Ariel turned up her nose, tightening her arms over her chest.
Kyanna let the pictures speak for themselves. "Last week, you performed grounds community service after name-calling some cheerleaders."
"They think they're all that." Ariel's hiss reminded Kyanna of a National Geographic soundtrack on pythons.
"I understand you're new to Sweet Grove. You were a cheerleader at Liberty. Correct?"
Ariel's chin lowered, but she didn't drop her malevolent gaze.
"Maybe you hoped to try out for the squad here."
"I wouldn't cheer with those b—"
Kyanna raised a hand to cut off the expected profanity. Her jaw ached from gritting her teeth. The girl's mother died before her father moved them from Oklahoma to Texas. During her freshman year, she'd skipped school, picked fights, and broke up couples. Mr. Stryker probably moved to Sweet Grove hoping to give her a fresh start, but it didn't appear that Ariel planned to take advantage of her father’s sacrifice. In fact, the graffiti indicated escalating behavior.
"Miss Stryker, what consequences would be fair for someone who called you these names?"
"How do you know I haven't been called worse?"
"Have you?"
The teen shrugged and slouched further into the straight-backed chair.
Kyanna’s heart softened at the misery she glimpsed before the girl’s angry eyes focused on the floor.
"You'll work with Mr. Culvert after school to remove the ink from the bathroom wall." Kyanna tapped her fingernails on the photo of the slur. "The usual penalty is one day of in-school suspension, however—"
Ariel huffed. Kyanna pressed her lips together, waiting for the girl to voice her objections. She swallowed a sigh when the girl re-crossed her arms and scowled.
"However,” she continued, “as this is the second instance of bullying, I'm going to recommend we double the sentence."
"Two days?"
Kyanna nodded.
"Whatever. No big deal."
Kyanna doubted Ariel’s father would feel the same way. She slid a sheet of notebook paper and an ink pen across the table and pulled back the photos.
"Write a note telling your father the story behind the graffiti. That's the first thing he'll see when he comes this afternoon."
Ariel glanced at the paper but clenched her arms instead of reaching for the pen.
"If you choose not to write anything, he won't hear your side of the story until after I've showed him the report."
Ariel swallowed hard. Emotion flitted across her sharp features, but in the end, she pressed her mouth in a straight line. "It doesn't matter what I say."
Kyanna's heart dipped toward her stomach. She hated to see abandonment and desperation on such a young girl's face. When she’d spoken to Roth Stryker on the phone, he’d sounded tired and frustrated. Most likely, he had no idea how to deal with female drama. Even homes with both parents could flounder when a teenager decided to rebel against the status quo.
Lord, help me root out the cause of this girl's anger, so I can offer solutions to her father.
"I’ll leave you alone for a few minutes." Kyanna nodded toward the paper. “Don’t think of it as another stupid school assignment, but as an opportunity to honestly talk to your father.”
The thin shoulders raised and lowered. Kyanna strode toward her office door.
"I’ll wait for you out here."
Kyanna leaned on the wall beside the door, listening for sounds of pen on paper. After a few silent minutes, a chair scraped across the floor.
Ariel emerged from the office. "Done."
Kyanna motioned toward the reception area and followed a few steps behind Ariel. The baggy sweatshirt, nearly to the knees, covered her skintight black jeans and concealed the sheer, strappy camisole the girl paraded through school before the first class of the day. Another topic to address with Mr. Stryker.
After handing Ariel’s paperwork to the detention monitor, Kyanna watched the girl slump into one of the cubicles facing the wall. Kyanna scanned the rest—only half of them were filled—where most students had books and paper, apparently working on assignments.
Ariel snuck a smart phone out of the sweatshirt pocket. Kyanna strolled over and placed her hand beside the girl's shoulder. The teen flinched away and glared up at the principal.
"I'm gonna read a book."
"Title? I'll have the library deliver a copy." She waggled her fingers, holding the hostile glare without blinking.
"Forget it." The phone slapped Kyanna’s palm before Ariel twisted forward and slammed her arms on the desktop.
Kyanna backed away. Ariel's shoulders slumped, and her head dropped onto her crossed arms.
Defeated? Repentant?
Only time would tell. Kyanna nodded to the staff member and returned to her office. A few other files needed her attention before she was ready to meet Mr. Roth Stryker.
As much as she looked forward to learning his thoughts on Ariel’s bullying, she was certain he wasn’t looking forward to meeting her. Not even a little.
4
Roth stared at the high school. His inability to parent led him straight to the principal’s office. After taking a deep breath, he shuffled his laptop case into the back seat and locked the door on his sedan—another concession he’d made for the move. He missed his Jeep. But he had a college savings account to fund, and commuting in an SUV was impractical.
“This wouldn’t be happening if you were here.” His words directed to Muriel were a mere whisper.
No longer did the thought of her choke him. For the first couple years, every memory made him flounder as if drowning.
His long strides carried him past a few students hanging around benches lining a walkway. The left-hand door was propped open, and he marched in, steeling himself for bad news.
Inside the office, Ariel slouched on a seat in front of the reception counter. She glanced up and looked away when she saw him. His heart slowed. His daughter needed him to be a better father than this.
“Mr. Stryker?” The older woman behind the desk stood when she addressed him.
He nodded, and the secretary led him down a short hallway. His daughter was stuck with him for the weekend—they would talk then.
As he followed the secretary into an office, an attractive blonde unfolded herself from behind a desk. Arched eyebrows framed silvery-blue eyes above pert, peachy lips. Heat flooded his neck, and he reached for his collar that had tightened like a noose.
After she thanked the secretary, the curvaceous woman rounded the desk. She gestured toward a round table and three chairs on the opposite side of the doorway.
“Kyanna Patchett. Nice to meet you, Mr. Stryker.”
His head buzzed. She extended her French-manicured hand toward him.
When his fingertips touched her palm, a shock of awareness flared up his arm. He nearly jerked away, and her eyebrows rose. His palms started to sweat, and he released the shake after a nanosecond of contact—too early.
With wooden steps, he preceded her to the table. A swirl of apples and cinnamon, sweeter than pie, chased him across the office. After he sat, he noticed the file on the tabletop.
“I’m sure you’re a busy man, and it is Friday.” Her lips parted to show straight white teeth.
In his world, Friday was no different than any other day of the week, but his lips automatically tilted upward.
She flipped open the folder and slid a photograph and an artistic rendering of Ariel’s name toward him. His eyebrows shot to his hairline when he read the largest word in the first photo.
“You said you hadn’t seen the earlier bullying report.” Her feminine hands settled a neatly filled-out form on top of the pictures.
He scanned the document. Ariel had called two cheerleaders whores and made a derogatory comment about their breasts. Good Lord! Where had she learned such malice? He glanced at the stylized word she’d penned on a wall.
Heat flushed into his cheeks at the sexual nature o
f the comment.
“She never uses words like this at home. They’re…shocking.”
A kind smile creased the principal’s face. Their gazes met, and his heart lurched against his chest. What’s wrong with me? He interacted with pretty women every day and never reacted like this.
“I understand your wife passed away, and I have sympathy for your situation.”
Roth stiffened. He didn’t want her pity.
“Teenagers can be difficult in the best of times. Is she still angry about her mother’s death? Or maybe the move from Rosewood?”
He leaned back. The chair gouged into his shoulder blades, obviously designed for someone under six feet tall.
“She wasn’t happy to move here, but I wanted to get her away from the crowd she’d fallen in with.” He rapped his fingers on the tabletop. “She spent most of the summer in Tulsa with her grandparents, so she didn’t have time to make new friends before school started.”
Muriel’s parents always wanted more time with Ariel, spoiling her with new clothes and tech toys.
“She seems to have fallen in with a rough group here, too.”
His jaw tightened.
“A junior named Arthur Marones leads a group of black-clad boys and girls who like to spread their artistic work around town. They haven’t been charged with vandalism, but it’s common knowledge that they like to paint graffiti wherever they can.”
“And you think that’s why she drew this?” His lip curled as he touched the photo of the foul word.
The principal nodded. Shoulder-length hair caressed her jawbone, drawing his attention to her mouth. When his lips tingled, he snapped his gaze to the window behind her.
“I gave Ariel a chance to write a letter explaining her side of the story—”
“There’s no excusing this sort of language,” he interrupted.
Their gazes clashed. Her blue-gray eyes searched for something, and Roth tried not to squirm under the scrutiny while his heart tried to burst out of his chest. She licked her lips, and heat flooded through him. He glanced away.
“I don’t know if you’re a church-going man, Mr. Stryker.”
“Roth.” He met her gaze. “Why do you ask?”
She nodded and stared at the table. When she looked up again, her jaw was set. “I hesitate to suggest this to everyone, but there’s a large, active youth group at First Street Church. They could provide the right sort of influence for Ariel.”
He frowned. Guilt flared in his stomach. He should have been taking Ariel to church all along, but Sundays had become the day they slept late and cooked brunch together.
“We haven’t attended since moving here.” That was all the admission he cared to make.
“I moved from Washington this summer, so I understand how difficult it can be to start attending a new church. The pastor preaches life-applicable sermons, and everyone is friendly.”
“You go to this church?” His stomach lurched upward.
She bobbed her head, but her expression sobered. “Another thing…”
Roth stiffened his shoulders. There was something worse than the swear words?
“Even though it’s ninety degrees out, she’s wearing the hoodie because she showed up this morning wearing an inappropriate top.”
What?
He tried to recall what she’d been wearing, but she always seemed to have that ridiculous sweatshirt on. There were inappropriate clothes in her closet? He paid little attention to them since her grandmother loved to take her shopping. She wore T-shirts and jeans or shorts and tank tops at home, but nothing that revealed too much skin.
“If you could talk with her about following the handbook guidelines, we’d be much obliged.” She pointed to a pamphlet with a short-horned bull on the cover.
The handbook? Hadn’t he seen that when he registered Ariel?
She slid a phone across the table to him. It was Ariel’s. More trouble?
“She isn’t allowed to have the phone in detention.”
His fingers brushed hers when he took the device, and sparks flew up his arm. Their eyes locked before she tucked her hands in her lap.
“I’m sure she owns something school-appropriate that she’d rather wear than shirts with Sweet Grove Shorthorns emblazoned across the chest.”
He nodded mutely.
“She’ll spend Monday in detention. She’s already helped the janitor scrub her artwork from the bathroom stall.”
He swallowed hard. “Sounds reasonable.”
She dropped her chin and pressed her lips together. His mind spinning, he was sidetracked at the sight, although his mouth responded with a smile. And it felt foreign.
“Any other questions I can answer?”
Will you go out with me?
He swallowed and shook his head. Was it the melody of her voice? Or her exuding femininity? Why was he reacting so strongly to her?
She stood, and he followed suit.
“I’m sorry for starting your weekend with bad news.”
“It’s not your fault.”
She led the way to the door, opening it. He blanched, hearing his grandmother scolding, A gentleman always opens the door for a lady. His neck heated again.
“I hope your conversation with Ariel doesn’t ruin it altogether.”
He paced behind her, noticing the way her gently swaying hips sent her skirt swirling around her knees. When she stopped and turned, he jerked his gaze upward, but fire flamed through his chest and cheeks.
“Time to go,” he snapped at Ariel, trying to calm his racing heart and wayward thoughts.
“See you Monday, Ariel.” The principal’s voice was kind as she smiled at his daughter.
When Kyanna extended her hand again, his obligation to social graces made him take it. He braced himself for the shocking contact, but this time only a tiny tingle tickled his palm.
“It was nice meeting you, Mister …Roth. I hope you’ll consider my recommendation.”
He nodded to her, murmuring some pleasantry and opening the office door, motioning his daughter out.
He fled as if the building was on fire.
5
Since moving to Sweet Grove, Kyanna had perfect church attendance. In Washington, hiding in a large congregation served her career-focused years. The smaller body of worshipers at First Street Church fit her need for building friendships. Close to two hundred people bulged within the church’s walls. An overflowing children’s annex made the congregation relatively large for the community.
After Sunday’s morning service, Kyanna glimpsed the Strykers. Ariel’s tight denim skirt, barely reaching her knees, and see-through blouse over matching camisole was slightly more appropriate than her school attire. Roth wore a light blue dress shirt and striped tie. His closely trimmed beard with flecks of gray accentuated his chiseled features.
Warmth rushed into her stomach at the sight. Seeing them meant Roth valued her advice. Kyanna hoped the girl had been able to connect with some teens who would nurture her into their Christian community.
“The diner in thirty minutes?” Tabitha Olson, the pastor’s wife, shook Kyanna’s hand while offering the reminder.
“I’ve been looking forward to it all week.”
Pastor Olson nodded as she gave his hand a quick shake.
She pressed through a group of older ladies fanning themselves just inside the foyer. Beyond the church doors, sunlight scalded her. She squinted, nearly missing the step down into the parking lot. Her shoulder bumped a man, and he scowled at her.
“I’m sorry.”
Kyanna barely got the apology out when Norma Wells popped her head around the burly body.
“Miss Patchett. So nice to see you.”
The smile on her generous lips appeared painted like the sheen of coral lipstick. Her wide green eyes, which sparkled with friendly greeting in the high school reception area, glinted dully.
Kyanna must have bumped into the cheating husband. She tried to avoid office gossip, but vitriol aga
inst Herman Wells came from every corner. Norma was well loved, which meant anyone who hurt her was heartily despised.
“Herman, this is my new boss, Miss Kyanna Patchett.”
He glared at the hand Kyanna extended.
“Don’t teach ‘em how to walk up in Washin’ton?” His clammy hand gripped hers.
Kyanna resisted the urge to wipe her palm on her skirt. Instead, she looked beyond the man to meet her secretary’s gaze.
“Coming to the diner?”
“I’m not eatin’ out again.” Herman’s gaze roved over Kyanna’s figure, as if he’d just realized she was female.
Revulsion skittered along her spine, but she continued to ignore him.
“I can give you a lift.” Kyanna nodded toward the parked cars.
“There’s a roast and fixin’s in the crockpot, Herman.” The tone Norma used was demure, and her eyes never looked above the man’s chest.
“Barely have two days with me, and you’d rather run around town.”
“I hardly consider a Bible study with the pastor’s wife running around.” Kyanna employed her cool principal tone.
Herman stiffened, as if unaccustomed to being spoken to that way by a woman. He blinked his pale blue eyes and scowled at her.
“I’ll be home by 3:00 at the latest.” Norma squeezed his forearm.
He shook her hand off and harrumphed, striding toward a large pickup truck.
Good riddance. Kyanna ground her teeth together. An uncharitable thought on the church lawn?
Lord, forgive me, but that man… How could she finish her prayer without an insult?
Kyanna took Norma’s arm and steered her to the street. Her SUV was parked across from the church since she hoped to avoid the crush of after-service traffic.
“So that’s your husband.”
Norma nodded. “I know you’ve heard the rumors…”
Kyanna patted the woman’s arm as they crossed First Street.
“I can form my own opinions, Norma.” And they weren’t positive.
A few minutes later, Kyanna parked across the street from Mabel’s, leaving closer spots for older patrons. Norma’s heels clattered as they crossed to the diner.
Love's Late Arrival (Sweet Grove Romance Book 1; First Street Church #8) Page 2