Читать книгу His Valentine Surprise - Tanya Michaels, Tanya Michaels - Страница 10

Most days, Mark’s employer was in Colorado, oblivious to Mark’s daily schedule. So why, the one day when Bennett was in town and wanted to see for himself how things were at the store, did Mark get a call from Woodside that would delay opening this morning? Did that qualify as irony or just lousy luck? Mark wasn’t even sure why he’d been asked to come up to the school.

“Is Vicki sick?” he’d asked as soon as the woman on the phone said she was calling from Woodside.

“No, sir. We don’t need you to pick up your daughter. Principal Morgan just needs to speak with you.”

The new principal, Shay Morgan. Mark had received the same cheerful letter of introduction as the other Woodside parents, but he’d never met Shay face-to-face. Maybe this wasn’t such bad luck after all. He’d been meaning to talk to her anyway about the Fitness Fair.

Before he disconnected the call he asked, more as a parental reflex than an actual concern, “Vicki’s not in trouble, is she?” His daughter had been eerily well behaved since his wife died. Aside from her growing exasperation that Mark showed no signs of remarrying, she rarely fussed or challenged any of the rules. Rosycheeked Mrs. Norris said she was a dream to babysit for: “So quiet you hardly know she’s in the house.”

Instead of promptly assuring him that Vicki hadn’t broken any rules, the secretary said primly, “You’ll have to take that up with the principal.” Then she hung up, leaving him perplexed for the duration of his fifteen-minute drive.

As it had in the past, walking through the school’s front doors gave him a twinge, reminding him of how much it had stung, after Jess’s death, to bring Vicki here on her very first day of kindergarten without her mother there to see it or help her get ready. Mark didn’t often find himself on campus, except for periodic performances or the August orientation held each year so that students could meet their teachers for the first time. On those occasions, he was usually part of a noisy crowd. This morning, the front hallway was quiet. The only person he passed was a woman who appeared to be signing in her tardy son. Recognizing her as someone who’d shopped at the store before, Mark offered a small finger wave. Inexplicably, the woman smothered a giggle and glanced away sharply.

Oookay. Dismissing her strange behavior, Mark turned in to the main office. The school secretary, Roberta Cree, stood at the copy machine, feeding paper into the tray. Even though he’d seen Roberta before, he was struck anew by how short she was. Over the phone, she was much taller.

The secretary dipped her chin by way of greeting. “Mr. Hathaway. I’ll let the principal know y—”

“Mr. Hathaway?” A blonde poked out of the office behind the front counter. “Mark Hathaway? I’m Shay Morgan.”

Wow. Mark didn’t recall any school principals looking like that during his childhood. Was she unusually young for a principal, or had his perspective of age simply adjusted now that he himself was an adult? Even without the added height of her black boots, she would be tall for a woman, and she was noticeably curvy beneath a soft aqua sweater that matched her eyes.

Unfortunately, those blue-green eyes were narrowing at him in displeasure.

Had he been caught ogling? It had been so long since he’d ogled that he really wasn’t sure.

“I didn’t mean to stare,” he defended himself. “You’re just not what I expected. I guess I’m so used to seeing Principal Ridenour come out of that office, and you’re, uh…not him.” Physically, it was hard to imagine how she could be any more unlike the stout, balding former principal.

“So I’ve been told,” she said with a tight smile.

She ushered him into her office and shut the door, indicating one of the padded chairs that sat around a small round table. “Thank you for coming up to the school so quickly. It had been my intention to discuss this on the ph—” She broke off, frowned and started over. “I’m glad you’re here, Mr. Hathaway. We need to talk about Vicki. Are you, by any chance, aware of an email that your daughter sent?”

“My daughter? That’s impossible. Aside from the fact that she obviously doesn’t have an email account, she never uses my computer without close supervision.”

Shay—Principal Morgan—settled into one of the other chairs. She crossed her legs, displayed to flattering effect beneath her black skirt and thin hose. It caught him by surprise that he even noticed. Over the years, many women had come into the store, some of them athletic and, he supposed, quite pretty. But he’d have better luck describing what any one of them had purchased than what she looked like. Feeling off balance, it took him a moment to focus on what the principal was saying.

“A number of parents forwarded me this.” She pushed a sheet of paper toward him.

Curious, he picked it up and glanced at the subject heading. From Victoria Hathaway?

“This is my sister-in-law’s email address. Vicki…” He trailed off, recalling how pleased he and Dee had been that Vicki and Bobby were getting along so well. During the past two family dinners, the kids had shut themselves in the study with no discernible bickering or tattling. Which should have been enough to make you suspicious, dummy. “Vicki has a cousin who must have helped her. She wouldn’t know how to send an email by herself.”

“Bobby Riggs, Dee’s son?” Shay nodded. “Earlier this week, I presented him with a trophy from the council-level science fair. Clearly a smart boy. It makes sense that Vicki would have dictated her letter—the punctuation and spelling are far above the normal first-grade level.”

With growing trepidation, Mark began to read.

My name is Victoria Hathaway. People call me Vicki. I am six years old and in the first grade at Woodside Elementary school. I am the only girl in my class who doesn’t have a mommy.

Mark’s heart stuttered. He’d known Vicki was growing more resentful of her single parent status, but seeing her unhappiness articulated like that on the paper in front of him… He was shocked that, instead of trying to talk to him more about it, she’d decided to share it with the population of Woodside! What had Bobby been thinking to help her with this?

My daddy is Mark Hathaway. He is a good man, but a not so good cook. My mom went to heaven. He needs a new wife, but he never ever goes on dates.

Was it possible to keep one’s face from turning red through sheer force of will? He kept his gaze locked on the humiliating paper in his hand and away from the lovely blonde who watched him silently.

I think my dad is shy. Can you help us? It will be Valentine’s Day soon, and he is very lonely. If you are a lady who is not too old and don’t already have a husband, maybe you could be Daddy’s valentine. Please let him know if you would like him. He is gone at the store a lot, but he is fun when he is home. It would also be good if you have a dog. I really want one. But not as much as I want a mom.

Thank you,

Victoria Kathryn Hathaway

Mark was mortified. And aching for his daughter. And fully prepared to ground both her and her cousin for the rest of their natural lives. Well, she had tried to warn him that morning. Don’t worry, Daddy, I have a plan. He was flooded with reactions, from grudging admiration of his daughter’s problem-solving ingenuity—hell, maybe she could help brainstorm ideas on how to save the store—to renewed anger that his wife had been taken from them so young.

He heard his own rusty chuckle. In his struggle to formulate a response, he’d unconsciously chosen laughter. “Maybe I could just get her a puppy?”

“I’m not sure making jokes is the best way to handle this,” the principal countered gently. “Your daughter obviously—”

“Have you even met my daughter?” he asked. Mark wasn’t normally rude, but he was still reeling at the idea of Vicki feeling so desperate that she’d taken action behind his back. He always read the weekly notes from her teacher, Mrs. Frost, and Lord knew he’d listened to hours of advice from Dee because he accepted that his sister-in-law had Vicki’s best interests at heart. But he resented the condescending tone from a woman who might not even recognize Vicki if she saw her.

Shay squared her shoulders, rigid in her chair. “I go into all of the classrooms, occasionally reading stories to the kids or picking a table to have lunch with, but no, I have not been individually introduced to your daughter. And, before you ask, no, I don’t have any children of my own. What I do have are years of classroom experience working with kids and a Master of Education. I may be younger than Principal Ridenour, but I assure you I’m qualified for my job.”

Mark shoved a hand through his hair, aware that he’d botched this meeting so far. “Of course you are, Ms. Morgan. I apologize. I got defensive because this is personal.”

Her posture eased slightly, but her expression didn’t soften. “I understand why you would feel that way, but this email was sent to everyone on the PTA mailing list. I haven’t spoken to Vicki yet, or her aunt, for that matter. I wanted to make sure that you, as the responsible parent, were fully aware of the situation first. But I am going to send out a concise email addressing the situation.”

In other words, Mark translated, his “personal” matter had become quite public.

“Before we call her into the office, though,” the principal added, “I wanted to talk with you for a few minutes. Are you aware that there’s a community support group for single parents that meets in the school cafeteria the first and third Wednesday nights of every month?”

“I appreciate that you’re trying to help, but I’m not going to give up another night with my daughter. Tuesday evenings she has ballet, and Friday, inventory at the store sometimes goes pretty late, so—”

“That would be the store mentioned in Vicki’s letter, when she says you’re away a lot? Mr. Hathaway, as someone who’s never been married, I can’t know precisely what it’s like to lose a spouse. But I realize it must be very difficult for you and Vicki. Maybe this wasn’t so much a plea for a new mom as a cry for more attention.”

“Vicki knows how much I love her.” Doesn’t she? “I tell her every single day. She’s the most… She’s my world, Ms. Morgan.” He recalled a promise he’d made to Jess, when they’d known how little time she’d had left. He’d told her that he’d love Vicki enough for both of them. Was he failing?

“I don’t doubt that.” Radiating sympathy, the principal laid her hand atop his on the table. Then she blinked, as if she were as surprised by the physical contact as he was. She withdrew immediately. “Maybe it would help if you supplemented your words with actions, with your time. The first-grade classes have already been on a couple of field trips this year. Were you able to chaperone any of those?”

“I have a store to run.” This woman had no idea what kind of pressure he was under to keep the place afloat and to keep Vicki here in Braeden. Was he really being condemned as a bad father because he hadn’t accompanied a bunch of six-year-olds to a petting zoo?

“You also have a daughter who needs you,” she said. “There are numerous studies that show how much a child benefits, both emotionally and academically, when a parent is able to volunteer at the school.”

Those studies weren’t going to pay his mortgage. But he tamped down the sarcasm. If his showing up for the occasional field trip would help Vicki, he’d find a way to do it. But it seemed that Ms. Morgan had even bigger ideas.

She handed him a blue folder. “That contains information on different ways you can get involved in the classroom. We’re always in need of parental support for our activities. Our fall book fair, normally a week long, only ran three days this year because we couldn’t staff all of the available shifts. And the Campside Girls who’ve traditionally had their weekly troop meetings here had to disband this year because they couldn’t find a leader.”

“A shame,” he muttered. “I would have been happy to give the troop discounts on gear for—”

“Mr. Hathaway! We’re discussing your daughter’s well-being, not your store. Study the list I’ve given you. There must be something on it that you’re suited to, a way you can chip in and show Vicki that she’s just as important to you as your job.”

Maybe the two could dovetail—his principal-mandated community service and his promise to Bennett to boost business.

“Actually, it’s a funny coincidence,” Mark said, flashing her a smile. He tried for charm but it was difficult to gauge whether or not he succeeded. “I wanted to talk to you about getting involved with Woodside this spring.”

“Really?” Her tone was suspicious.

“Honest. I know Woodside’s hosting that Fitness Fair and as you may know, at Up A Creek, we—”

“That’s the name of your store?”

“It’s the store I manage, yes. I’m not the owner.” And if he didn’t find a way to boost profits enough to appease the owner, then—

“Mr. Hathaway, I believe you are missing the point.” Her tone was wooden. “Your daughter needs you.”

This judgmental blonde didn’t think he was aware of that fact every second of every day? Vicki needed him to braid hair, which he couldn’t do, and provide dinner, which he usually messed up; the matter-of-fact criticism in her email that he was a not so good cook stung more than he would have predicted. But she also needed him to provide food and shelter and the clothes she seemed to outgrow every other week.

The responsibility had been weighing heavily on his shoulders lately. Now, with Shay Morgan poking at his flaws, he wanted to yell that he was doing the best he could. Ironically, it was the very fear that his words might be true that kept him silent.

What if this was the best he had to offer and it wasn’t enough to truly keep his daughter healthy and happy?

He tightened his grip on the folder, sucking in his breath at the resulting paper cut. “I’ll read everything in here and find a way to participate.”

“Wonderful! I look forward to working with you,” Shay lied unconvincingly. She sounded as if she’d rather be buried beneath a rock slide than deal with him again.

He could relate. That was pretty much how he felt about her right now, too.

AS SHE WAITED ALONE IN her office for Mark Hathaway’s return, Shay took a moment to compose herself. They’d asked Roberta to call for Vicki via the classroom intercom system, but Mrs. Frost had answered that the class was outside with the gym teacher and that it would take a few minutes to find Vicki and escort her to the office. Meanwhile, Mark had stepped outside to phone his store—the cell reception was lousy in the school—so he could let his employee know it would be at least another half an hour before he returned to work. He’d excused himself with a note of challenge in his voice, as if expecting Shay to come down on him for being a diligent boss.

She sighed, staring sightlessly at her computer monitor. Well, you’ve handled this like a real pro.

No doubt startled by his daughter’s attempts to engineer his love life, Mark Hathaway had been prickly throughout their meeting. It hadn’t helped that instead of defusing the situation, Shay herself had felt defensive, unbalanced. Her original intention had been to phone the man and discuss Vicki’s email, but Roberta had acted preemptively, summoning him to the office on Shay’s behalf. Would their conversation have gone more smoothly if it hadn’t been face-to-face?

Get a grip. He’s hardly the first good-looking man you’ve ever met.

True, but she wasn’t reacting just to Mark’s tall, athletic build or the handsome face framed by inky-black hair. She was responding more to his reaction to her. The way his gaze had traveled over her in the front office… If she’d been out somewhere socially, instead of at a place of work where she was trying to establish her authority, the appreciation in those gray eyes would have made her shiver. And she hadn’t missed his staring at her legs once they sat down together.

But despite the temptation to be flattered as a woman, she was annoyed as a professional. You’re not what I expected, he’d said, comparing her to Principal Ridenour. Was Mark Hathaway one of those people who would underestimate her as a pretty face, too young and not up to the serious responsibilities of her job? He certainly wouldn’t be the first. Her thoughts flickered from the mothers gathered outside her office this morning to her own father, but she shut down that line of contemplation. This morning was about little Victoria Hathaway, not Shay.

Sometimes this job called for deciding what was best for students as a whole, implementing policies that would affect the nearly three hundred kids at Woodside, but other days, it was far more personal, trying to help each child one at a time. And, as exasperating as her parents could sometimes be, Shay loved them both and couldn’t imagine how difficult a time this was for the motherless first grader.

Though her door was open, Mark Hathaway rapped his fist against the doorjamb, looking tentative. “Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t interrupting a phone call or anything,” he said as he walked back into the office. Instead of regaining his seat, he stood behind the chair, shifting his weight.

“I asked Roberta to hold my calls until after we talked to Vicki. I figure she’ll be unnerved enough without having to sweat it out while I’m talking to someone else. Barring any sudden emergencies on campus, you two have my undivided attention.”

Frankly, Mark Hathaway probably had women’s undivided attention no matter where he went. Now that she’d been able to put a face with the name, it was a bit surprising that this man “never ever” went on dates. Was his daughter exaggerating? Or was he still in mourning for his late wife?

Shay cleared her throat. “Mr. Hathaway, I apologize if this is a difficult question, but do you mind if I ask when your wife passed? I’m just trying to get a handle on Vicki’s state of mind.”

His knuckles tightened on the back of the chair. “About two years ago. She—”

“Ms. Morgan?” The secretary’s voice crackled through the phone on Shay’s desk. “I’m sending back Vicki Hathaway now.”

“Thank you.” Shay stood and returned to the table by the door so that they could all sit together.

A little girl who looked absolutely nothing like Mark appeared in the doorway. Judging from their facial features, one wouldn’t even guess them related. Where his dark hair was silky, her ginger-colored hair was a profusion of curls. Shay’s hair had always been naturally straight, requiring determined use of a curling iron and lots of hair spray to achieve any kind of body. Vicki Hathaway was adorable and, Shay suspected, probably a miniature of Mark Hathaway’s late wife. Did it comfort him, seeing part of Mrs. Hathaway live on, or did looking at a version of her face make him miss her even more keenly?

Vicki’s chin was bravely raised even though her lower lip quivered and her brown eyes were huge with trepidation. “Hi, Daddy.”

Still standing, he turned to wrap an arm around his daughter’s slim shoulder. “Hi, Bug.”

“Would you like to sit down with us, Vicki?” Shay pointed to the empty seat between herself and Mark. “I’m Principal Morgan.”

Vicki nodded solemnly.

“Do you know why your dad and I want to talk to you?” Shay asked softly.

Vicki slouched down in the chair. “B-because of the letter that Bobby and I—I mean, the letter I sent?”

Mark exhaled with a huff. “We already know your cousin was your partner in crime. This was his idea, wasn’t it?”

“No.” Despite her trembling lip, Vicki’s expression was resolute when she swiveled her head to look at her father. “It was my idea to help you meet a nice lady. I had that idea even before Christmas. You’re too shy, Daddy. You need my help! You and Aunt Dee and Pasture Jack—”

“Pastor Jack,” her father corrected automatically.

“You all say we should help people, right?”

“Well, yes,” Mark conceded, “but we have to be careful how we do it.” He cast a beseeching glance in Shay’s direction. The expression in his gray eyes clearly read Help! which, she had to admit, was enormously gratifying. This parent had gone from questioning just what she knew about his daughter to seeking out her expertise.

She cleared her throat. “Vicki, do you remember when that policeman visited the school last week and talked to us about 9-1-1? He said it was important to know your phone number and address but that we don’t share that information with strangers.”

Vicki nodded. “Wanna hear my phone number?”

“Maybe another time. Right now, I need you to understand that email addresses are a little like phone numbers. People want their privacy. When they filled in their personal contact information for the PTA, we promised that they would only get emails with official PTA updates. You and your cousin didn’t have any right to use that mailing list. And I think you know that it was wrong to go behind your dad’s back like that. Don’t you?”

Vicki’s gaze fell momentarily to her lap, where she was wringing her hands. But she made one last attempt to plead her case. “Do you think little girls should have a mommy?” She raised her head, hitting Shay with the full force of those chocolate-brown eyes.

Shay had worked with children for enough years to understand that the smart ones started trying to manipulate adults from an early age—testing the grown-ups around them and testing boundaries. To some extent, she was being played. Still, even if they were being exaggerated for effect, the pain and frustration in Vicki’s small voice were real. Shay had the urge to scoop the girl into a hug.

But she hadn’t become principal by letting children wrap her around their little fingers—not even supercute, resourceful, motherless children. So she chose to answer Vicki’s question with one of her own. “Do you think your mommy would have wanted you to do things that upset your dad or other adults?”

“No, ma’am,” Vicki whispered.

“Can you promise me that nothing like this will happen again?” Shay asked gently.

“Yes. But someone has to do something,” she whined, foreshadowing what she was likely to sound like as a teenager.

“I know it’s difficult not having your mother around,” Shay said. “But you still have a dad who loves you very much.”

“Very,” Mark interjected, taking his daughter’s hand.

“And he wants to spend even more time with you.”

“He does?” Vicki whipped her head around, looking to her dad for confirmation.

The first grader seemed blatantly skeptical, which proved Shay’s earlier point. Part of this mom search probably stemmed from the little girl’s feeling neglected. If Mark made a concerted effort to be more involved in his daughter’s life, not only would it be good for her emotional well-being, it would save him a lot of trouble in the long run.

Shay nodded emphatically, addressing Vicki but shooting a pointed glance toward Mark. “Yep. He’s going to find some ways to help out at the school.”

“Just like Lorelai’s mom,” Vicki said excitedly.

Oh, let’s hope not. One Carolyn Moon was more than enough for any administrator.

Shay suppressed a grimace, instead offering a smile of encouragement. “Before I send you back to class, I need you to make us one more promise. You and your cousin used those email addresses without permission and what you did was a violation of privacy. I need you to write an apology.”

Vicki scrunched up her face. “I can’t spell violation!”

“I’ll help you, just like I help with your homework,” Mark said. He said it so quickly, with a sidelong glance at the principal, that Shay felt like he was trying to redeem himself. The subtext of his declaration seemed to be We read, we do math. See? I don’t suck as a father.

Shay experienced a twinge of guilt. Had she been too hard on him earlier? She shook off the thought, deciding not to second-guess herself. After all, her tough love approach had worked. She’d won a grudging concession from him to be more involved with his daughter and Vicki already looked delighted by that idea.

By the time they wrapped up their conference, Mark had promised that the principal would have Vicki’s written apology in hand by Monday morning. And Vicki had sworn—“cross my heart”—that she would never send out another unauthorized email again. Shay bid them both a warm farewell, adding that she was always available if they needed to talk.

Once they were gone and she’d sat back down at the computer, she couldn’t help the unbidden thought that if Vicki had really wanted to make her Valentine email effective, she should have attached a JPEG image of her father.

FOR HIS MEETING WITH the principal, Mark had turned off his cell phone. As he crossed the frigid parking lot toward his car, he switched the phone back on and discovered that he had four voice-mail messages from Dee. He dialed her number, unsurprised when she answered on the first ring.

“I am never letting Bobby near a computer again,” she said immediately. “I’m serious. His days of commandeering my PC for homework purposes are over. I’ll buy him a typewriter, an abacus and an encyclopedia set.”

Mark laughed. “Far be it from me to tell you how to raise your kid, but tossing the boy back into the Stone Age might be overkill. Grounding him and making him apologize should do it. In fact, Vicki and I just met with Principal Morgan, who wants a written apology on her desk by Monday morning. You’ll probably be getting a call from her.”

“Oh, Mark—the two of you got summoned to the principal’s office? You just wait until Robert Joseph gets home,” she said, annoyed enough to use her son’s full name. “I had a doctor’s appointment first thing this morning and was running late for car pool, so I didn’t even check email before I left. He was safely at school before I found out what he’d done. What were those children thinking?”

Her question, although probably rhetorical, was followed by a deeply awkward pause as they both acknowledged what the scheming duo had been thinking. They’d been reasoning that kids deserved two parents and that Vicki missed her mother. And that Mark had failed abysmally when it came to rejoining the dating world of singles.

“As your daughter pointed out, Valentine’s Day is right around the corner,” Dee said. “I don’t suppose there’s anyone special you were interested in ask—”

“Not you, too!” Mark protested. If his daughter broadcasting his supposed romantic ineptitude to hundreds of people was the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to him, then discussing his love life with his late wife’s big sister ran a close second.

“Is it because of Jess?” Dee asked quietly. “If you’re not ready for another relationship, I understand. But if something else is keeping you from… We spend a lot of time together and there are pictures of her all over my house. I wouldn’t ever want you to feel guilty about seeing someone else. Jess would want you to be happy, and Frank and I would be completely supportive if that’s what you wanted.”

“It isn’t,” Mark said. “Not right now, anyway. You know that things haven’t been going too well at the store? The owner, Bennett Coleridge, is in town for the weekend. He’s thinking about shutting me down, Dee.”

She sucked in her breath. “Oh, no.”

“So I’m a little preoccupied right now. Besides, a woman in my life shouldn’t be a Band-Aid. If I go out with someone, it should be because we’re interested in each other as two adults, not because I need her in order to bond with my own daughter.”

Maybe the principal had been right today, damn it. While he resented the implication that he wasn’t there for his daughter, maybe he wasn’t there for her in the ways that made the most sense to a six-year-old. Obviously it was imperative that he provided for her, but maybe—in her view—it was equally imperative that he watched some of her ballet lessons or read to her class.

“Vicki and Bobby were sneaking off to do this,” he continued, “and I never had an inkling that she was up to something.” When she’d flat out admitted this morning that she had “a plan,” his brilliant parenting strategy had been to dismiss what she was trying to tell him. Dumbass. “Before I think about any romantic relationships, I should probably strengthen my relationship with my daughter.”

“All right. But you know if you ever do want to take someone out for the evening, we’re happy to babysit.”

“Thank you. You and Frank have been amazing. I don’t think I tell you that enough, but we’re so blessed to have you.” Even Bobby had arguably acted out of love for his cousin. Mark couldn’t fathom what it would be like for himself and Vicki to start over from scratch somewhere else, without their invaluable support network.

I won’t let that happen, he vowed to himself as he disconnected the call. He would simply redouble his efforts to keep the store open. But he wouldn’t let those efforts stop him from being the father that Vicki deserved.