Page 20 of Second Start: Family
“Did he go to college?”
“Started. Didn’t finish. His dad’s health was failing, the ranch suffering. But the Quicks insisted Hall go to college. His sophomore year, Annie got pregnant. He dropped out and they got married. After Danny was born, he picked up classes. But … Besides, Hall’s dad was fading fast then. And when he died, the only choices were to sell up the Q-T or for Hall to take over. The market for ranches was real low and the Q-T was even worse off than it looked, with heavy debts no one had told Hall about.”
“How do you know all this?”
Vicky flashed a grin. “Around here you can’t whisper without it hitting every ridge and echoing into every low spot. Anyway, Hall’s as stubborn as they come. He tackled the debt and everything else and about four years after he took over the place, he got to the point that he could take a course during the winter as long as he could get through on the highways. He was bound and determined to get his degree.
“Then Annie got pregnant with the girls. The market for beef took a downturn, and he was back to just keeping even with the debt and no time or money for college courses.”
She watched Kenzie absorb that.
“Then he should be all the more supportive of his son getting this scholarship and making good use of the opportunity,” she said.
“In one way I’m real glad to hear you say that. Because both teachers need to sign off on the scholarship recommendation — yes, I know you didn’t teach him and it’s a stupid rule in our circumstances, but that’s the rule. You will back me up on this?”
Kenzie hesitated, but then said strongly, “Yes.”
“Good.” Vicky sighed. “As for Hall, as I said, it’s complicated. Now, tell me everything that happened from the start.”
*
Kenzie looked into the limpid blue eyes of the three-foot tall cowboy waiting in innocent expectation in front of her. Only a moment before, she’d heard coming from those childish lips words that could curl her hair faster than a bout of Washington, D.C., humidity.
She scooched down so they were eye to eye.
“Aaron, you know we don’t like words like that here, don’t you?”
She’d brought him inside so they could have this conversation out of the earshot of the other students waiting for their parents to pick them up, since the bus went on the fritz when the driver was halfway to the schoolhouse to pick up the kids.
Aaron Felton blinked, then dropped his gaze to where the toe of his left boot circled a faint red mark on the wood floor. “I forgot, Miss Kenzie.” All her students were picking up calling her that from Molly and Lizzie Quick. “I forgot I was at school, when that ball got away from me and squirted away like a da—”
“Aaron,” she interrupted before his remembered frustration rekindled his vocabulary. “Do you know what words are?”
“Sure. They’re what you say,”
“That’s right, but they’re more than that, too. They’re like bricks you use to build a house. With words you build a thought. Now, what do you think would happen if you used old, crumbly bricks to build a house?”
Pale brown brows knit in consideration. “It’d fall down?”
She nodded. “That sure would be something to worry about, wouldn’t it? To make sure that didn’t happen you’d pick the best bricks you could find and you wouldn’t use any crumbly bricks. It’s the same way with words. If you use bad words, that thought you’re building can come tumbling down. But if you take the time to find the good words, then you’ll have a nice, strong thought to tell the world. So, no more bad words, okay?”
Concentration tucked his brows and narrowed his eyes. “Because you don’t want my thoughts to fall down?”
“That’s right.”
“Okay.” A smile spread across his face, blazing into full radiance at the sound of a pickup horn tooting outside. “That’s my dad. See ya, Miss Kenzie!”
He tore away, pint-sized boots hammering on the wood floor. Kenzie’s gaze started to follow him, but stopped dead when it reached the male form leaning against the doorframe, facing her.
Hall Quick.
With an easy, well-timed motion, he slid his cocked hip and the boot crossed over his opposite ankle out of Aaron’s way as the boy barreled past with a hasty, “Hey, Mr. Quick.”
Kenzie stood quickly. Too quickly. Muscles in her right thigh trembled on the verge of cramp. She’d taught older kids long enough that her muscles weren’t used to holding the first-grade squat.
“Mr. Quick.” She moved to her desk.
“Might as well call me Hall,” he invited as he moved into the classroom. “You know, right about now, Aaron’s telling his Daddy that all his thoughts are going to fall down like a shack hit by a wrecking ball.”
