Harlequin Superromance December 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: Caught Up in YouThe Ranch She Left BehindA Valley Ridge Christmas

by Beth Andrews

  “Eddie, I’m not sure what the problem is,” she said, all faux conciliatory and apologetic. She checked on Max, who was still engrossed in his game. “I certainly didn’t mean to offend you in any way.”

  She waited. And what did she get for her patience? Nothing. Not even one of his nods or shrugs.

  Easy to see where Max got his reserve from.

  “It’s important that we assess what issues Max is having so he can overcome them and reach his highest potential.”

  “Why? So you can bump up the school’s test scores?”

  “This has nothing to do with standardized testing.” The bane of teachers everywhere. Luckily for her, they didn’t start testing kids until third grade. “It has to do with helping Max.”

  Her only priority.

  Eddie shifted closer, bringing with him the scent of sawdust. “Maybe this isn’t Max’s fault.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m having trouble following you.” Hard to believe seeing as how he used as few words as possible to get his point across, but there you had it.

  “If you did your job—did it better—Max wouldn’t be having problems.”

  Her vision assumed a definite red tint, her fingers curled around the stapler.

  She heard him, of course. He stood right before her, close enough for her to see the starburst of gold around his pupils, to notice that his right front tooth slightly overlapped the left. She even understood what he’d said as his meaning had been crystal clear. But his voice was like a roar in her head. A whooshing wave that swept away all her good intentions and drowned any hope she had of remaining professional.

  And it was all Eddie Montesano’s fault. She’d tried to be polite. To not let her growing frustration with him show. But did he appreciate her efforts or the great strength of willpower it’d taken her not to simply lift the stapler and hit him upside the head with it? Did he consider what was best for his son or care that all she wanted was to figure out how they could work together to help Max?

  No, no and triple no. He blamed her, accused her of not doing her job.

  Oh, yeah, all bets were officially off.

  “Max,” she called loudly, setting the stapler on her desk and peeling her fingers off it. She tucked her hands behind her back—just to be on the safe side.

  When Max looked up and took the headphones off, she forced her tone to remain light. Easy. No simple task when she was two seconds away from kicking his father in the shin. “Your dad and I will be in the hallway. Please wait here.”

  Eddie grabbed the sweatshirt and tugged it on. “I have nothing to say.”

  “That’s a shock,” she muttered. “It’ll only take a few minutes,” she assured him from between gritted teeth when his head became visible again.

  He glanced at Max, who watched them with wide eyes, obviously picking up on the tension in the room. Finally, Eddie brushed past her.

  Fuming so hard she lifted her hands to her ears to make sure steam wasn’t billowing from them, she followed him out into the hallway. She shoved her sleeves up to her elbows. She was sweating. She was actually sweating she was so angry. Her skin overheated, her blood boiled. She shut the door with a quiet click, wishing she could slam it with a resounding bang, open it and slam it shut again.

  “If you have a problem with me teaching your son,” she said, proud of the composure that kept her tone calm, her temper in check despite the trembling of her fingers, “you may certainly take it up with the principal. But for the record, all I want is for my kids to do well. To succeed.”

  “Your kids?”

  That composure cracked enough to have her lifting her chin, straightening her spine. “I’m with those children—your child—for close to eight hours a day, one hundred and eighty days of the year. I feel a connection to them, so yes, they’re my kids. In a certain context.”

  More than a connection, she felt a responsibility toward them. It was up to her to help them reach their highest potential.

  She crossed her arms. “How about we clear the air so we can move forward and both do what’s best for Max. What, exactly, is your problem with me?”

  Surprise and, if she wasn’t mistaken, respect flashed in his eyes before they shuttered again.

  “No problem.”

  Her left eye twitched. She pressed the tips of her fingers against it. “No need to hold back.” She certainly didn’t like to keep her opinions, her thoughts to herself. Not when she could share them with the world. “I can’t fix the problem if I don’t know what it is.”

  Eddie wiped his palm down his mouth. His jaw tight, his shoulders rigid, he gave a short nod. “You’re judging Max based on our history.”

  Finally they were getting somewhere. “Max’s and your history? Because I’m not all that familiar with it. I mean, I know you’re divorced and that Max’s mother lives in Chicago—”

  “Our—” he gestured between them “—history.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I hadn’t realized we—” she mimicked his gesture “—had a history.”

  Sure, they’d gone to school together but they hadn’t run with the same crowd. Actually, she couldn’t remember Eddie running with any crowd. Then again, she hadn’t paid much attention to him. Boys like Eddie Montesano had never been her type, though a small segment of her girlfriends had found him appealing.

  She had no idea why.

  Okay, so he wasn’t exactly a troll, and yes, he had the whole not-quite-tall, dark and handsome thing going for him with a wide chest and flat stomach. His hair was thick and brushed back from his high forehead to fall in wavy disarray. He had heavy eyebrows, a sharp, square jawline covered in dark stubble and a Roman nose with a prominent bridge.

  All in all, a pretty package. But Harper had always preferred guys who were more charming, less brooding. Outgoing instead of introverted. Lighter in coloring and personality.

  Men like Beau, her blond, blue-eyed husband, who’d swept her off her feet with his humor, charm and joy for life.

  Her throat tightened, and she swallowed a pang of grief. Averted her gaze so Eddie didn’t see the pain she knew must be in her eyes. She missed Beau so much. Every day without him was a step in a new direction, toward a future without the man she’d promised to love for the rest of her life.

  She wasn’t sure which was worse. The days she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Or the more recent days when she realized she hadn’t thought of him at all.

  She cleared her throat, concentrated on the glowering man in front of her. “Did I do something to offend you in high school?”

  “You tutored me. In English,” he added when she just stared.

  “I remember, but what does my tutoring you a hundred years ago have to do with anything in the here and now?”

  His jaw worked as if he was grinding his teeth into dust. “You think there’s something wrong with Max because I had issues in school.”

  She hadn’t known it was possible, but he’d managed to shock her into silence for a second time. It had to be some sort of record.

  “First of all, there is nothing, not one blessed thing wrong with Max,” she said, her voice vibrating as indignation on behalf of that sweet boy swept through her. “He’s having some issues that I feel need addressing. What I’m suggesting is that we figure out what those issues are so we can devise a strategy to help him succeed. And for your information, my evaluation of each student is based on his or her individual efforts. I take into account their past grades, test scores and how they’re currently doing in my class. And for you to suggest that I look at Max and think, ‘Oh, well, there’s the son of someone I helped understand King Lear junior year so he must have some...issues,’” she said, doing a fair impersonation of his gravelly voice on that last word, “is not only one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard, it’s also one of the mo
st insulting.”

  There. She’d given him a piece of her mind said in her best do-not-mess-with-me-I-am-a-teacher tone, the one that had cowed many others.

  That those others happened to be under the age of ten didn’t matter.

  “It was The Grapes of Wrath,” he said, not the least bit intimidated, darn him. “Sophomore year.”

  She rolled her eyes then immediately squeezed them shut. God. Bad enough he had her acting unprofessionally, now she was reverting to the teenager she’d been when they’d spent a few hours studying Steinbeck’s classic novel. Next thing she knew, she’d be telling him, as clearly and succinctly as possible, exactly how big of an ass he was being.

  Inhaling deeply, she held it for the count of five. She could do this. She dealt with children all day, had weathered more than her fair share of tantrums, meltdowns and bad behavior.

  “All I want,” she said, “is to help Max. Surely you want the same thing.”

  “If Max needs help, I’ll give it to him.”

  “In the interest of doing what’s best for Max, I’m sure we can come to some sort of compromise.” Though she hadn’t been able to charm him in the least so far, she tried another smile. Hey, she may be banging her head against his obstinacy but that didn’t mean she had to give up. “Seeing as how we’re old friends and all.”

  “We weren’t friends.”

  Her smile slid away. Then again, giving up had its merits. Such as saving her from one heck of a headache. “What would you call it? Acquaintances? School chums? Oh, how about tutor and tutee?”

  “Is that a real word?”

  She had no idea. “The bottom line is that I’m concerned about Max.”

  “I appreciate your concern,” he said in a tone that made it clear he couldn’t care less about her concern, her opinions or her standing as his son’s teacher. “But I don’t want Max observed by some psychologist or singled out in any way. Like I said, I’ll talk to him. Get him to pay more attention, to not fidget as much.”

  “I don’t think it’ll be that easy. And as Max’s teacher, I feel it’s my responsibility to tell you I disagree with your decision and wish you would reconsider.”

  “You don’t have to be his teacher.”

  His threat, implicit but oh, so clear, slid along her spine, had her narrowing her eyes. No one threatened her. No one. “You’d pull Max from my class?”

  He shrugged as if that said it all—which, she supposed, it did.

  She stared at his broad back as he opened the door and called into the classroom, “Time to go, Max.”

  “You’re not serious,” she said when he faced her. Then again, he looked as if he was never anything but serious. Serious. Stubborn. Annoying.

  And most of all, just plain wrong.

  When he twitched, as if moving to lift his shoulder, she held up a hand. “For God’s sake,” she snapped, “use your words and not one of those shrugs you’re so fond of.”

  If possible, his frown became even darker. “I’ll do whatever’s best for Max,” he said as his son joined them. “And I’ll do it on my own.”

  This isn’t what’s best for him, she wanted to yell. But Max shot worried glances between them, so she kept her thoughts to herself. Continued keeping them to herself as Eddie and his son walked away.

  * * *

  EDDIE PUSHED OPEN the school’s front doors, stepped into the sunshine and descended the wide, concrete steps, Max next to him. At the bottom, they turned left and headed toward the parking lot.

  He breathed in the fresh air, but it did little to ease the tension tightening his neck, causing a headache to brew behind his temples. Worse than the pain? He couldn’t shake the image of Harper’s mouth, of those pink, heart-shaped lips moving as she’d talked.

  And talked and talked and talked some more.

  There were much better things she could do with that mouth.

  All I want is to help Max. Surely you want the same thing.

  Of course he did. That was all he’d ever wanted. All he cared about.

  And damn her for questioning him like that, for making it seem as if his resistance to her concerns was something other than his protective instincts.

  She wanted to stick Max with a label, one he’d have for the rest of his life. One that would screw up his self-esteem, make him question his own abilities. No way would Eddie ever let that happen.

  No way would he let his son go through what he’d gone through.

  He’d handle it, he assured himself, in a calm, rational way.

  Though Harper might disagree about the rational part.

  Didn’t matter. He had to do what he felt was right.

  Eddie would work with Max, talk to him about how important it was to pay close attention in class. He’d go over every bit of Max’s homework, make sure it got completed to the best of Max’s capabilities. In a few weeks, his grades would improve and Harper would realize she’d been wrong. That she’d overreacted about the fidgeting, short attention span and impatience—which were all normal traits shared by a great many seven-year-old boys.

  His son was no different from anyone else.

  “Dad?” Max asked, breathless as they reached the parking lot.

  Realizing Max was jogging to keep pace with his long, angry strides, Eddie slowed. “Hmm?”

  “Am I in trouble?”

  Eddie stopped. “No. Why?”

  Max stared at the ground, kicked a pebble. “’Cause Mrs. Kavanagh wanted to talk to you.”

  “It was a parent/teacher conference. So she could tell me how you’re doing.”

  “I haven’t been fighting,” Max blurted, his cheeks turning red. “Not even a little. Not even when Aaron took my turn on the monkey bars today. I walked away, like you told me.”

  “That’s good.” Though he should probably add something about standing your ground when you know you’re in the right, not letting people push you around and learning how to talk things through. To compromise.

  Use your words.

  Easy for Harper to say. She had more than her fair share of words while Eddie was always searching for the right ones.

  “Does Mrs. Kavanagh like me?” Max asked.

  “Yeah. She likes you a lot.” That much had been clear. “Do you...” He grabbed the back of his neck, massaged the ache there. “Do you like her?”

  Max nodded so hard, his hair flopped into his eyes. “She’s nice. And funny. And she doesn’t yell even when someone’s being really bad.”

  Eddie dropped his hand. “That’s...great.”

  Yeah, freaking terrific. It would be so much easier switching Max to another class if he’d disliked Harper or, at the very least, didn’t give a damn about her one way or the other. Not that Eddie was set on that course of action. She’d said herself she needed his permission for Max to be observed by the shrink. As long as she didn’t push him, Eddie wouldn’t have a reason to pull Max from her class.

  “Come on,” he said. “We have to stop at Bradford House and see how Heath did with the kitchen cabinets.”

  “Can I get a snack before practice?”

  Damn. That was right. It was Tuesday. Max had hockey practice. Eddie would never stop being grateful Mark Benton had stepped up and offered to coach before Eddie could get stuck with the job.

  He glanced at his watch. Why were there never enough hours in the day? “Sure, but we need to get moving.”

  He clasped his son’s small, warm and slightly sticky hand. There would be a time, not too far in the future, when Max would grimace and shrink away when Eddie offered his hand.

  But not today.

  Today, his son held on instead of running ahead. Today, his son still needed him.

  They climbed into the truck.

  “Want to know what el
se I like about Mrs. Kavanagh?” Max asked as he buckled his seat belt.

  Not in the least.

  “Sure,” Eddie said with a sigh.

  “She’s pretty,” Max whispered, a blush coloring his fair skin. “And she smells good.”

  Eddie turned on the ignition, slammed his foot onto the clutch and jammed the truck into first gear. He’d noticed both those things, too.

  He wished like hell he hadn’t.

  * * *

  “HE HAD THE NERVE...the utter...utter...”

  Harper tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling of Dr. Joan Crosby’s office in hope the word she was searching for would somehow magically appear in the air.

  “Gall?” Joan asked from behind her neat desk.

  Harper whirled on the older woman. Jabbed a finger in her direction. “Yes! The utter gall to threaten to take Max out of my class.”

  She still couldn’t believe it. Pacing to burn off some of her temper before she picked up her daughter from day care, her quick, short strides took her to the far edge of the room and back in seconds. An easy enough task given the size of the office and the fact that there was nothing in there that wasn’t completely necessary. A desk and chair, three other chairs—two facing the desk, the third off to the side—and floor-to-ceiling shelves lined with books. A small, round table with two kid-sized chairs sat in the far corner along with a plastic bin Harper knew held drawing paper, crayons and colored pencils.

  Joan didn’t believe in wasting space, materials, time or words.

  Harper grabbed a handful of M&M’s—her third such handful—from a ceramic bowl on the desk and tossed several into her mouth. They didn’t help. She ate some more.

  Stick with something long enough, and you were bound to get the results you wanted.

  Naive? Perhaps. But it kept her happy and optimistic in the face of adversity. After Beau had been taken from her so suddenly, Harper had wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and die herself. She couldn’t, of course. She had people who counted on her, who needed her to be strong. Her daughter, Cassidy, for one.