by Diana Palmer
“Just for that, you’ll get liver and onions for supper!” he huffed.
“I’ll fire you!”
“I’ll quit!”
“Don’t mind them,” Janey told Karina, who looked puzzled at the argument. “They do that all the time.”
“Not all the time,” Micah protested. “I remember a day last month when we got along for a whole day.”
“Because I went hunting and you had to get Doris over here to cook for you, that’s why,” Burt said. “It was a great day. I didn’t get yelled at once!”
Micah glared at him.
Burt just grinned and went back to the kitchen.
* * *
DIETRICH SLEPT IN a huge dog bed right beside Janey’s bed, on the floor. It was amusing to watch him try to fit his huge body into the memory foam oval with its soft cover.
“He really is big,” Karina commented, as she waited for Janey to get her skating bag. She smiled. “How much does he weigh, do you know?”
“Ninety-five pounds,” Janey said, laughing. “He could sleep at the foot of the bed, but he won’t. He’s scared of heights, aren’t you, boy?” she asked.
The big dog lifted his head, blinked sleepily and lay right back down and closed his eyes.
“Sleepyhead,” Janey teased, rubbing his head. “He likes to sleep late.”
“He’s so sweet,” Karina said.
“I think so, too,” came the soft reply.
“I guess we’d better get going,” Karina said. “Daddy isn’t mean,” Janey blurted out, lowering her voice. “He’s sort of short with people sometimes. But he isn’t mean.”
“I never thought he was,” Karina lied.
“So you have to stay,” the child said gently. “Really. Just think, I might grow up to be a world class skater and you could say you taught me.” She smiled broadly and wiggled her eyebrows.
Karina laughed heartily. “You character, you,” she teased. “Okay. I’ll tough it out.”
“Thanks.”
Karina already had her skating bag. She waited for Janey to remind Burt to walk Dietrich before they went to the rink.
* * *
JANEY WAS MAKING good progress. Even the rink’s owner, Mrs. Meyer, encouraged her.
“I’ve seen champions come and go,” she told the child. She smiled. “You have the makings of one. You’re starting a little late, but you catch on to new things quickly and you have enthusiasm. You’ll do fine.”
Janey flushed with pleasure. “Thanks,” she said. “I love skating so much.” She paused, frowned. “I’m just nine. That’s late? To start skating, I mean?”
“It is,” the owner replied gently. “Most champions start at the age of two or three.”
“Wow,” Janey said. “I had no idea.”
“Just take it slow at first,” the older woman said. “Don’t try to rush it. If you practice the basics, and perfect them, you’ll have an edge over other skaters your age.”
Janey grinned. “Thanks!”
“Besides that,” she added, with an amused look at Karina, “you’ve got a great teacher.”
“I know that! She’s wonderful. And she never yells,” Janey added heavily.
“I’ve seen my share of trainers who yelled,” came the reply. “Sometimes it drives sensitive skaters right out of competition.”
“I don’t like people who yell,” Janey said. She made a face. “My dad’s marrying somebody who does.” She looked up at her companions with a whimsical expression. “I have to grow up really fast so I can leave home.” She grinned.
They laughed with her.
* * *
KARINA WAS WORRIED about Janey. She came home from school a few days later with a morose expression and she was almost in tears.
“What’s wrong?” Karina asked softly.
A single tear worked out of Janey’s eye, down her flushed cheek. “It’s nothing...”
Karina went down on her knees and caught the child close, hugging her, rocking her. She remembered when she was nine and classmates had made her life miserable because she didn’t mix well.
“You’ll grow up and this will only be a bad memory, tucked away out of sight,” Karina whispered softly. “Some people are cruel because they’re really mean. Others are cruel because all they know is cruelty. They learn it at home.”
Janey drew back, her eyes red, her cheeks wet. She rested her hands on Karina’s shoulders. “Sally Miller said that I was stupid and backward because I don’t hang around with boys, like she does.”
Karina’s eyebrows arched. “What? Hang around with boys at your age?” she exclaimed.
Janey drew in a shaky breath. “Sally’s eleven,” she said. “She goes off with boys and skips class. She...does things with them. Everybody knows. She said that I was dumb because I didn’t do it.”
Karina smoothed back Janey’s hair. “I never did those things with boys when I was your age,” she said, smiling. “In fact, I’ve never done those things,” she whispered, wary of Burt overhearing her.
“You haven’t?” Janey asked. “Not ever?”
“Not ever. I don’t go with the crowd even now.” She sighed. “I’m something of a misfit. I lived on the ice when I wasn’t in school. It gave me an escape. I could skate and all my worries just vanished, like smoke in fog.”
“Wow.” Janey was impressed, and it showed. “They say that good girls don’t make history.”
“Joan of Arc made history,” she replied softly. “She was a teenager, a country girl with no knowledge of politics or armies. She had a vision that led her to seek out the dauphin in France. He had one of his subordinates pretend to be him when Joan walked in, because he thought she was a fraud. She went right to the dauphin and told him that she’d had a vision, that she was to lead his armies in battle, that she would regain France for him and put the crown on his head.”
Janey smiled. “Really?”
Karina nodded. “She actually led armies into battle, armed with nothing except her faith and a flag. She was never bothered by the soldiers, all men, and they followed her anywhere she led. She defeated the English, put the crown on the dauphin’s head. And then she was captured by the English, declared a heretic and burned at the stake. It was a sad end for such an amazing person. She even foresaw that she would be killed. But centuries later, everybody knows her name.” She smiled. “So no matter how bad things get at school, at least they can’t burn you at the stake. Right?”
Janey laughed. She hugged Karina, who hugged her back.
“Thanks,” the child said, drawing back. “There’s not much hugging around here,” she explained with a flushed face.
That wasn’t surprising to Karina, who didn’t see her taciturn boss as a nurturing person at all.
A door slammed. “What the hell are you doing sitting on the floor?” Micah demanded curtly. “And don’t tell me there are no chairs,” he added, indicating them in both the dining room, where she was, and the living room beyond.
Karina thought quickly. “Gravity,” she said. She nodded. “That’s it. Gravity. Pulled me right down here.”
He was silent for a minute, then he threw back his head and roared. “Well, whatever else you are, you’re inventive, I’ll give you that.”
He looked past her at Janey, whose eyes were still red. The smile vanished, replaced by an angry frown. “All right, what happened?” he asked his daughter.
She sighed. “Other kids.”
“Something a little more specific, please.”
“We have this girl in our class, she’s eleven.” She hesitated to tell him, embarrassed.
“Go on,” he said, his voice dropping softly.
“She...does things with boys. She said I was stupid because I didn’t.”
“She does things with boys at school?” he exclaimed.
His eyes narrowed. “What’s this progressive child’s name?”
She hesitated, but he looked as if he’d stand there all night until she gave it to him. “Her name’s Sally Miller,” she said reluctantly.
“You okay now?” he asked, having added up Janey’s wet face and Karina on her knees. The girl had been comforting Janey. He knew it without asking.
“I’m fine, Dad,” Janey replied. “Honest.”
He glanced at Karina. “Gravity letting up now?” he asked her.
She got to her feet quickly. “Yes, sir.”
It bothered him that she was that formal with him. He’d been aggressive with her when she’d been concerned for him in the night. He was sorry about it. She had a quality of compassion that was so rare as to be almost nonexistent in his life. Lindy had none. His late wife had been the same. He wondered why he’d spent so much time with women who were hard as nails. But this wasn’t the time to ponder it.
“Aren’t you two due at the rink?” he asked, glancing at his watch.
“Overdue, I think,” Karina said softly. She smiled at Janey. “Ready to go?”
“Yes! Let me get my skating bag.”
She ran off.
Micah studied Karina closely. She had the same look of innocence that a child had. It was almost blatant. His eyes narrowed. “You never went with the crowd either, did you?” he asked abruptly.
“No, I didn’t,” she replied. She grimaced. “I got picked on, too, just like Janey.”
“Did your parents go rushing up to the school to protect you?”
She drew in a long breath. “My parents said that I had to learn to fight my own battles. They never interfered, except once. I made an enemy when I was in tenth grade. She harassed me to the point that I stayed out of school sick. Mom spoke to the principal. The girl was quietly moved to another school in the district after that. Life was sweet, until I graduated. Then I had it consistently from other...people,” she amended, almost blurting out “skaters.” It had been fierce competition, those district and then national ones. Some skaters would do anything to win, even injure other skaters or make fun of them to lessen their confidence.
“I make Janey fight her own battles, too,” he said. “But what she just described is different. The authorities need to be told.”
“I think so, too,” Karina replied. “She’s such a sweet child. I hate the very idea of some overly sophisticated girl ridiculing her for being innocent.”
There was such conviction in her voice. He liked her. He didn’t want to. He was engaged. Lindy kept pushing for a date for the wedding, and he kept resisting. In fact, he didn’t want to marry Lindy, and he’d just discovered that. Almost too late.
“How’s the ankle?” he asked.
“It’s much better,” she said. “I do strap it, just in case. I’ve already had one break in that leg, three years ago, before this happened. I have to be careful. But I can skate. I just don’t want to try to do jumps again yet.”
“Jumps?” He was studying her. Odd, how familiar she looked, as if he’d seen her somewhere before. “Where are you from?”
“A little town outside Jackson Hole,” she replied. “My parents had a small ranch. Dad was good at genetics and he kept a small herd of Angus cattle. But when they were both gone, it was too much for me. I had to sell it.” She smiled. “I cried for three days. It was all I had left of them.”
“You mentioned earlier that they died together.”
“Yes. We...they were on a small commuter plane in Russia. The plane went down. They were both killed.” Her face lost color as she said it, her mind reliving the horror. She blinked and forced the terrible memories to the back of her mind.
Her slip of the tongue didn’t get past him. She’d been on the flight with them. Presumably she’d seen them die. He felt even worse about shouting at her when she’d been concerned for him the night he was reliving his own trauma.
“My wife, Anabelle,” he began. “She died in a plane crash as well.” He ground his teeth together. “I was flying the plane.”
She winced. “I’m so sorry,” she said huskily, knowing what he’d probably seen once the plane was on the ground. She searched his dark eyes. “Sometimes it’s worse to be a survivor than to die.”
He nodded slowly. “Much worse.” His eyes narrowed. “You saw them after the crash,” he guessed.
She swallowed. Hard. She bit her lower lip and fought tears. “They didn’t look human,” she whispered in a shattered tone.
“Neither did my wife.”
It was a shared moment of tragedy, of horror. They’d both seen things no human being should ever be forced to see.
“How old were you?” he asked.
“Twenty.”
“Did you have relatives who took you in?”
“No. Both my parents were only children. I was born late in their lives. All my grandparents were dead by then. A friend and his wife took me in until I was able to sell the farm and get an apartment. They were kindness itself. But they weren’t my parents,” she added sadly. “It was the worst tragedy of my life.”
“Mine as well. I served overseas in the Army. I saw horrible things. But it’s different when the victim is related to you, even just by marriage. She wasn’t much of a wife, or a mother,” he added under his breath, so that Janey wouldn’t hear. “But you get used to people when you live with them. Besides that, there was the guilt.”
“That you lived, and she didn’t.”
“Yes. But I was flying the plane.”
“It sounds odd, but when it’s your time to go, nothing will save you,” she replied. “I had to think of it that way, or I could never have gotten over it. Well, I’m still not over it. But I didn’t see a thing the pilot did wrong. The snow was very thick and the lead investigator told me that no pilot could have foreseen the storm that made the plane crash.”
“That’s what they told me, after my plane went down. It didn’t really help much.”
“No. It didn’t bring them back.”
They stared at one another for a long moment, sharing grief, sharing torment, sharing guilt.
Until he frowned. “What were your parents doing in Russia?”
She flushed. She couldn’t tell him the truth. Not yet. “We’d gone over to see the Olympics in Sochi,” she said simply. “They splurged for the trip. We were all crazy about the competition. They loved it. So did I, until afterward.”
“It’s bad to lose people that way.”
“It’s bad to lose them any way at all.”
“Okay! I’m ready when you are,” Janey said, coming into the room with her skating bag over one shoulder.
Karina smiled at her. “Let me get my bag and we’ll be off.”
“Okay!”
* * *
MICAH WATCHED THEM go with confused emotions. He’d learned a lot about his daughter’s babysitter in a very short length of time. She’d walked away from a plane crash. So had he. They both lived with guilt, although his was greater. He’d been flying the plane.
But maybe she had a point. There were such things as acts of God, freak accidents that took lives, plane crashes, automobile accidents. Boats sinking. If you weren’t fated to go until it was your time, then maybe people were simply tools to accomplish accidents when it actually was your time.
Thinking about it that way made it just a little easier. While he was pondering those odd thoughts, his cell phone rang.
“Where the hell are you?” Lindy demanded. “I need to go to Denver to meet a client. Will you get a move on, please?”
He didn’t speak. Her belligerent, aggressive attitude was suddenly unacceptable. He was tired of it, an
d he hadn’t even realized it until Karina came to work for him. The contrast between his child’s babysitter and Lindy was striking.
“I’ll get there when I get there,” he snapped back. “Don’t presume to order me around. You won’t like the result.” And he hung up.
She rang back. He turned off the ringer.
Burt stuck his head around the corner. “Lindy giving you trouble again?” he wondered.
“Lindy always gives me trouble,” he muttered.
“Sometimes a wedding band is more of a noose than a symbol of wedded bliss,” Burt commented. “She’s your business, but I’ve seen men broken by women who shouted and criticized constantly.”
“So have I.” He grimaced. “Well, I’m stuck with her.”
“Not really,” Burt replied.
He met the older man’s eyes. “Been thinking about that.”
“Better think quick,” came the amused reply. “She wants to stampede you into that ceremony.”
“Been thinking about that, too,” he repeated.
“Nice kid, that babysitter,” Burt replied. “She was on her knees hugging Janey and promising her that everything would be all right. Been a while since I saw that kid cry, or be as happy as she is now.”
“Which reminds me,” Micah murmured, and pulled up the home numbers for Janey’s principal and her teacher.
The principal was shocked and couldn’t hide it.
“She’s barely eleven,” she replied.
“Janey never lies,” he returned. “If she says the girl is doing things with boys when she should be in class, the girl’s doing them. I don’t have to tell you what would happen if her parents knew she was sneaking off during school hours to mess around with boys.”
“No, you don’t,” the principal said heavily. “Goodness, we’d be sued to the back teeth. And if the local press got wind of it... I’ll do something. I’m not sure what, but I’ll handle it. You have my word.”
“Thanks. I was going to speak to my daughter’s teacher as well. The girl is making school miserable for her. She comes home in tears every day.” He hesitated. “I have my own attorneys, you know,” he added softly.
There was an indrawn breath. Most people around Catelow knew that Micah Torrance was rich beyond the dreams of avarice. Wealth and power, combined with the protective instincts of a parent, could be formidable. “I’m aware of that. I’ll get back to you when I’ve resolved the problem,” she said. “I’m going to have to investigate, and that will take a little time.”