The Cowboy Meets His Match
Page 26
As parents left with their children and the room started to clear out, she tried to focus on the woman talking nonstop in her ear. She kept an eye on the children left in the classroom as Linda talked about Santa’s Workshop and the plans to give each child a small present from the teachers.
“Don’t you think that’s a good idea?” Linda asked as Amy gazed at the empty rows of desks in her classroom.
“Great,” Amy enthused, noting that she was down to two students. One was Billy Archer, whose mom worked a bit later on Wednesdays. The other was Libby Watson, though, which was unexpected since her enormous bear of a father was usually there right on time. Libby was calmly coloring at her desk, unconcerned.
“So you’ll be Mrs. Claus?” Linda asked as Amy headed toward the school hallway. “We really need a volunteer and I think you’d be great.”
“I can do that. Would you excuse me for a second? I just want to make sure I didn’t miss someone.” Tucking her clipboard under her arm, Amy headed out into the hall and looked around. Occasionally a parent would get distracted by their phone and wander into the wrong classroom, so it was worth checking. She peered down the hall and didn’t see anyone, then turned around—
—and nearly ran into a large, bearded man with a cowboy hat in his hands.
Amy bit back a yelp of surprise, hating that she jumped. Her hand went to her chest, where her heart was hammering. “Oh, freaking heck, you startled me.”
The man clutching his hat flushed a deep red. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
She bit her lip, because she’d almost cussed a blue streak—and right in the middle of an elementary school filled with students and parents. Trying to compose herself, she smoothed a hand down her skirt. “Can I help you find a classroom?”
The man opened his mouth. “Libby,” he managed to croak out after a moment.
She waited. When he didn’t say anything else, she tried to fill in the blanks. “Are you saying you’re here to pick up Libby? Mr. Watson didn’t leave me a message.”
“He’s . . . lame.”
Amy blinked. “What?”
The man cleared his throat and looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Horse. Lame.”
“Oh.” She studied him. “And you are . . . ?”
“Brother. Caleb.” He stuck out his hand, then blurted out, “Weather’s Christmas ain’t it.”
She took his hand gingerly and tried not to notice that it was sweaty. He was nervous, poor man. It was obvious from his actions and the way he stumbled over his words, then closed his eyes after he spoke, as if he were regretting every syllable that came out of his mouth. Her heart squeezed with sympathy.
“Well, Mr. Caleb, I appreciate you coming by, but I can’t release the students to anyone—even family—without one of the parents’ permission. If you’ll come inside and wait, I’ll call Mr. Watson or his wife and make sure it’s all right before I send Libby out with you.” She gestured at the door, indicating he should go inside her classroom. This was usually a test on its own. If it was a creep of any kind—not that she’d met any in their tiny town—calling the parents would normally make someone run. But this man simply ducked his head in a nod and followed her in, which meant he was likely legit.
She was still calling the parents anyhow.
As he walked inside, Libby jumped up from her seat. “Uncle Caleb,” she called, beaming at him. “I drew you a horse! Come see!”
The man’s face creased into a broad smile at the sight of the little girl. He glanced at Amy.
“Please, have a seat. This won’t take long.”
She watched as the big cowboy pulled out a child-sized red chair and perched on it, his long legs folded up against his thick, puffy cold-weather vest. Uncle Caleb—which meant he was Hank’s brother. She could see it. Hank was a massive, massive man with a grim face and a thick black beard. He was utterly terrifying looking at first, but the way he doted on his petite wife and his equally tiny daughter meant he was harmless. Caleb was obviously cut from the same cloth—he was as tall as his brother, if not as broad. His face wasn’t as hard, but maybe it was because he had dark, dark eyes framed by thick lashes that made him look soulful. He had the beard and the build that his brother did, though.
Handsome, too, not that she was supposed to be looking. Handsome and shy, she decided, when he glanced up at her and immediately turned bright red again. She’d seen him around town and had probably met him before, but had never realized he was Libby’s uncle. She was bad with faces, which was why she had the clipboard. Both he and Libby looked entirely at ease together, so Amy pulled out her phone and texted Becca Watson—Mr. Watson’s recently married bride and Libby’s stepmother.
AMY: Hi Becca, this is Amy. A man named Caleb is here to pick Libby up and says Hank has a lame horse? Does this sound legit to you?
Linda cleared her throat, sidling in next to Amy. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Amy looked over at her, forcing an apologetic smile to her face. “I didn’t catch it.”
“I asked if you had a boyfriend. We need a Santa Claus to go with our Mrs. Claus.” Linda’s expression was avid.
Amy tried not to flinch. Being that it was a small town, relationship stuff came up a lot. “No. I’m sorry, I’m divorced.”
Her phone pinged and Amy quickly glanced down at the text.
BECCA: Caleb is totally fine. Do you need a description? Big bearded guy, stumbles over his words. Looks like a shy Hank. Or I can come get her. Let me know.
She smiled down at her phone and glanced up at Caleb and Libby. The man was watching her with those dark eyes, his expression unreadable. For some reason, it made her feel a little flustered and shy herself. “You’re good to go, Mr. Watson. Thank you for waiting.”
He nodded in a jerky way. “Libby’s mine . . . ah, my pleasure.” He coughed and then slowly closed his eyes again.
She bit the inside of her cheek not to laugh. “Stumbles over his words” was right.
Amy started to text Becca back when Linda nudged her, continuing to talk about the Christmas Carnival. “Do you know of anyone that can do it? Curtis is running the popcorn machine and Jimmy said he’d be in charge of the midway. Terry dressed up last year, but his wife is insisting that we find someone else. She thinks he’s flirting with the elves.” Linda tittered at her joke, missing Amy’s horrified expression.
The last thing she wanted was to cause problems in someone’s marriage. She knew how that felt. “Maybe I shouldn’t be Mrs. Claus, then—”
“Me.”
Both of the women looked up at the same time.
The cowboy stood up next to Libby’s desk, his face flushed. His hat was practically crushed in his big hand as he spoke. “I’ll do Mrs. Claus.”
“You mean you’ll be Mister Claus,” Libby called out, giggling.
He looked for a moment as if he wanted the floor to swallow him up, but managed to nod. His gaze remained locked on Amy, as if trying to silently communicate something to her.
What it was, she didn’t know. But she put on her best teacher smile. “Sounds like you and I are going to make quite the pair.”
About the Author
New York Times bestselling author Jessica Clare writes under three pen names. As Jessica Clare, she writes erotic contemporary romance. As Jessica Sims, she writes fun, sexy shifter paranormals. Finally, as Jill Myles, she writes a little bit of everything, from sexy, comedic urban fantasy to zombie fairy tales.
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