A Colton Target

by Beverly Long

  It took twenty-five minutes for Toby Turner’s mother to arrive, and another fifteen for his father. The parents had evidently stopped living together a few months earlier. There was a bitter custody battle in play for Toby and his three younger siblings.

  While they were waiting, Tilda got Toby some coffee to drink. He might not have been legally sober by the time his parents arrived, but he was steady on his feet, and he wasn’t slurring his words.

  Blaine gave Tilda, Toby and the parents their privacy, but since the only one of the group he really trusted was Tilda, he stayed close enough that he could hear most everything. Neither parent had a clue that Toby was failing because all their contact information in the school’s computer system had been changed. By Toby, who had access to his mother’s password. They had not sent the text message to Tilda asking that she meet them in their home, either. Toby had done that, knowing that it was against school policy. He’d thought Tilda would give up, but instead, she’d offered up alternatives.

  There was crying and a few harsh accusations, but in general, it appeared that both mom and dad were substantially impressed with the gravity of the situation and, quite frankly, greatly relieved that the episode tonight hadn’t turned out significantly worse.

  The credit went to Tilda, who had stayed professional and calm and offered unwavering support to her hurting student. And by the time the Turners left, Toby and mom in one car, dad in another, she looked spent.

  “Let’s go home, honey,” he said.

  She shook her head. “Chaperones stay until the end.”

  “You can’t be serious. You’re not going to go back in there and dance.”

  She looked at her watch. “There’s fifteen minutes left. Come on. I think they’re just about to play our song.”

  “We have a song?”

  “We will.”

  * * *

  Tilda sank into the car seat and tilted her head back to rest it against the cushion. “I am so tired,” she admitted.

  “I wonder why,” he said. “You had a hell of a night.”

  She hadn’t wanted to talk about it inside. That’s why she’d insisted they return to the dance. They’d been present for the last three songs, and then the ballroom had emptied out pretty fast. The kids were interested in doing what kids did after prom was over.

  She and Blaine knew all too well what that activity was for some of them. And tonight, she’d told that story. To a young man who’d needed to hear that kids sometimes screwed up. But in doing so, she’d sacrificed not only her own privacy, but that of Blaine’s. And she probably owed him an explanation and maybe an apology.

  “I need to tell you something,” she said.

  He glanced her way, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “I swear to God, Tilda, if you lied about him hurting you in any way, I am—” he drew in a breath “—not going to be happy.”

  “Not that. But I told Toby about us. About how we got pregnant on prom night, and that I hid the pregnancy from you for thirteen years.”

  He studied her. “You must have had a good reason.”

  “His parents told him and his younger siblings that they were getting a divorce about three months ago, and his dad moved out right away. His mom started drinking heavily and was often drunk by the time he and his three sisters came home from school. Toby didn’t care so much for himself because he’s turning eighteen in a month and had plans to leave. But his sisters are much younger. They’re fourteen, twelve and nine.”

  “I guess I can kind of relate to that,” Blaine said. “Not the divorce, but I was about that age when I became aware that my parents’ marriage wasn’t great and that my dad was unfaithful.”

  “I remembered you telling me about that,” she said softly. “And I remembered how helpless you felt because you couldn’t really talk to anybody about it. I got the impression from Toby that he’d taken on a lot of the home responsibilities. Was buying the groceries, trying to cook dinners, washing clothes.”

  “No time to do homework?” Blaine guessed.

  “Let’s just say that he didn’t have any appetite for homework. And while he didn’t come right out and say it, it seems that it was some passive-aggressive behavior. If he failed, his parents would have to feel badly about it because they were the reason.”

  “None of that explains what he did tonight,” Blaine gritted out.

  “What happened tonight was the culmination of twenty-four hours of bad judgment. Last night, he had it out with his mother. Told her she was a drunk and that he was going to make sure that his sisters were taken away from her.”

  “She didn’t appear to have been drinking tonight.”

  “I know. She said that she hadn’t had a drink after their conversation, that she’d been very upset about how Toby had said it to her but she couldn’t deny the basic truth.”

  “Well, something good, then,” Blaine said.

  “If it had ended there. After the fight, Toby left his home and was out all night, just driving around. He slept in his car. About ten this morning, he found some guy who would buy him alcohol for a ten-buck tip, and he started drinking.”

  “Did it dawn on him that he was solving his problems in the same way as his mother, who he disapproved of?” Blaine asked.

  “The irony was not lost on him, evidently. Which is why he got angry. At himself. At the world. And tonight, when he saw me go into the ladies’ room, he was ready to pick a fight.”

  “But why you? You’re the one who has been trying to help him. Trying to make sure he graduated.”

  She shrugged. “I think sometimes we want to hurt those that we care about. And Toby might not care about me, but he couldn’t deny that I cared about him. And he was determined that he was going to prove to me that he was unworthy.”

  “But you changed his mind?” Blaine asked.

  “I was well on my way,” Tilda said, humor in her tone, “when someone dropped in from above.”

  “I saw him listening very intently to what you were saying. What exactly did you tell him?”

  “I got the impression that he pretty much thought his life was over, and I told him that I understood what it was to feel as if you’d made such a big mistake that you couldn’t see any way to come back from it. I could see that he didn’t believe me, that I was going to need to give him specifics.”

  He lifted a brow. “Such as...”

  “Well, for starters, I told him about how angry I had been with myself for being stupid enough to get pregnant on prom night. How sad I was that I was going to be such a disappointment to my parents, who had worked so hard for me to go to college, to do something that they hadn’t been able to do. I told him how ashamed I was that I wasn’t brave enough to tell you the truth about the baby.”

  “But you turned it all around,” protested Blaine. “You did great.”

  “That all helped me to convince him that he hadn’t screwed up so badly that he also wouldn’t be able to turn it around. He’s going to have a tough time making up all the work that he’s missed. I know I told him three days but if I can tell he’s putting in honest effort and still falling short, I’m going to talk to the principal and see if he’ll allow him to graduate with his class with the understanding that Toby will get the work done over the summer.”

  “Once again, you’re pretty amazing, Ms. Deeds. I totally get how you received the Teacher of the Year award a few years ago.”

  She blushed. “Someone told you about that, huh?”

  “Yeah. Your students are lucky. Are you worried that Toby is going to share what you told him?”

  “No, I really don’t think he will.” She hesitated. “But are you concerned?”

  “Nah, I don’t care,” Blaine said. “It’s our story. I’m not ashamed of it.”

  “Me either,” she told him. “Now, do you think you could drive me home?” They were stil
l sitting in The Chateau’s parking lot. “I really want to get out of this dress.”

  He smiled. “I really want to get you out of that dress.”

  “Is that an invitation?”

  “Consider it a promise.”

  * * *

  Tilda was ready the next morning at eight thirty, which was pretty damn amazing considering that she hadn’t gotten all that much sleep the night before. They’d made love three times.

  She felt a little sore, somewhat emotionally vulnerable, yet extremely relaxed. “Hey,” she said, as she walked to the kitchen and found Blaine at the table.

  “Hey, yourself. Coffee?”

  “I can get it,” she said. She filled a cup and then took the pot over to the table to refill his. “I sent Josh a text and told him that we’d be there to pick him up in a half hour.” She’d been grateful last night to learn that Josh knew nothing about the incident with Toby. Mara had gotten the call from her manager on duty and had wisely chosen to keep the information to herself.

  “Okay,” Blaine said. “I imagine he’s pretty stoked about going.”

  “His text back was a massive smiley face.” She took a sip. “Are you still worried about Davis James? Is that why you didn’t want Josh to go with Isaac?”

  “It seems as if he’s out of our hair for the time being. I just thought it would be nice to do something together as a family. And now, after last night, I guess I’m really glad that’s the way the decision went.” He scrubbed a hand across his face. “I’m still a little raw from the thought that something could have happened to you. And also, maybe I’m a bit of a control freak, and I just feel better when I’m there to protect those that matter to me.”

  After last night and his heroic efforts to get to her, she had no doubts that he was absolutely capable of protecting them. “You were really amazing last night,” she said.

  Blaine said nothing. Just sipped his coffee and drummed his fingers on the kitchen table. “You know, honey, I had plans for this table.”

  “Plans?”

  “Yeah.” And then he got up and whispered in her ear, in rather spectacular detail, exactly what those plans had been.

  “Oh my,” she said when he finished. “Speaking of amazing,” she added weakly. “That would be.” She picked up the morning paper to fan herself.

  He looked at his watch. “Twenty-seven minutes and counting.”

  “Then, you better get a move on,” she warned as she started to unbutton her shirt.

  * * *

  They were ten minutes late in picking up Josh. As they pulled in the long driveway, Tilda turned to him. “Do you suppose we could just honk the horn and wait for him to come out?”

  “It’s an option,” he said. “But I think it may be time for you and my dad to actually come face-to-face. For Josh’s sake. Are you okay with that?”

  “No. But I know you’re right. So I’m going to ring the bell like the confident person I know I can be.”

  “If that fails, give me the high sign, and we’ll make a break for it.” Blaine parked. He was not without his own misgivings, but it was time. Tilda and Josh were a part of his life now. He didn’t want it to be awkward every time his dad’s name came up.

  They stepped onto the porch and rang the bell. In seconds, Josh opened the door. “Hey, you’re late.”

  “Sorry about that, sport. Couple things required my attention,” Blaine said. He saw Tilda run her tongue across her teeth.

  “That’s okay,” Josh replied. “We were playing pool.”

  “Who’s we?” Tilda asked.

  “Blaine’s dad and me,” Josh said.

  At least his dad hadn’t told him to call him Mr. Colton. “Were you winning?” Blaine asked.

  “Absolutely not.”

  Blaine turned and saw his dad. He was still holding a pool cue.

  “Don’t let him tell you otherwise,” Russ said, his tone amused. He turned to Tilda. “Hello. Thank you for letting him stay last night. He’s quite a boy. You must be very proud.”

  Now he seemed very serious. Almost tentative, which was not a word Blaine associated often with his father.

  “I am,” Tilda said. “Very proud. And I’m glad that he was able to stay. I want him to be able to come here, to get to know both you and your wife. You are his family, after all.”

  His father cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

  His mother walked into the room, looking lovely as usual. She hugged Blaine first, then Tilda. Very quietly, so that Josh wouldn’t hear, she murmured, “I’m so glad things turned out well last night.”

  “Me, too,” Tilda said. “Sorry that all that drama had to occur at The Chateau.”

  His mother waved her hand. “Josh, do you have your backpack?”

  “It’s downstairs,” he said and went to get it.

  “He’s a delight,” Mara beamed. “And very funny. I don’t think I’ve laughed that much for a long time.”

  “Reminds me a lot of Blaine when he was that age,” his dad said.

  Blaine resisted a smile. It appeared the paternity test was off the table. Josh bounded back up the stairs.

  “Thanks for letting me stay,” the teen said. He did not offer hugs or even a handshake. That would come in time.

  “Come back anytime, sweetheart,” Mara said. “You, too, Tilda.”

  “What about me?” Blaine asked, feigning innocence.

  His mom rolled her eyes, and his dad smiled. “You’re always welcome, Blaine,” he said. “I really do hope you know that.”

  When they got back into the car, Tilda turned to Josh. “So, you had a good time?”

  “Yeah. We watched movies and there were nine different toppings for the ice cream. This morning, Blaine’s dad made pancakes.”

  Blaine could not remember the last time he’d seen his father in front of a stove. “Pretty soon pigs are going to start flying,” he said.

  “What?” Josh asked.

  “Nothing. Just glad you had a good time. Now I hope you’re ready to ski.”

  “Is Wicked still closed?” Josh asked.

  “Yes,” Blaine said. Before he’d gotten busy in the kitchen, he’d checked the internal communication that was distributed to all staff. There’d been some melt with the slightly warmer temperatures, and those charged with watching for avalanche risk had deemed it necessary to continue to close the run. It would disappoint many, but The Lodge had avoided catastrophes in the past by being extra cautious.

  “Oh, man,” Josh said, sounding plenty disappointed. “I really wanted to ski Wicked.”

  “We can ski Wonderland. It’s the next run over, and plenty challenging.”

  Tilda turned to look at her son. “Yes, remember your poor mother. I haven’t been on skis all year.”

  Her skis, stashed in the corner of her garage, had been very dusty.

  “You were always pretty good,” Josh said. “It’ll come back to you.”

  “I hope so, or I’m going to be spending the afternoon in the emergency department.”

  No way, thought Blaine. Not on his watch. And the news he’d heard about an hour ago made him even more confident. The day before, Davis James had used his credit card at a diner in Ohio, which coincided with a scheduled stop for the bus headed east. The charge had just showed up. If he’d engineered the elevator attack, perhaps he’d gotten discouraged when it hadn’t worked. Maybe decided that Blaine was hard to kill.

  He pulled into the lot, parked in staff parking and led them through a side door. They headed for his office, where he grabbed his ski equipment. He saw his emergency pack and avalanche beacon hanging on the hook and grabbed it. He wasn’t planning on going off-trail, but he’d spent too many years being prepared for anything, and he preferred that position, even if it meant he’d have a few extra things on his back.

  By ten,
they were outside. The slopes were already dotted with skiers, and more would arrive over the next couple hours. In comparison to their regular crowd, however, it was a lean day. Rarely did people outside of the area expect there to be skiing this late in the season, so their travel plans didn’t include a skiing trip in May. So, guests would be limited to those in the more immediate area. The bad news for The Lodge was that there would likely not be enough revenue to cover their overhead. But the good news for him, Tilda and Josh was that they’d have lots of wide-open space to ski and wouldn’t have to wait in any lines for a chairlift.

  They made their way to the Wonderland chairlift. This particular lift carried two, so he motioned for Josh and Tilda to go first and that he’d follow. It was crazy, but when the chairlift came up behind the two, literally scooping them up and carrying them off, he wanted to grab on, even if it meant hanging on for dear life.

  But good sense prevailed, and he quickly got in place to take the next chair as it swung around. He could see the backs of their heads; Tilda’s helmet was a bright royal blue and Josh’s was red, matching his coat and pants. Tilda’s ski jacket and pants were black, like his.

  Off to his left, he watched the gondola that took both skiing and sightseeing enthusiasts from The Chateau up to The Lodge. The gondola could hold upwards of twenty people, and it was a peaceful and relaxing way to make the journey for those not inclined to drive the mountain roads. The riders were getting a great view today. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

  He saw Tilda and Josh reach the top and easily slide off the chairlift. They moved out of the way so that he could make his descent.

  “Now the fun begins!” Josh exclaimed, poking his ski poles into the snow.

  “Uh-huh,” Tilda said, not sounding convinced.

  “You’re not really nervous?” Blaine asked.

  “Appropriately cautious.”

  “I’ll stick with you,” he said. “You got nothing to worry about.” He turned to Josh. “You can go ahead, son. But stay on this run.”

  “If I get to the bottom before you do, do I have to wait for you to catch up?” Josh asked.