Addie Gets Her Man (A Chair At The Hawkins Table Book 6)

by Angel Smits

  “Tara’s done a fine job with this place.” Dutch smiled. A big, gruff man, he was exactly what Addie had expected of a small-town sheriff. He’d lived his entire life in Haskins Corners, and he was as much a staple here as this diner.

  “Yeah, things were a little uncertain there for a while. The floodwaters were pretty wicked.”

  “Water’s evil,” Elizabeth whispered, a venom in her voice that Addie understood. She looked at Dutch. He frowned, and the brief shake of his head told her not to follow that line of conversation. Addie was more than happy to leave it.

  “Looks like everyone’s here.” Dutch nodded toward the big table in back. “Lots of change in the Hawkins clan.”

  “Yeah.” Addie glanced over her shoulder at the overflowing table of her siblings, then laughed. “And then some. The family is growing so quickly.” She hated the wistfulness in her voice. Addie chose not to analyze that too much. “I’d better get back.”

  “Come visit when you can,” he offered.

  Elizabeth looked up from her meal and smiled. “Yes. Come visit.”

  “I will. I promise.” She gave them each a hug, holding on to Dutch just a bit longer, as if maybe he could use a little encouragement. Being Elizabeth’s husband couldn’t always be easy. But he obviously loved her. He patted Addie’s hand that rested on his shoulder in silent thanks.

  Addie glanced at Elizabeth and saw so much of Cal in her. Same color hair—except now Elizabeth’s dark hair was going gray. Same eyes. Same jawline.

  Sometimes it hurt to look at Elizabeth.

  Right now, Addie didn’t want to remember. Even the good times they’d shared hurt. There weren’t ever going to be any more. Thankfully, time had dulled the edge of that knife, and she could bear the hurt. Almost.

  Suddenly, a strong arm slipped around her shoulders, and she yelped. Wyatt’s familiar hug surprised her. “Stop fretting, Ad,” he whispered in her ear.

  “I’m not—fretting.” She frowned at him.

  “Yeah, you are.” He gave her a brief kiss on top of her head. “But we love you for it.” He guided her to the table, where the waitresses had brought several plates of appetizers. Addie grabbed a potato skin that should taste amazing. It tasted like dust. She didn’t have enough energy left to enjoy the flavor.

  Dutch and Elizabeth got up from their table, and Addie watched as he guided his wife to the register. While he paid the bill, Elizabeth looked around, confused, then finally took Dutch’s arm. Relief covered her face as he guided her outside.

  “Addie.” Wyatt stared across the table at her. Just as he recognized her mother-hen mode, she recognized his dad mode. They’d spent way too much time taking care of their younger siblings.

  She closed her eyes for an instant. “I’m fine, Wyatt,” she said, opening her eyes again and meeting his concerned gaze.

  “I saw the way you were looking at the Fergusons. I know you’ve kept up with them over the years.” He paused, and she dreaded what he’d say next. “It wasn’t your fault, Ad.” The last she didn’t really hear, but rather, she saw the words form on his lips.

  She shook her head. “I know.” She hadn’t even been there when...when the accident had happened. She’d tried for years to second-guess what might have happened if she had been there.

  Wyatt leaned back in the wooden chair and considered her. She almost wanted to stand up and walk away. Instead, she smiled. It wasn’t as if everyone hadn’t done just that, at least once, over the years.

  “Look—” She leaned forward and put her hand on his. His skin was so rough and calloused from working with the horses. She rubbed her fingertips over those hard-earned scars. “I care about them. I care about all of you.” She waved at the table full of the Hawkins clan.

  “You’re done, sis,” he said softly. “It’s time you looked after you. You helped raise everyone. Lord knows you were the main caregiver for Mom up until the end. And I know you’d take on Elizabeth Ferguson out of some weird sense of obligation to Cal.” He shook his head. “But I’m telling you not to. Let Dutch handle it. You need to have your own life.” He leaned back, with the look of decision on his face that told her he considered the situation settled.

  “Really?” She frowned and looked at Emily. “Did my brother actually say all that?” He wasn’t known for being a big talker.

  “Yes. And he’s right,” Emily said.

  “Now you’re ganging up on me?”

  “No, we’re not.” Emily squeezed Addie’s hand. “Everyone’s grown now. You’ve earned the chance to build your own life.”

  Addie stared at them. They didn’t understand, and she didn’t have a clue how to explain it. She’d never focused on herself, not since—not since Dad died. She’d grown up on that day, and she’d gladly taken on the role of nurturer.

  The idea of giving that up made her panic as she looked at the faces around her. She’d helped them get here. She was proud of that, proud of all of them.

  Her eyes stung. Everything was slipping away. What was she supposed to do now? She needed to be needed, needed someone to care for—to watch over, to want her attentions.

  But her family didn’t need that from her anymore. And yes, Dutch could handle Elizabeth.

  She’d had a chance at her own life, had dreamed of her own family, once upon a time. But fate hadn’t been on her side, and she’d lost that chance forever.

  * * *

  MARCUS SKYLAR RUSHED across the street, knowing full well that he was jaywalking and only slightly caring. He was late for class, and considering he’d given his students a lecture on timeliness last class, he didn’t dare show up late. They’d never let him off the hook for that one.

  Campus was still alive with activity even this late in the day. He was running down the stairs in Richardson Hall, his wingtips slapping against the steps, when his phone rang. He tried to ignore the incessant noise, but he recognized that ringtone. It was Ryan. His thirteen-year-old son wasn’t someone he could afford to ignore. Not without Carolyn’s help to intervene.

  He let the memory of her waft through only briefly. “Hello, kiddo. What’s up?” He shouldered the phone as he shoved open the hall door.

  “We’re out of jelly.”

  “Uh, okay. I’m in class for the next hour. We’ll discuss it later.”

  “Peanut better tastes like crap without jelly.”

  “Watch the language.” He tried to keep his surprise out of his voice. The boy was definitely changing lately. He’d have to deal with that at some point. “I’ll be home in a couple hours. I gotta go.” He hung up and stepped into the classroom.

  Most of the seats were full, which gave him a sense of gratification. Many of his colleagues complained about the number of empty seats in their classes.

  Marcus wasn’t sure if his class in military history was full because of the political climate and social awareness, or for some other reason. It didn’t matter. He’d take it. “All right, everyone.” He set his briefcase on the desk. “Let’s get started.”

  “That was a close call, Prof,” Mitch, one of his most challenging students, said from the third row.

  “Yeah, but it’s not because of my procrastination,” he pointed out to the young man who usually fell into that camp. “Teach my thirteen-year-old how to go grocery shopping, and maybe we’ll discuss your grade.”

  The class laughed, and Marcus launched into today’s lecture. It was on one of his favorite subjects, and he had to be careful not to get lost in his rambling. Vietnam was a black mark on this country’s history, and still a tough topic to sell in some circles. He’d been hired specifically to share his knowledge on the collision of the government’s promises and society’s demands.

  A collision intimately familiar to Marcus, as his father had been caught up in it. A nightmare Colonel Skylar still wore on his highly decorated chest.

  Final
ly, the hands on the utilitarian clock hit the end of the hour, and Marcus wrapped up the lecture. He was putting his notes in the briefcase when a young woman came up to the desk. “Professor Skylar?”

  “Yes, uh, Natalie, right?”

  “Yeah.” She grinned. “I have a question about our paper.”

  “The final project?” He emphasized the difference. There were many things besides papers that they could choose to do. Papers were the easiest for most students. They were used to doing them. He let his hopes rise that she was asking for permission to do something else.

  “Yeah. I was wondering.” She looked down at the desktop. “Uh, I don’t think I’m very good at this history stuff.”

  “Why not?” He didn’t want to come off sounding condescending, but he didn’t see why she couldn’t do it.

  “It’s hard.” She finally looked up. “I was thinking about my topic last night. I was, um, hoping I could do something on fashion.”

  He stared at her. “Fashion?” He slowly closed his briefcase. “Fashion of what? The era or of—” he tried to choose his words carefully “—Vietnam during the war?” Was there such a thing? “The 1960s themselves?” There were a lot of options.

  She didn’t look at him. Her topic intrigued him, mainly because he hadn’t heard this one before. “Okay, explain what you’re thinking.” He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Both.” She finally looked up, excitement sparking in her eyes.

  What the heck? Wasn’t that his goal—to inspire these kids to at least pay attention?

  “Fashion is a social statement. In the 1960s, it was a huge statement. And Vietnam had its own society. I want to compare that with what we had.”

  Marcus looked at her, attempting to ascertain if she was trying to pull something over on him. He wasn’t new to this teaching gig, just new to this college. “I’ll give you some leeway. Since the topic’s a bit different, I want to meet with you halfway through to make sure you’re on track.”

  “Oh, thank you, Professor.” She rushed forward and tried to give him a hug. Marcus knew better and hastily put up his hand.

  “Whoa! Just do a good job. That’s thanks enough.”

  “Okay. You won’t regret this, I promise,” she repeated, then hurried out of the classroom. Marcus paused, taking a deep breath before slowly walking toward the door himself.

  Everything was so different here, and while Natalie was part of the strangeness of this new world, she was a small part of it. He told himself he would adjust, he would figure it out.

  Nothing was even remotely similar to the world in which he’d expected to live out his life. Carolyn’s death—He froze, the memories slamming into him. No, he wouldn’t let the hurt cripple him again. He’d fought too hard to escape the grief. He forced his feet to keep moving.

  The job he’d loved, had thought he’d gain tenure with, had vanished too quickly when he’d fallen apart. He’d nearly lost Ryan, the thirteen-year-old waiting at home for jelly to make his peanut butter taste less like crap.

  This move, this new position, had to work, had to save him and what was left of his world. It had to. What the hell? He’d read and grade anything—even a paper on the fashion of 1960s Vietnam—and give the student a fair grade, if it meant keeping his son, and giving Ryan the life he needed and deserved.

  CHAPTER TWO

  MONDAY MORNING CAME way too soon. Why, again, had she taken this job? Addie sat at the principal’s desk that, six months ago, she’d thought was the epitome of the best career move she’d ever made.

  Teaching had always fulfilled her. After Mom’s funeral last year, though, she’d needed something to fill up the emptiness inside her. She knew some of it had to do with losing her mom, but not all of it. Not really.

  So, she’d thrown herself into pursuing her long-held plan to become a school principal.

  Now, after spending hours staring at budgets and accounting columns—that still didn’t balance—she was rethinking everything.

  Frustrated, she returned her focus to the papers in front of her. Somewhere, the calculations were off, and she had to figure out where. Maybe she should take it down to the eighth-grade math class...see if they could solve it?

  Or she could go to the teachers’ lounge and get a nice cup of tea. Caffeine sounded lovely right about now. She stood. Maybe a break would help.

  Lindy Dawson sat at the break room table working on lesson plans. Addie smiled. She and Lindy had started teaching here the same year. Their friendship was one of the best parts of this job.

  “Hey, Ad.” The petite brunette leaned back and put down her pen. She rolled her shoulders. “What’s on your exciting schedule today?”

  “The usual.” Addie sighed. “I can’t get this month’s budget numbers to balance.”

  Lindy had been the one person who hadn’t supported Addie’s job change. In all honesty, she missed the day-to-day contact with the kids, and Lindy had known that would happen.

  “You having second thoughts? About the job, I mean.”

  “No. Just—” Addie sighed. “I don’t know. Something seems off.”

  “Here?” Lindy tilted her head toward the hall. “Or at home?” She grinned at Addie, a shit-eating grin if Addie ever saw one. “You did go out to the ranch this weekend—to the land where everyone falls in loooove, right?” Her voice went a bit singsongy.

  “Cut it out.” The slightly annoying detail that all of Addie’s siblings—younger siblings, all five of them—were married or seriously involved with someone wasn’t lost on her. She chose to ignore the fact that she hadn’t gone on a date in months.

  “What?” Lindy laughed. “Got anything you’d like to share?” She waggled her eyebrows, teasing. “Any juicy details of some wild weekend?”

  “Funny.” If Addie didn’t know Lindy so well, if they hadn’t shared nearly every deep, dark secret over ice cream and wine, she might be upset with Lindy’s nosiness. She knew it was well-intentioned. Lindy was as close to her as Addie had ever been with either of her sisters. “No, nothing to share.” Even Addie heard the disappointment in her voice.

  “Maybe that’s the problem.” Lindy closed her notebook, and gathered up her things. “Give yourself a break. It’s budgets. Nobody dies.”

  “Are you sure?” Addie flopped down on the couch. “We could all freeze to death if the heating bill isn’t paid, you know.”

  “Nah, I’ll just make everyone run around the building to warm up. Besides, we live in Texas, remember? Warm most of the time.” Addie groaned as Lindy stood and shouldered her backpack. “One more swim practice before regionals.” Lindy laughed as she headed toward the door. As the gym teacher and swim coach, Lindy always finished her day with swim class.

  “Do you ever get tired of it? Want to change to another subject or something?” Addie asked.

  “Nope.” Lindy opened the door. “Watching teens in an environment where they can’t posture and primp gives me hope for the human race.” She laughed.

  “You’re sadistic.”

  Lindy just grinned back. “I know. Admit it—it’s what you love about me.”

  Addie knew her friend also loved when she could teach kids the skills to save themselves. The rest was just a cover for the soft heart that resided inside.

  Suddenly, loud voices came from the hallway. “What’s that?” Lindy asked as she peered into the hall. Addie wasn’t far behind. Jess Martin, the biology teacher, came out of the science lab the same time they stepped into the hall.

  A crowd stood near the lockers. Raised voices bounced off the walls. There was obviously something going on. As Addie and the teachers got closer, kids on the outside of the circle stepped aside and away. They knew trouble was coming.

  “Hey,” Lindy called, wading through the group. Jess followed. He was taller and bigger than either of them, which might gi
ve him an advantage to see what was going on. By the time Addie reached the center of the crowd, Lindy had pulled one boy back and Jess had hold of another.

  The first boy had a bloody nose—the second would have a pretty good shiner tomorrow morning.

  “Everyone back to class,” Jess instructed. After the kids all groaned a bit, they trudged away, discussing the fight.

  “You two.” Addie pointed from one boy to the other. “My office. We’ll call your parents. Lindy, get the first-aid kit.” They didn’t have a school nurse. They shared one for the entire district, but she was really here only when they were giving out vaccinations or holding a special event. Most crises were handled by the administration, or the teachers.

  Lindy was better at first aid than the rest of them, since gym class tended to be the place everyone got hurt.

  The taller of the two boys, the one Jess had by the arm, just snickered and shrugged. She recognized him—Nick Haldon. He’d been in her office before, a couple of times. She remembered his parents, as well. The Haldons were decent people, but the father seemed absent in the boy’s life. Meeting with the pair was never a pleasant experience.

  The other boy was smaller, but not by much. He didn’t have the perpetual smirk on his face. If nothing else, he looked a bit shocked, perhaps scared. Was he afraid of her? Of getting in trouble? Of his parents? She looked at him for a minute, knowing she’d have the answer soon enough.

  She led the way to the office, with Lindy bringing up the rear, and seated the boys far away from each other in the reception area. The receptionist, Gina, was there to make sure they didn’t take off. Lindy took care of the bloody nose the best she could, but there was no getting the blood out of the boys’ shirts.

  Addie groaned. Visible evidence—blood, specifically—set parents off, with good reason, but that would only make it worse. Probably for them all.

  Once the bandages and ice packs were in place, Lindy put the first-aid kit away, and Jess headed to his class, leaving Addie to deal with the two boys. She stood looking at them for a long minute.