Page 6 of Second Start: Family
He cleared his throat and gave the door of her trailer a significant look.
Her relief ebbed, but adrenaline didn’t.
She wasn’t inviting any parent into her home, least of all this man, who didn’t bother to come on time, but now probably expected a sociable cup of coffee, based on his exchange with Vicky. He might even hope for a slice of pie. Forget it.
“You had an appointment at five-forty-five, Mr. Quick, concerning the welfare and education of your children. It is three hours after that.”
“I’m sorry I missed the time. I got hung up with repairs.”
“You could have called.”
He pushed back his straw cowboy hat. Starlight showed auburn hair — not as fair as Lizzie’s, not as red as Molly’s.
“Cell reception’s not real good by the Arrow Creek draw, Miss Kenzie.”
“Please don’t call me that. Miss Kenzie might be acceptable from the children. As a parent, please call me Kenzie or Ms. Smith.”
“But—” He closed his mouth with a clunk she thought was his teeth connecting. “Sorry I’m late, but I’m here now, and—”
“You can message me in the morning or send a note with Molly and Lizzie, and we’ll reschedule a time that’s mutually convenient and appropriate.”
He held so still and quiet that she was aware of the sound of her own breathing, of the push of the breeze against her side.
“All right, Ms. Smith.”
She couldn’t pin anything on the tone and certainly not on the words. Yet he was irked. Yes, she decided as he resettled his hat low over his eyes, definitely irked.
Too bad.
“Good night, Mr. Quick.”
She reached her trailer’s door when his voice came from behind her. He hadn’t moved.
“One thing, Ms. Smith. I sure hope you’re teaching better math to my kids than to be thinking five-forty-five to nine-fifteen is three hours when it’s three and a half. Half-hour might not mean anything where you’re from, but here it means thirty minutes of daylight, thirty minutes of work. That can make a difference in a man’s day.”
CHAPTER TWO
Hall let the truck glide to a stop by the house, saving what brakes it had for when he really needed them, turned off the engine, and dropped his head back to the headrest that had long ago stuck with the left side higher than the right.
He muttered a phrase that brought a memory — the scent of cinnamon and the sound of Grandma Quick, his greatest champion while remaining no-nonsense to the core, saying with a lingering brogue when she was particularly exasperated or weary,Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, grant me strength.
For some reason this schoolteacher made him think of Grandma Quick.
Maybe it was the teacher squaring up to him in the dark, refusing to back down.
More likely a whiff of cinnamon he’d caught from the plate she’d been carrying. Nothing to do with the woman at all. A fluke of olfactory senses and memory of his grandmother’s plea for strength.
To fill his strength deficit, he’d need to add a couple dozen saints, but he doubted any lined up in heaven for that job.
He sure could have used a lineup of saints earlier today, when the combiner went out and — especially — when the machine refused to work after six full hours of repairs. He’d counted on the combiner lasting through the season, maybe next year. He would try again tomorrow for a stop-gap fix, but even if he succeeded, it was time lost.
Just what he needed.
And now he’d need to apologize to the teacher. More than he would have for missing their appointment.
He didn’t like getting caught off-guard. It surely didn’t bring out the best in him. Neither did females who didn’t look long out of college, with dark hair softly waving around a gentle face and framing startled-wide eyes, looking down their Eastern, educated noses at him.
He didn’t need her to remind him he’d screwed up.
