Wind Over Marshdale

by Tracy Krauss

  The difference was, she felt a thrill of attraction upon seeing the father again. It must have been because it had been a really long time since she’d had any sex. A really long time. Since Ronald, actually. He’d burned her so badly she’d almost sworn off the opposite sex altogether. But now…

  She shook her head. She was a pathetic mess. Imagine getting all hot and bothered after one glance from a good-looking man. For all she knew, he could be off limits anyway.

  “Welcome to kindergarten,” she said brightly, hoping her face wasn’t as flushed as she suspected it might be. Thank goodness he couldn’t read minds.

  “Hi,” Thomas stuck out his hand. “Thomas Lone Wolf. I think I saw you in the restaurant yesterday.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Rachel smiled. She extracted her hand from his firm grasp and focused on the child instead of his intense, nearly black eyes. “And you must be Whisper.”

  “How did you know?” the child responded, wide eyed.

  “It’s my job to know,” Rachel winked. “Whisper is a really pretty name. It sounds like poetry.”

  The little girl beamed and looked up at her daddy, swinging their clasped hands in a wide arc.

  “My name is Miss Bosworth,” Rachel continued, focusing on the child again. “Now, shall we get you settled?”

  “What time is school out today?” Thomas asked.

  “The usual, I’m afraid,” Rachel explained. “With many of the students riding the bus home, there is no such thing as early dismissal, I’m told. Even on the first day.”

  Thomas nodded. “You’re new here, then, too?”

  “Yes. My first official day.”

  “Well, good luck.” He bent down on one knee to address his daughter. “Love you, Princess. Be good. Remember whose daughter you are.”

  “I’m a daughter of the King!” she beamed. Her lips smacked resoundingly as they connected with her father’s forehead. “Love you, too, Daddy!” She turned to Rachel. “Where do I put my stuff?”

  “Can you read your name?” Rachel asked. Whisper nodded. “Then you should be able to find your own cubby right over there. I’ll be with you in just a minute.” The adults watched as Whisper scampered in the direction of the storage units.

  Thomas stood. “My son, Ryder, will be by after school to pick her up just in case I can’t make it.”

  “Fine,” Rachel nodded. Disappointment filled her chest. How silly. A man like him would probably be attached anyway. “Your wife can’t make it?” she asked, smiling in what she hoped looked like a casual fashion.

  “I’m afraid not,” Thomas replied. “She passed away two years ago.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Rachel murmured, suddenly feeling very foolish. The look in his eyes just now was tragic and here she was wondering—hoping—that he was available. She was a terrible person.

  “Well, I suppose I better get going,” Thomas offered. “Nice meeting you.”

  “Likewise,” Rachel nodded, not daring to look into his dark eyes for fear he would see into her equally dark soul. The sooner she focused on her students, the better.

  ****

  The day flew by. There were names to learn, disputes to referee, and reassurances to be made. A few parents stayed for the morning, unwilling to sever the apron strings completely, but in general, by the afternoon they had settled into a semblance of routine. When the 3:30 bell rang, Rachel’s gaggle of tired but happy little people were herded off to their waiting parents, having survived their first day of school.

  The bell also brought a momentary flutter of anticipation. What if she saw Whisper’s father again? No such luck. Whisper’s older brother Ryder came to pick her up only moments after the bell.

  Rachel began gathering some supplies for the next day when she noticed a lone little figure hovering near the door. “Lisa?”

  The little blonde nodded.

  “Oh right!” Rachel exclaimed. “Your uncle is coming to pick you up.”

  “What if he forgot?” Lisa asked, worry in her voice.

  “I’m sure he’ll be along any minute. It’s only a few minutes past the bell. Why don't you do a puzzle or color while you wait?” she suggested. Lisa nodded and set her loaded backpack down by the door before skipping off to the coloring center.

  A few minutes later, Rachel heard steps in the hall. Assuming it would be Lisa's uncle, she looked up from her computer with a friendly smile, only to be greeted by Steve Friest.

  “Oh hello, Steve,” she said with a hint of annoyance, letting the smile slip from her face.

  “Work, work, work!” Steve said, bending over her shoulder to peer at the screen.

  “Do you mind? I've got a few things to finish up here,” Rachel said icily.

  “Already? It's only the first day! You need to lighten up. How about dinner?” Steve persisted. "And I'll only buy the headache excuse once."

  Behind them, someone cleared his throat. “Excuse me, I hope I'm not interrupting, but I'm here to pick up my niece.”

  Rachel swung around in surprise, almost bumping into Steve. She groaned inwardly, feeling a telltale flush of heat rising to her cheeks. The man standing in the doorway was not the middle-aged uncle she had been expecting. Instead, here was a much younger, very handsome, vitally good looking man. Blast that Steve Friest!

  “You’re Lisa's uncle?” she fumbled.

  “Last time I checked,” the new man shrugged, an easy smile playing on his lips.

  “Uncle Con!” Lisa squealed, taking a running jump into the rugged man’s arms. “You’re late!”

  “Sorry, sweetie. I’m Con McKinley, by the way,” he said over the top of Lisa’s head. Con McKinley was about six feet tall, with broad shoulders and muscled forearms that showed beneath the rolled up sleeves of his denim shirt. He didn't have Steve's bulk, but he was definitely well proportioned with a lean hardness about his body, which was evident right down to the fit of his jeans.

  “Pleased to meet you.” Rachel felt the color suffusing her face and wished she could will it away. She stuck her hand out instead, making a desperate attempt to regain her composure. “I'm Rachel Bosworth.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” he repeated, taking the proffered hand firmly in his own free one. His hand felt rough and callused and hard.

  It looked like he had been working outside, as his boots and the tan colored cowboy hat he wore had a thin layer of dust on them. He had brown hair that curled past the collar of his shirt. His eyes were a clear blue and he was presently looking into Rachel's own darker blue ones.

  Rachel’s gaze darted to the side, eyelashes fluttering. She felt like a flustered schoolgirl, not a trained professional. What on earth was going on? Her hormones were obviously completely out of whack. If she kept having this reaction to every good looking man that crossed her path, she’d be throwing herself at one of them very soon. Out of breath, she turned toward her desk only to bump headlong into Steve's chest.

  "Oh! Excuse me.” A new wave of heat flooded over her body. She wished she could melt right into the floor.

  “Steady!” Steve rested one of his great hands on her shoulder.

  Rachel jerked away from the offending contact and glanced at Con McKinley to see if he had noticed it. To her mortification he wore an amused smile. “Well, I suppose I'd better get Mona here home and allow you two to get back to business.”

  “Business? Oh, we weren't—I mean—you just happened to…” Rachel stumbled, then stopped. “Mona?”

  “Just our secret, right Mona?” Con said to his niece as he helped her adjust the straps on her backpack. He knelt down to her eye level. “There's just something about that smile,” he teased and winked at the little girl. She smiled broadly and nodded her head. He took her small hand in his as he stood to his feet. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around, Miss Bosworth,” he said as he touched the brim of his hat. “Marshdale’s not that big. Friest,” he said, nodding in the other man's direction.

  “Con,” Steve acknowledged. He was eyeing
Conrad McKinley in a much less friendly manner. Once the McKinley pair had left the room, he turned back to Rachel. “So how about it?” he asked, as if nothing else had transpired.

  “What?” Rachel asked absently.

  “Dinner,” Steve said.

  Renewed annoyance flooded over her body. “Look, Steve, I'm really not interested right now, okay?”

  “Come on, you have to eat sometime, right?” There was silence for a moment. “Well, am I right?” Steve persisted.

  Rachel let out a deep sigh. “No. I said no, and I meant no. Understand?”

  Steve frowned, allowing a pout to sprout on his lips. “I wonder. If McKinley had asked, would you go?”

  “What?” Rachel sputtered.

  “Well?”

  “I'm really sorry, but I'm leaving now,” she clipped as she stuffed a few books and papers into her book bag. “And, no, thanks. I don't need anyone to carry my bag for me.” She turned abruptly on her heel and waited at the door for Steve to leave her classroom. For a moment she thought he was going to be stubborn and just stand there, but then he stalked toward the open door with a grim set to his mouth.

  Rachel locked the door and turned to leave. Once again she almost bumped straight into Steve's burly chest.

  “Maybe some other time, then,” Steve said.

  “Pardon?”

  “Dinner. Some other time,” Steve repeated.

  Rachel couldn't believe the man's tenacity. She hesitated for a moment then blew out a breath of air. “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “Nope. I don’t take no for an answer.”

  “Listen. Tonight isn’t a good night. Maybe some other time.” She winced at what she knew was a lie, hoping it would be enough for him to leave her alone. She would never go out to dinner with Steve Friest. Not when there were other attractive men around.

  Steve grinned, his demeanor changing abruptly to that of a little boy who had just gotten his way. “Good. See you tomorrow, then,” he said. He turned and strode down the hallway.

  Not if she could help it.

  ****

  Conrad McKinley drove down the gravel road toward his farm, his small niece Lisa strapped in beside him in his pickup. A cloud of dust rose out from behind the vehicle as he maneuvered the truck over the familiar, hilly road.

  “So how was your first day?” Con asked, eyeing her small frame with a twinkle in his eye.

  “It was fun,” Lisa exclaimed.

  “Yeah? Tell me about it,” Con urged.

  It didn’t take much. Lisa went into a play by play account of her first day in kindergarten.

  “Your teacher seems nice,” Con commented.

  “Yes. She’s the best-est,” Lisa agreed with a nod.

  “The best-est, eh?” Con repeated and chuckled. “She’s kind of pretty, too, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Lisa nodded her head firmly up and down. “Uncle Con?”

  “Yes, what is it, my little Mona Lisa?” Con replied.

  “Can I come over to your house and watch a movie?”

  “Sure. Which one? A ‘Veggie Tale’?” he suggested.

  She nodded again in the affirmative.

  “I won’t be able to watch it with you,” Con cautioned. “I’ll be out in the yard doing a little fixing on a piece of the machinery.”

  “Can’t Shelley do it?” Lisa asked, referring to their hired man, Bill Shelley.

  “Sorry, babe,” Con shook his head. “Shelley’s got his own work to take care of.”

  There was silence for a few minutes. Lisa spoke up again. “Uncle Con?”

  “Yes, Pumpkin?”

  “Do you have any pop and chips?”

  He smiled widely. “Sure. I think I just might have some stashed away somewhere, just waiting for your next visit.”

  Lisa smiled and swung her feet happily.

  Chapter Five

  Mayor Gesler glanced up briefly as a sharp rap sounded on the door to his office. “Come on in,” he called, his eyes reverting back to the papers in his hands.

  “Excuse me, Mayor Gesler, but I’ve heard a very disturbing rumor and I knew I needed to hear it directly from your own mouth.”

  “Marni,” he greeted, rising slightly from his chair. “Have a seat, won’t you?”

  “I prefer to stand, thank you,” the woman said, her eyes riveted to where the mayor hovered in a half standing position behind his desk. “I heard you were considering opening a center for Indians here in Marshdale—a very disturbing rumor, I might add—without even discussing it with the Heritage Committee. I rushed right over.”

  Mayor Gesler stood to his full height as he cleared his throat into a clenched fist. “Um, Miss Hyde, may I introduce you to Mr. Lone Wolf?” He gestured to where Thomas sat in one of the chairs opposite.

  The woman swung to the right, her eyes wide.

  “Miss Hyde,” Thomas extended a hand as he stood. She surveyed his outstretched hand for a moment before inhaling with deliberateness, her nostrils flaring. She turned back to the Mayor, straightening herself with dignity on the exhale.

  “This is Marni Hyde, chair of our Heritage Committee,” Mayor Gesler rushed to fill the awkwardness that now permeated the small office. “Marni, this is the person in charge of the proposal you’ve been hearing about. Perhaps this is the perfect opportunity to hear it from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.”

  Marni Hyde’s eyes narrowed. “What was his name again?” she asked the mayor, as if Thomas wasn’t even in the room.

  Thomas could feel his ire rising, but he forced himself to keep it in check. “Thomas Lone Wolf,” he supplied before the mayor could answer. The last thing he needed was another racist snob hiding in the guise of a community minded citizen. Miss Marni Hyde had puggish features and frizzy red hair which was somewhat constrained in a top knot on her head. Her clothing was decidedly conservative. Old fashioned even. A snort of disdain escaped her at the sound of his name.

  “Nothing has been decided for sure,” Mayor Gesler flustered. “Nothing.”

  “This—this Indian Center,” Marni directed at Thomas, surveying all six foot four of him with a haughty gaze. “What business do you people have coming here? You have your own land, not to mention all the other handouts. We’ve worked hard for what we have here and we’re not about to start handing it over just because we get a bit of pressure from the government.”

  “Now Marni—a” Mayor Gesler tried to interject again.

  “Frank, I won’t be silenced just because you want to appear politically correct!” she cut him off. “Now, you,” she pointed at Thomas. “What do you have to say for yourself? What does some Indian Center have to do with the people of Marshdale?”

  Thomas’s jaw was working in an attempt to remain in control. He took a deep, searing breath. “You’re a member of the Heritage Committee?” he asked with forced congeniality. It wasn’t easy.

  “Yes, I most certainly am. The chairperson, in fact.” She tilted her head proudly.

  “May I point out to you then, that the history of this area goes far beyond the first homestead or the first sod that was turned? What we have discovered at Old Man’s Lake is considered one of the richest sites for Early Plains Cree culture to date—settled long before the first Caucasian set foot on the East Coast, let alone moved inland along the rivers in search of furs. The impact from this could be nothing less than a cultural renaissance.”

  “A cultural renaissance?” Marni scoffed. “A few bones and arrowheads hardly constitute a cultural renaissance, now, do they?”

  Thomas fumed. This time he didn’t trust himself to speak. What did this woman know about anything? And she was the chairperson of the Heritage Committee?

  “Good day, Mayor. I’ll be e-mailing everyone on my list,” Marni Hyde warned, turning on her heel.

  “Well, there you have it,” Gesler laughed nervously after Marni clicked the door shut. “Your first taste of the Heritage Committee. Now maybe you have an idea of what we’re up agai
nst.” He sank down into his chair.

  “This project will go ahead,” Thomas stated. “I’ll make sure of it. We’ve got the green light from every other level of government—federal, provincial, indigenous.”

  “Of course, of course,” Gesler nodded. “The rest of the Committee is much more reasonable. As long as they feel we’ve consulted them, you understand. Keep everyone happy.”

  “Consultation is fine, but in the end, who’s really running this town?” Thomas captured the other man with his eyes and wouldn’t let go.

  Gesler’s eyes narrowed. “Keep in mind I do make the final decisions around here. I’ll do what I think is best. For everyone. Don’t you worry about that.”

  Thomas frowned. Maybe he’d gone too far with his last comment. No matter. It had been said. The sting of Miss Hyde’s racial slurs brought up far too much baggage that he thought had been laid to rest. He could see things were not going to run as smoothly as he’d hoped.

  ****

  Con McKinley looked across the desk at his friend. Pastor Todd Bryant was a man about the same age as himself. They had a lot of other things in common, too. They both liked sports, watching and playing, and had a burden for the youth of the community. Well, it appeared that way, anyway. Sometimes, Con wondered if Todd just did it out of a sense of obligation. He quickly put the thought out of his mind. Being a pastor wasn’t easy, and Todd needed all the support he could get. Especially around Marshdale.

  Marshdale Community Church had been having some trouble keeping a pastor in the last few years. It seemed they only lasted a few months before someone in the congregation found fault or the minister himself decided God was “leading him elsewhere.” Todd Bryant seemed more content than most to allow the board and the membership to navigate. He just stood at the wheel and followed directions.

  Not that he was a wimp, either. It was just that he seemed happy to keep everyone smiling and maintain the status quo. For the most part, Con hadn’t thought it was a negative thing. The church needed some stability and keeping a pastor for any length of time was one way of doing it. But sometimes he wondered if Todd was a bit too ready to agree with everything the board suggested.