“Daddy!” She bolted out of her chair and barreled toward him. “Why are you home early?”
“I asked Roddy to come in at four-thirty instead of seven. He said that just this once, he can handle inventory by himself.” Which meant that instead of sleeping in tomorrow, Mark would have to double-check the numbers in the morning, but it seemed like a fair trade-off in order to spend an extra evening reassuring his kid. “Is it okay with you that I’m here already?”
Nodding enthusiastically, she hugged him. But then she pulled away, biting her lower lip and glancing back toward Mrs. Norris. “We were gonna order a pizza for dinner.”
“Sounds good to me.” He extricated himself from his daughter enough to set his laptop case on the kitchen counter, then handed Mrs. Norris the envelope with her weekly paycheck. “Everything going okay here?”
“Vicki was no trouble whatsoever. We made cutout gelatin shapes for afternoon snack and read a chapter book together.” The elderly woman grinned, her cloudy blue eyes suddenly flashing with an impishness that made her look far younger. “But your phone’s been ringing a lot today. Took some mighty interesting messages for you.”
Mark groaned. Were people calling to complain about Vicki’s email…or to answer it? Surely the women of Braeden had more sense than that. Her letter had been a child’s act of desperate whimsy, not a legitimate solicitation in the Braeden Bugle personal ads!
After Mrs. Norris had wished them both a great weekend and headed home, Mark sat in one of the kitchen chairs, studying his daughter. “Any hard homework tonight?”
She shook her head. “Not on Fridays. Just a word search on tall tales and legends. But I can’t find Paul Bunyan.”
“Really? That’s strange. Isn’t he like ten feet tall?”
After looking at him blankly for a second, she giggled. “The word, Daddy. I can’t find the word Paul Bunyan.”
“Ah.” He set up his laptop as she continued her search, wondering if he still got credit for coming home early to be with his daughter even if he planned to work tonight.
A few minutes later, she triumphantly declared, “Finished!”
“Way to go.” He waited until she’d put the sheet back into her red Return to School folder. “Part of the reason I came home early is because we need to talk about some stuff, Vicki-bug.”
Her face fell. “Am I still in trouble?”
“Well, we need to work on that apology you promised Principal Morgan, and—”
“She’s pretty,” Vicki interrupted.
Mark frowned, not sure if was just a random observation—which he’d discovered were not uncommon from six-year-olds—or if she had a specific purpose for saying so. “Yeah, I guess she is.”
“I thought principals were scary. And mean, like in that cartoon Bobby watches. Our principal is a lot more better.”
They’d had the “cartoons are not accurate” discussion a year and a half ago when Vicki tried to color a tunnel on the wall with black marker. “I’m sure Ms. Morgan likes you and the other kids. Why else would she get a job at a school?”
“I like her, too. Did you like her, Daddy?”
Not particularly. But that was a knee-jerk reaction to her criticism, not the whole truth. The woman was undeniably attractive, but beyond that, he’d been touched by the empathy in her voice when she asked about his wife and he’d admired the way Shay had handled Vicki. She’d addressed the situation with the exact right combination of kind understanding and sternness.
“I thought that she had some good ideas,” he said neutrally. “For instance, she suggested that I find ways you and I can spend more time together. I need your help with that. I know you like ballet, but I can’t see Daddy in a tutu.”
She giggled, the noise so sweet and purely joyful that it warmed him inside.
“So what other activities do you like? Anything we could do together? You haven’t pulled out your bike in a long time. Maybe I could fix up mine and we could go for rides.”
Her smile faded as she squirmed in her seat. “You remember one time I fell down and cut my leg? I had my helmet on and pads but I still got hurt.”
Life was definitely like that sometimes—even when people took all the smart safety precautions, they could find themselves flat on the pavement with the wind knocked out of them, shocked by the pain they didn’t see coming. He remembered getting Jess’s diagnosis like it was yesterday. How could it possibly be so bleak when she was so damn young?
Mark swallowed. “I’m sorry you got hurt, but don’t you think you might want to try again someday?”
“Someday,” she said unenthusiastically, not meeting his gaze.
He started to tell her that the longer she put it off, the more difficult it would become to face her fears, but that reminded him uncomfortably of the lecture Cade had given him today about dating, so he changed the subject. “You know, your cousin Bobby is in science club and plays soccer after school. Are there any sports or clubs you want to join?”
“There was.” She frowned. “But not anymore. Valerie in my class was gonna be a Campside Girl. Her big sister told her it was real fun and Valerie and me wanted to join but there weren’t enough mommies.” She heaved a colossal sigh that spoke volumes about the ongoing injustice of her world. “If I had a mommy, maybe she coulda been a Campside leader.”
“You have a daddy,” he reminded her. “Is there a rule that says troop leaders have to be female?”
“I don’t know. I’m just a kid.”
“Well, I’ll check into it,” he promised her. “Maybe it’s not too late to put together a troop for the spring.” And even if it was, Vicki would see her father making an effort on her behalf. “Now, how about we work on your apology letter and order that pizza?”
“Can we eat it on TV trays and watch a DVD? Pleeease.”
If they put in one of her DVDs, he could keep her company in the living room while simultaneously doing a little research on his computer and working on his remarks for Thursday’s town council meeting. When guilt pinged him over working during their “quality time” together, he decided that while he was at his laptop, he’d also see if Mrs. Frost’s latest email was still in his inbox. It seemed as if the teacher sent out weekly requests for someone to come be the “mystery reader” or assist with a special in-class project.
Mark nodded at his daughter. “Dinner and a movie, you got it.”
She beamed in awed excitement, as if she were in the presence of a superhero. As he made plans to hang out with his best girl, he told himself this was a great way to spend a Friday night. He pushed aside the conversations he’d had today with Dee and Cade and denied the occasional pang that indicated something was missing from his life.
Chapter Four
It took a true friend to call at an ungodly hour on a Saturday morning and bully you into braving freezing temperatures, all in the name of your physical health. Shay had even tried arguing, “It can’t set us back that much to miss one workout.”
“Might I remind you,” Geneva said cheerfully, “that we promised not to let each other wiggle out of this? We set goals and a schedule and you were the one who said it was crucial to stick to it, make it a habit. It would be easy to rationalize skipping it once, and then once would become twice and—”
“I got it, I got it. I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Shay said.
Although Geneva’s house had a much smaller master bedroom, living room and kitchen than the newer one-and-a-half-story brick home Shay was renting, Geneva was the one with a finished basement, one section of which she’d converted into an exercise room.
When Shay had first come to Braeden to sign her rental agreement—with an option to buy, assuming she was named principal for the long term—she’d done a tour of the town to find the essentials: the grocery store, a decent place to buy shoes and a bookstore. That was how she’d met Geneva Daniels, proprietor of Book ’Em Daniels. Most bookshops these days had in-store coffee counters, but Geneva’s small coffee-s
erving bakery was Hawaiian themed. She specialized in macadamia cookies, pineapple upside-down muffins and Kona blend coffee. The two women had become immediate friends over a plate of Geneva’s coconut-crème tarts.
Of course, Geneva had noted that taste-testing her tropical desserts was taking a toll on her dress size and Shay admitted that she was not as in shape as she would prefer, either. Although scheduling time for fitness wasn’t always simple, when she was active she was more energetic and more mentally focused—both attributes she needed in her mission to impress the parents and faculty at Woodside. Her position as principal was only guaranteed through the end of the year, but if she did a good job, it would become hers permanently.
After she knocked on Geneva’s front door, a large bottle of water in her other hand, her friend greeted her with, “Aerobic warm-up followed by weight training, or high-intensity kickboxing?”
Shay slid free of her bulky winter jacket and hung it on the coatrack. “Maybe I should work out some latent aggression with kickboxing. That will probably make me a better dinner guest at my parents’ tomorrow. All I want is to hear how everyone’s doing and enjoy my mom’s lasagna without sitting through a critique of my life choices. Is that too much to ask?” At the thought of her father’s unintentional patronization and her mother fussing over her, Shay felt primed and ready for an hour of uppercuts and roundhouse kicks.
Geneva made a sympathetic noise. “Been there. As the only unmarried Daniels sibling—out of five, you understand—I was the main cause for parental despair. But then my older brother got divorced and my nephew in Chicago took up graffiti and suddenly I was off the hook.” She paused, looking sheepish. “Tell me I didn’t just sound happy that my brother’s marriage fell apart and my nephew is now tagging.”
Shay followed her friend downstairs, chuckling. “Well, you’re a bad person, we knew this.”
Geneva smirked over her shoulder. “It’s what makes me such a fun friend.”
“Which is why I love you in spite of your sadistic insistence that we exercise.”
When they got downstairs, Geneva admitted, “It might take me a minute to find the right workout. I have a bad habit of not always putting DVDs in the right cases when I’m done with them.”
While she waited, Shay began stretching and sent up a silent prayer that tomorrow’s dinner party would only include her immediate family. Her mother had ambushed her once last year by inviting the single son of some quilting club friend. And Shay had been in a particularly bad mood that night. She’d just found out that her fellow assistant principal at the middle school where she worked was being promoted because their principal was moving up to a job in the superintendent’s cabinet.
“We were equally qualified and I’ve been at that school longer than he has!” she’d complained to her mother while she put ice in all the glasses.
“Look at it from their perspective,” Pamela Morgan had said calmly. “You’re a relatively young female. It’s easier to replace a teacher on maternity leave than the principal! You remember when I was teaching at Grossman and our principal never came back because she decided to stay home with the baby? It caused—”
“I’m not having a baby in the near future.” Shay had smacked the plastic ice cube tray down on the counter. “I’m not even married!”
“Believe me, I know.” Her mother had lowered her voice to a whisper, cutting her gaze toward the dining room. “But you don’t have to be single forever. If you’d just give Bradley a chance…”
In the middle of a hamstring stretch, Shay found herself suddenly recalling Mark Hathaway. She felt a twinge of unexpected kinship with the man. Now that she stopped to think about it, they were in a similar boat, each being pressured by family who loved them to “remedy” their single status. I should just be happy that my mom doesn’t have access to the PTA mailing list.
“HEY, BOSS, YOU MIGHT WANT to come out here,” Roderick Mitchell said from the doorway of Mark’s cramped office on Saturday afternoon. “I, uh, could use your assistance.”
Mark glanced at the older man in surprise. Besides himself, Roderick Mitchell and Keesha Lewis were the store’s only full-time employees. Mark also employed several part-timers and seasonal help around the Christmas holidays and in the summer, although he’d fired one part-time clerk for being rude to customers and never replaced him. Roddy, now retired from the military, was basically the second-in-command, closing on the nights Mark didn’t. It was rare for the unflappable soldier to need help.
Mark knew that the other guy working today, Ed, was away for his lunch hour. “Please make my day and tell me we’re so swamped with customers that you can’t check them all out.”
“Um…there are about half a dozen people in the store. Female people,” Roderick added. “And most of them have asked if you’re here.”
Mark’s stomach lurched. “Are you kidding? Did Cade put you up to this?”
“No, sir. Although maybe he put the women up to it. Lord knows he has a way with the ladies.”
Recalling the odd way divorced Tara Butcher had giggled this morning when Mark had explained the differences between different brands of sleeping bags, he accepted the reality of the situation. “Actually, we have my daughter to thank for this.” With a resigned sigh, Mark accompanied Roddy onto the display floor.
As Roddy had estimated, there were only seven women—hardly enough to form a crowd. But it was notable that all the customers in the sporting goods store were female and that more than one of them seemed…overdressed for the occasion.
Lydia Fortnaut was the closest to him, and she immediately waved him over to where she stood by the fishing gear. “Yoo-hoo, Mark? I was hoping you could advise me on what works best at the lakes in this area. My sons used to fish with their father, before he ran off with his chiropractor’s receptionist, damn his cheating black heart, and I thought maybe I could take up fishing, that it would give us a way to relate. I’m sure you understand the trials of being a single parent.”
“Happy to help,” he said. “We have lots of great equipment for people just starting out, but to clarify, you do know that fishing is prohibited most places around here until at least March?”
“Yes, but basketball season is in full swing,” a brunette in a tight-fitting sweater interrupted. “And my Anthony…”
The twenty minutes passed in something of a blur as Mark fielded questions from three divorced moms, a woman who had nieces and nephews just his Vicki’s age, and one marathon runner who managed to work into the conversation that she’d never had children but wasn’t averse to being a mother one day.
“Wow,” Roddy said, once the store was empty again. He stood at the cash register looking shell-shocked. “What the hell was that? Not that I’m complaining. We just sold ankle supports, water bottles, an air pump, a camping lantern, sunglasses, fishing lures, a tackle box and two fifty-dollar rods. That Lydia Fortnaut must want you bad.”
Before Mark could explain what had precipitated the sudden rise in female clientele, Roddy snapped his fingers.
“We should institute a ladies’ night at the store! I can’t speak for Ed, but I’m willing to work in just a bow tie and jeans if that would help.”
“I did not need that mental image,” Mark complained.
“Hey, I may be knocking on fifty, but this body is in great shape. I haven’t lost my marine discipline.”
“Vicki desperately wants a mother,” Mark said.
“Understandable for a little girl. Hell, there were times when I was overseas, a grown man and an armed solider, and wanted my mama. What did she do, ask all her little friends to send any single moms your way?”
“No, she sent an email to most all the parents at her elementary school saying that I was in need of a Valentine.” Mark narrowed his eyes. “You laugh, you’re fired.”
“Yes, sir.” Then Roddy bent down, placing his head on his folded arms, and laughed so hard the entire counter shook.
NEED MORE COFFEE. IT WAS a gr
ay Monday morning, and although Shay had made it to work early, her brain seemed to have slept in and stayed home. She’d twice screwed up the prerecorded message that was supposed to go out through the school’s automated phone system, reminding parents of third through fifth graders about the significance of the upcoming standardized testing. Heck with it. She had to leave the building soon anyway for a district meeting about a change this spring in how transfer requests were handled. Maybe she should go now, stop for an espresso on the way and try recording her “important message from your principal” when she returned.
Just as she’d reached in the lower desk drawer for her purse, her phone buzzed.
“Ms. Morgan? Are you available to see Victoria Hathaway? She says she’s supposed to bring you something.”
Vicki’s note of apology. Shay had completely forgotten about it, although she’d been understandably distracted since her brother’s unexpected announcement last night. Bastien had informed his family that he not only had a girlfriend—someone he’d met when she was visiting a friend in the hospital—he was planning to propose soon. Propose!
“Ms. Morgan?” The static-tinged connection of the aged intercom did nothing to mask the impatience in Roberta’s voice.
Right, Vicki Hathaway. “Send her in.” Shay admonished herself to focus but she couldn’t help once again reliving her brother’s startling declaration, as she had several times throughout her sleepless night.
“I didn’t want to tell you about her at first because I wasn’t sure how serious we were. Then I was half-convinced something might go wrong with our relationship, as if it were too good to be true.” Perpetually confident Bastien had actually sounded nervous. “But it’s been perfect. She’s perfect. Not in the sense that she has no flaws—I’m not an idiot—but in the sense that she’s a perfect match for me. I would have brought her with me tonight except that she’s at a user meeting in Vegas, but she can’t wait to meet all of you.”
His Valentine Surprise Page 5