or two.”

“They’re all pretty similar. Someone gets killed, someone figures out who dunit. It’s not like the format is a surprise. But they’re all different, too, because they’re told from different points of view. The reader gets to see the plot unfold through a new character’s eyes. Maybe you just need to see Cupid’s Bow from another perspective.”

He wasn’t convinced, but, for now, Cupid’s Bow was the boys’ home. He owed it to them to try. “What about tomorrow? Are you free for lunch then?” The question was surprisingly liberating. So much of his time since becoming the boys’ guardian had been spent planning, worrying, regrouping. It was a relief to do something as simple as ask an attractive woman to share a meal with him. “Or do you work all day?”

She stared for a second, as if expecting him to retract the invitation. “I, ah... Bunny Neill, the semiretired librarian who ran the place before me, makes sure I get lunch hours and every other Wednesday off. I’d love to—”

“Is it time to go yet?” Sam loudly demanded from the front entrance.

Grayson winced. “I’ll talk to him again about his library voice, I promise.”

“I’ll let it slide,” Hadley said with a grin. “But just this once.”

* * *

THE WALK FROM the truck to the community center got a lot longer when the boys got distracted watching roly-poly bugs on the sidewalk. Grayson didn’t mind. It was a sunny spring day, and Vi hadn’t texted yet that she was ready for her ride home, so he slowed his walk to a relaxed amble, letting the boys take their time.

When an older woman carrying a yoga mat exited the building, he scooted the boys to the side to let her pass. The woman nodded to Grayson with a smile, but then stopped short.

“Grayson Cox?”

“Um, yes, ma’am.” He tried to place her but it took him a moment to match the friendly woman in relaxed athletic wear with the history teacher who’d worn buttoned-up blouses and disapproving scowls. “Ms. Templeton?”

“That is you.” Her smile spread. “What a delight to have you back in town!”

It was? She must recall his eighth-grade history class differently than he did.

“Will you be staying long?”

“I think so.” He nodded toward Sam and Tyler. “I have an appointment to sign them up for school tomorrow.”

“Wonderful. If they’re half as bright as you are, they’ll—”

His bark of laughter was involuntary. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but are you sure you don’t have me confused with another student? You gave me a lot of Cs.” And more than a few lectures.

She glanced down her nose at him in a gesture he recognized. “Why do you think I was so hard on you? Because I knew perfectly well how bright you are and wasn’t about to reward you for coasting by on minimum effort. But you certainly grew out of that! My nephew and I were at the rodeo last summer and happened to see you ride. I can’t begin to imagine the bone-jarring effort that takes.”

“Th-thank you.” If anyone had asked him when he was thirteen, he would have sworn Ms. Templeton hated him. His phone began ringing in his pocket, signaling that Vi was finished.

“I’ll let you get that,” Ms. Templeton said. She gave him one last smile. “Welcome back home.”

He stared after her, almost too bemused to answer Vi’s call. “Hey,” he said once he’d regathered his wits. “All done?”

“Yes.” Vi’s voice was tight. She didn’t sound as if the meeting had gone well.

“Okay, the boys and I are right outside the front doors.”

She hung up and a moment later, he saw her striding through the lobby. Before she reached the exit, however, two men in tank tops and shorts crossed her path. Grayson squinted, realizing that the one carrying a basketball was Jim McKay, Violet’s ex-boyfriend. Were they on friendly terms? For Vi’s sake, he hoped so. In a town this size, you were bound to run in to an ex from time to time.

With the men standing in front of her, he couldn’t see Vi’s expression, but when she came through the door a few minutes later, her movements were stiff and jerky, her smile of greeting brittle.