Angel Child

by Tanya Hanson

  He pulled a big wheeled suitcase from the truck bed. As if reading his mind, she said, “The sweater is Rachel’s. And your mother did outfit me with other goodies.”

  “Well, it’s pretty. Matches your eyes. And glad everything else worked out.”

  “Yep. Hotel-size shampoo and lotion. Toothbrush. Cowgirl lingerie from the gift shop. And a new pair of socks with a horseshoe knitted motif.”

  “Why, I unpacked those just yesterday. Which reminds me…” He grinned. “I better work up the Christmas collection on the website before Ma sets herself on a rampage. I keep telling her it’s only October…”

  “There are plenty of early shoppers out there. I am one of them, so you better hustle. I’ll be busy this evening preparing for tomorrow anyway.”

  Holding open the big front door, he gave a loud halloo to anybody who might be around. Peeking into the main dining room across the huge front room, he saw the table set with Ma’s good dishes.

  Kenn called out their names from his perch near the fireplace, hooked up as he was with the tubes that circulated ice water around his wounds.

  “Good timing, y’all. Hoop’s had brisket smoking all day, and Kelley will be here on her lunch break. Ma’ll be ringing the dinner bell in a few minutes.”

  It was tradition on Sunday to be with Ma. Didn’t always work out, but Scott and his siblings tried their hardest.

  “All that’s missing is Christy.” Scott grinned even as he recalled his big secret: Pike and Daisy’s baby. “Her Award Ceremony is tonight, right?”

  “Yep. She’ll be calling right after. I’m sorry to miss it, but she’s having somebody videotape everything. Her presentation is Tuesday. Hey there, Mary Grace? You settling in OK?” Kenn asked.

  She nodded, coming up next to Scott, arms full. “When I left, my folks told me to break a leg,” she said with dry humor.

  “That would sure be something.” Scott had to laugh, too, as he headed up the stairs. “Both our English teachers down with busted legs.”

  ****

  Happiness slipped around Mary Grace’s school-teaching nerves as she settled next to Scott on the couch in the study after supper. The vibrant Navajo print fit the rustic room, and well-worn cushions cradled the two of them.

  Tummy stuffed, she’d been unable to stop devouring the best macaroni and cheese she’d ever eaten. All hopes to remain ladylike in front of Scott vanished like mist.

  All around the house, familial love bustled as the Martins joked, teased and laughed, and Doyle Calhoun openly flirted with their mother. The sweet vision of an older couple in the blushes of love touched her heart. Of course, it was far too soon to imagine she could ever be a part of the pack, but a girl could dream, couldn’t she? If any group gave off vibes of acceptance and compassion—she was thinking of Creighton—this was the bunch. Seeing Kenn’s wheelchair pushed to the table, Mary Grace had another flash, this time of the future, of Creighton sitting among these people some day in his chair. She was learning dreams did come true, prayers did get answered.

  As she grew more and more acquainted with the rollicking family, she saw right off that nobody stood much on ceremony around here. Any and everybody would help her with her boy. Truth was, in her mind’s eye she could clearly see her dad chatting it up with Doyle, her mama concocting biscuits to rival Kelley’s alongside Mrs. Martin in the kitchen. Annette, her geologist sister, had married a well-off Texas oilman, but she’d never forsaken her down-home roots, never passed up a trail ride, and cooked vegetarian like Kelley.

  Scott smiled at Mary Grace over his laptop. “You want to practice your lecture? I’d be happy to listen.”

  “Oh, no!” She burst out in horror and waggled her handful of papers. “I don’t do well in front of my peers. Parent Nights were dreadful.”

  “Well, if you want a PowerPoint presentation, I can help you get one ready.”

  She considered. “Now that does have potential. But I think I’ll be OK tomorrow. What are you working on?”

  “I sent an e-mail to CETR and downloaded their brochure on certification.”

  “Seater?”

  “Children’s Equine Therapy Riding. I’m checking things out now. Hmm...”

  While he did some investigating, Mary Grace looked over the assignments and handouts Kenn had prepared for her. She couldn’t deny her nerves hopped, but things didn’t seem so fearsome here, in the comfortable arms of Hearts Crossing. In the company of a fine-looking cowboy who, if she had her wish, might be holding her in his arms one day.

  “Hmmm.” He mumbled again

  “What? I am interested, you know.” Now almost seemed a time to share Creighton with him, but he rushed on with enthusiasm.

  “First I’ll get certified as a first-level instructor. According to this brochure, I’ve got a lot of the requirements down already. CPR, First Aid…the helmet I got for Heather is an approved model. I know horse breeds, horse behavior…vices such as wood chewing and kicking. I understand feed requirements such as salt and minerals… I know TPR.”

  “You mean CPR?”

  “No. Temperature, pulse, respiration. It’s hard not to live on a ranch, especially with my brother Pike, a large animal vet, and not know this.” He pointed at a downloaded page. “Also, I can identify and use correctly all grooming tools including hoof pick and sweat scraper. I know how to fit riders with appropriate tack. And Peachy is on her way as a therapy horse. She already accepts mounting ramps and blocks, a leader and a sidewalker. When our program really gets going, we’ll need game equipment like balls, cones and rings.”

  His eyes shone. “I can register for a workshop in Broken Bow and do some of the coursework interactively online.”

  Broken Bow. Where Creighton lived. “Nice!”

  Suddenly the moment changed.

  “Mary Grace.” Kelley knocked at the open door, then coyly swiveled her head between the two of them together on the couch, Scott with his laptop and Mary Grace with her schoolwork. “Oooh, I sure don’t want to intrude.”

  “Come on in.” Mary Grace laughed. “I’m rehearsing my lecture notes one last time, and Scott is fact-checking how to start up a therapy riding program.”

  “Awesome. Well, I won’t be long, seeing’s you both are so hard at work.”

  “Why don’t you do something with Jason and leave us be?” Scott grumbled good-naturedly.

  Kelley ignored her brother and balanced on the arm of the sofa. “Mary Grace, I hate to put you on the spot, but then again, I really don’t.” Her smile could blast lava off a crater.

  Mary Grace smiled back even as Scott grumped. “What’s going on?”

  “Well, thanks to my future mother-in-law whom I haven’t even met yet since she’s somewhere called Moldova, I have gotten the opportunity of a lifetime.” Kelley shone more than ever. “A cookbook all my own. And I hear my brother”—she growled the word with affection and pointed a pen at Scott— “is too busy to help me with the graphics and digital photography. Now, would you mind taking me on? It’s not a freebie, by the way. Or a favor.” Kelley batted eyelashes over greenish eyes with brown flecks that matched her freckles. “I pay fair and square and need somebody good.”

  Another job? “Well, of course I’ll help. Wow.” Mary Grace’s mind flashed back. “It’s been a long time, though. I might need some software updates not only in my laptop but also in my head.”

  “Well, you didn’t say you’re getting Mary Grace to help.” Scott tossed back playfully. “If she’s on board with this project, then so am I.” In front of his sister, he stroked her arm, and Mary Grace didn’t mind a bit.

  “OK then. You can’t believe how excited I am, Mary Grace.” Kelley squeezed her hand and stood up. “Now, I know you’re all busy and nerve-wracked about starting school, so I’ll hip-hop out of here and find my beloved.” She chortled. “There’s an X-Box somewhere around here with Jason’s name on it. We’ll get together on this soon.”

  “You bet!”

  “Bye now.” Ke
lley grinned, her long braid twitching down her back as she ran out.

  Scott started to lay his laptop on an old milk can acting like an end table. “Fire’s dying out. I’ll toss on another log.”

  “No. Let me.” Mary Grace got up. Even as she hated leaving his side, she loved a cozy fire. “Sure beats the fake switch-on fireplace I had once upon a time. Nothing like the real thing.”

  “The real thing. Now, you got that right.” His gaze flirted, just for a second, before a handsome red colored his cheekbones and he delved back into his keyboard.

  A large oil painting over the fireplace struck Mary Grace almost with a physical hand after she placed a new log and stood up. She’d taken a half-dozen art history classes and never seen anything like it. Western landscape of snowy mountains and red rock formations backdropped Jesus, tan and rugged in the foreground. Wearing a fringed buckskin robe and cuddling a baby Bighorn sheep. Not the tender fluffy lamb of an Easter card with robes of pure white flowing to His feet.

  “Wow.” Ineffective, childish, but the only sound she could manage.

  Scott’s voice came low, gentle, over the crackling flames. “My Grim-Gram was something of a primitive Western artist. She did regular stuff, too, but a lot of her work is kind of—unexpected. She’d depict a traditional Bible story in a really un-typical way. She wanted to take traditional faith and expand on it, you know? Show how the Lord is with us everywhere. All the time. No matter who you are or where you find yourself. You like it?”

  “I love it.” For a few more long, wonderful seconds, she beheld the painting. It’s message and Scott’s words resonated through each pore. Untypical. Expanding on the traditional. Holding close something unexpected yet no less special.

  Like her precious imperfect son.

  Shaken, she settled her heaving breath and turned back to Scott. “I now see that your artistic talent runs in the family.

  His face flushed, handsome and manly, one more time. “That reminds me.” Scott’s forehead crinkled a little. “I’m starting a new venture designing video trailers for a local author’s books. Seems like something you’d like to dip your artsy fingers in, too.”

  “You asking me for help, cowboy?”

  “That I am. And for a bit more.”

  “What’s that?”

  “This.” His arms wrapped her close, and the sweet kiss warmed her far better than any fire.

  5

  The next morning, the drive through Mountain Cove to school failed to inspire Mary Grace despite the rollicking autumn colors painting the hills. Despite last night’s kiss, the pick-me-up of a brand new blouse and despite a half-hour session with the Bible and its most comforting passages, nerves she couldn’t control scrambled up and down the ladder of her spine with icy claws.

  She let out a deep breath as she parked in the faculty lot. At the bottom of her stomach, Mrs. Martin’s savory bread pudding breakfast had settled like chunks of cement. Delicious food, yes, but no match for the angry wasps that swarmed her gut. No delicate butterflies this day. Rotating her shoulders, she grabbed onto a prayer. Come on, Lord. You led me here. Guide me, oh, thou Great Jehovah. Lyrics from one of Sunday’s hymns rang again in her brain. Bid my anxious fears subside. Principal Scovell had given her a classroom key, but she figured she should check in with him. Heading toward his office, she settled down a little as a tinge of familiarity touched her mind. She clearly recalled the campus after all this time.

  Although she’d arrived early, allowing plenty of time to gather her wits and pray in the classroom before school started, groups of students already surged around the tidy yet well-used campus. Many watched her with obvious curiosity. Once in a while she caught an eye and smiled with a nod, forcing a confident spring in her step.

  Nostalgia settled some of the nerves. Indeed. The alcove hiding the dumpster was dotted with wads of chewing gum. Kenn had said that penalty hadn’t changed. Students caught with the forbidden substance in their mouths had to stick it on the wall, pay a dollar fine, then join in a clean-up with putty knives the last week of school. Shaking her head, she laughed out loud.

  Busy with a phone call, Principal Scovell gave her a courteous nod from his desk, so Mary Grace headed to the classroom. The key slid in easily, and memories of those years ago, of her own classroom and her own methods, swamped her. How different life would have been had she stayed, established a career and a credential. Maybe married a cowboy, stuck closer to her childhood home.

  But no. Shame swathed her like heavy damp wool. She’d never have had Creighton. And…she gulped. She’d never have met Scott. Helping him scope out therapy riding last night was a highlight of her entire life.

  Kenn’s desk was pristine, and she laughed again, knowing her proclivity for piles of papers and half-full coffee cups. She flicked on the heater and looked around. Parchment reproductions of the Founding documents lined one wall; another wall displayed portraits of the great Native American chiefs. The last wall bore a white board topped with pictures of Shakespeare and Dickens. Although Kenn’s passion was American Studies, this year he had taken on two classes of ninth-graders in addition to two classes of American Literature, including the rigorous Advanced Placement curriculum. Ah, those top-notch, highly motivated students wouldn’t be any problem at all. Indeed she looked forward to finishing her day with the cream of the crop.

  Kenn started each day with a homeroom, which he assured her gave everybody a ten-minute kick start to the day as announcements and the Pledge of Allegiance came over a loudspeaker.

  “Hi. Are you Mr. Martin’s substitute?”

  Somewhat startled, Mary Grace turned toward the door where a pretty girl with wide questioning eyes the same color as her coffee-brown hair stood waiting.

  “Yes. I’m… Ms. Gibson.” She hesitated a bit on the name. Oh, it had been so tempting to start her new career with her maiden name, to be Miss Wesley again. In fact, she’d almost grabbed her maiden name back before the ink had dried on the divorce papers, but it seemed so unfair to Creighton. Sharing the same last name hadn’t seemed that heavy of a load to bear.

  “I’m Becky Ahearn. I’m your homeroom rep, and I’m in your third period American Lit class. Mr. Scovell sent me over early. If you need anything. I’ll help.”

  “Why, Becky, I’m so happy to meet you. Come on in.” She headed to the door and held out her hand. Homeroom reps, ah, she remembered the position from the past. Those kids usually were eager beavers.

  “Here are Mr. Martin’s seating charts.” The girl held out neat arrangements of student names in orderly rows. Her warm smile helped ease Mary Grace’s mind. If everybody was as nice as Becky, substitute teaching would be off to a great start.

  And it was. Within minutes, the other five teachers in the “Small Hall” welcomed her, also offering assistance. And Mr. Scovell dropped in as the rows of desks filled with the homeroom group.

  “This is Ms. Gibson,” he told the students with both a smile and stern eyebrows. “Give her the best Mountain Cove welcome you can.”

  About thirty howdy’s ensued, and Mary Grace relaxed. The principal himself had her back. It’s just…some of the boys were bigger than she was. She remembered that fact from her short teaching career back then, but she’d born the confidence of a first-year newly graduated teacher full of idealism and, well, Grant Gibson having her back.

  Becky herself settled the homeroom crowd and explained how to send the attendance record to the office via the computer. Sweet girl. Mary Grace reckoned she’d find such a helper in each of the four English classes, which would run until the noon hour. Like the entire teaching faculty, Kenn had one preparation period for grading and computer work. His prep came right after lunch, and the last period of the day was devoted to his administrative duties as head of the English Department. Since these duties did not involve Mary Grace, she was free to leave after lunch, or stay and eat with the other teachers and remain on campus for any prep work of her own. Since she knew a few of the faculty from h
er time here, she decided she’d stay at least today, and get everybody met and greeted. She’d still get back to the ranch in time for an afternoon ride with Scott.

  Scott.

  How could the thought of him not send her blood racing through her veins? The kids, busy with last-minute homework half-listened to the intercom announcements, and Mary Grace found opportunity to let her mind wander. She almost laughed out loud at the fairly absurd reality that way back when, she’d faced Scott Martin from a teacher’s desk, roll-called his name, graded his art work. Ah, what a man he’d grown up to be. A trill of longing tickled her. At least she hadn’t let the age difference or student-teacher thing hang her up. More than ever, she knew the Lord had placed her here in Mountain Cove, at Hearts Crossing Ranch, for a purpose, a purpose her heart told her went far beyond substitute teaching.

  The freshmen classes weren’t any trouble at all, and the nerves, having found new body parts to torment, finally stopped their decathlon across her body. Surely it was the Lord himself helping soothe things.

  Ah, prepositional phrases. Twenty-three fresh little faces smiled at her, rapt. She remembered this grammar rule well, and the fourteen-year olds retained enough childhood sweetness to warm her heart. A knot of them, boys and girls both, even hung around her desk during the nutrition break, enriching her with the confidence to stand tall in front of the juniors. No matter what size they had grown to be.

  “Let me go to the teachers’ lounge and get you a cup of coffee,” one ninth-grader offered, but right there in the doorway, Becky Ahearn stood with a steaming cup.

  Black. Mary Grace preferred cream, but straight-up caffeine racing through her veins just might be a good thing.

  “Thanks, Becky. How did you know?”

  With a shrug, Becky smiled. “Mr. Martin always had one between second and third period. I just guessed.”