His blue eyes, the exact same shade possessed by every single one of her stepbrothers, sparkled with amusement. That hint of laughter was enough to make her want to spit. Yes, indeed, Chance Adams would be a challenge and then some.
Fortunately for her, Luke, Jordan and Cody had the same kind of arrogance, the identical streak of stubbornness. She’d learned long ago to give as good as she got with the three of them. She’d even learned to do it with words, instead of fists, since not one of them would ever have dared to brawl with their much younger stepsister as they did among themselves.
Chance was once again eyeing her speculatively. “Darlin’, you are the cutest little thing when you’re mad,” he said in a tone clearly calculated to infuriate her. “You sound all prim and fussy. I had an old-maid schoolteacher once who sounded just like that.”
Acid churned in her stomach as she fought yet another urge to retaliate with the kind of response that would have been instantaneous only a few years earlier. She was an adult now. A teacher. She was supposed to be setting an example, for goodness’ sake, not rolling around in the dirt pummeling a man who’d just insulted her.
Unfortunately, Chance Adams was the sort of man who would test the self-control of a saint. She hoped there wouldn’t be many more encounters like this one to provoke her, at least not in front of an impressionable boy.
Maybe her desire to belt the man was plain on her face. Or maybe he knew just what the limits of her patience were likely to be, because suddenly out of the blue he sent Petey into the house. The boy scurried off so fast he left dust whirling in his wake.
It was exactly the circumstance Jenny had been hoping for. She could take an unobserved shot right at the man’s chin, she thought wistfully, then gave a little sigh of resignation. She wasn’t going to do it, of course.
Still regarding her with amusement, Chance Adams rocked back on his heels and looked her over again. Her skin burned every single place his glance skimmed over.
Well, two could play at that game, she thought with defiance of her own. And he was showing a whole lot more skin.
She fixed her gaze squarely on his bare chest and ogled. She let her gaze drift slowly up to that sexy stubbled jaw, then down to the golden hair arrowing below the waistband of his jeans, then up again to broad shoulders. Looking him over, no matter what her purpose, turned out to be more fascinating than she’d anticipated. Her pulse fluttered, then ran wild. He was quite a specimen.
The technique worked, though. She had a suspicion that not all the perspiration on Chance’s gleaming muscular chest was the result of the hot sun and chopping wood. The muscles in his throat worked as if he might just be having the teensiest bit of trouble swallowing. If she’d had some water with her, she would have offered him a cool drink for his parched throat.
Or doused him with it.
When she’d concluded her survey to her satisfaction and his discomfort, she forced herself to look smack-dab into his eyes. “As you can see, I give as good as I get. Shall we declare a truce, Mr. Adams?”
If she’d thought her little challenge was going to end it, she could tell at once from the amusement again sparkling in his eyes that she’d made a terrible mistake. He shook his head very slowly, his gaze locked with hers.
“Not on your life, darlin’,” he said slowly. “I’d say the fireworks are just getting started.”
3
Chance kept a tight rein on his desire to laugh as he watched Ms. Jenny Adams sashay off, her back ramrod straight, her chin tilted at a defiant angle. Darn, but that confrontation had felt good. He hadn’t had so much fun in a long time. He couldn’t recall the last time a woman had stared at him so boldly and made his blood run quite so hot in the process.
Too bad she was an Adams. Okay, an adopted Adams, technically speaking, but that still made her the enemy. He figured she was tied to his Uncle Harlan by loyalty if not by blood. Sometimes those ties were even stronger than the genetic ones a person didn’t have any say over.
The squeaking of the screen-door hinges snapped his attention back to the matter that had brought the woman here in the first place. He pivoted just in time to see Petey trying to slip off in the direction of the barn to escape Chance’s likely wrath.
“Oh, no, you don’t, young man. Get back here,” Chance commanded.
Petey took his sweet time about complying with the command. When he finally stood in front of Chance, he scuffed the toe of his sneaker in the dirt and refused to look up. He didn’t look guilty, though, merely defiant. Chance figured that was an attitude that needed correcting in a hurry.
“Son?”
“Yeah?”
“That’s ‘Yes, sir.’”
Petey sighed heavily. “Yes, sir.”
“That’s better. Now look at me.”
Another heavy sigh greeted that order. Chance would have smiled, but he figured it would take the edge off the stern displeasure he was trying to convey. “Now,” he repeated emphatically.
His son finally darted a glance up at him. The defiance had begun to slip ever so slightly. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Chance fought the urge to gather the boy in his arms. It was moments like this that were the hardest tests for a father. He was torn between the discipline he knew needed delivering and the comfort and promise of unshakable love that were also required.
“I’d like an explanation,” Chance told him, pleased with his calm neutral tone when minutes ago he’d wanted to shake the kid for doing something so crazy. Jenny Adams had painted an all-too-vivid picture of that distraught child with a severed braid in her hand, tears spilling down her cheeks. He winced every time he thought about it. He’d been so sure he’d taught Petey girls were to be protected, not taunted or hit. Maybe he’d been remiss in not mentioning that their hair was off-limits, too.
“An explanation ’bout what?” Petey replied.
The innocent act tripped Chance’s temper all over again. “About what the dickens possessed you to cut off that girl’s braid,” he snapped, then sucked in a sharp breath. In a calmer voice, he added, “You had to know it was wrong.”
“I suppose.”
“Suppose nothing. It was wrong. It was downright cruel, in fact. It’s the exact kind of mean-spirited act I’ve told you to protect girls from, isn’t it? Even little girls fuss about their looks. Did you think for one second about how she would feel with her hair all lopsided?” He shook his head. “Obviously not. Now tell me why you did it. You must have had a reason.”
Petey still looked as if he was about to cry. Once again Chance had to force himself not to kneel down in the dirt and take the boy in his arms. Mary Rose Franklin was the one deserving of sympathy here, not the perpetrator of the crime. An image of Jenny Adams’s disapproving expression stiffened his resolve. He didn’t intend to give her or anyone else the ammunition to accuse him of being a lousy dad.
Keeping his expression stern, he repeated, “Son, I’d like an explanation now.”
“Timmy McPherson dared me,” Petey said miserably. “He said if I ever wanted to have any friends at all in Los Piños, I’d do it.”
I should have guessed as much, Chance told himself. It was all too typical for kids that age to set each other up to take a fall as some sort of test. “I assume you weren’t counting on Mary being one of those friends,” he said wryly.
Tears leaked out of Petey’s eyes and spilled down his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to make her cry. Honest, Dad. I just wanted to be friends with Timmy and the other guys. I’m the new kid. I didn’t want them to think I was a total geek or something.” His chin jutted out. “It’s not like her hair won’t grow back.”
Chance cringed at the logic. “You don’t make real friends by doing things you know perfectly well are wrong,” he said. “Have you apologized to Mary yet?”
Petey looked even guiltier. “Not really. Ms. Adams assigned us to write an
apology in class, but I didn’t do it. I told her I wouldn’t.”
Chance sighed. “Why not?”
“Because it wasn’t my fault, not really. It was Timmy’s idea,” he explained. “And then that Felicity girl ratted on me, just so she could get Ms. Adams to like her.”
“Tattling’s not the issue here,” Chance pointed out. “And Timmy wasn’t the one who chopped off Mary’s hair, was he? You always have choices, son. You could have found a more sensible way to make new friends. I think maybe you’d better go inside and write that apology now. As soon as I get cleaned up, we’re going to take it to Mary and hope and pray that she and her parents will forgive you. And if you ever hope to see a penny of your allowance again, you’d better pray that whoever fixed your classmate’s hair did it cheaply.”
Petey stared at him in dismay. “You’re going to make me go to her house? I have to talk to her parents, too? And give them my allowance?”
“Yes.”
“But, Dad—”
“We’re going,” Chance said with finality. “Have that note ready by the time I’m dressed or I’ll start adding days to the week I already intend to ground you.”
“Dad!” Petey wailed.
“Save your breath, son. I’ve let you get away with too much since your mama and granddaddy died. It’s going to stop and this is as good a time as any to be sure it does.”
“This is all Ms. Adams’s fault,” Petey grumbled, then added vehemently, “I hate her. If you loved Granddaddy, you’d hate her, too. She’s one of them. She deserves to have bad things happen in her class. Maybe they’ll even fire her for being a crummy teacher.”
This time Chance did kneel down. He put his hands on Petey’s shoulders and forced him to meet his gaze. “I don’t want to hear that kind of talk again, okay? One thing has nothing to do with the other,” he said, ignoring the fact that only moments earlier he, too, had been thinking of her as the enemy. He didn’t want to consider what kind of nightmarish behavior Jenny Adams would have to face in her classroom if he encouraged Petey to make her part of his grandfather’s vendetta. No fourth grader in Los Piños would get an education this year.
“But she lives at White Pines,” Petey protested.
“For the moment,” Chance said grimly, solidifying his resolve to settle things with Harlan Adams the very instant he could come up with a workable plan. Dragging it out would take its toll on all of them.
He looked Petey in the eye. “I repeat, one thing has nothing to do with the other. She is your teacher and you will respect her in the classroom and that is final. Understood?”
“No,” Petey said, his chin jutting again. “Her father is a thief. That makes her no good, too. Why should I have to listen to anything she says?”
Obviously Hank had been very thorough in imparting his resentments to Petey. Chance couldn’t see any long-term benefit in allowing Petey to grow up with so much hate. If there was a score to be settled, he would be the one to do it.
“Okay, let me put it another way,” he said quietly. “I am telling you that you will show respect to her in that classroom. I am your father, and if you don’t obey me, there will be hell to pay. Is that clear?”
Petey blinked several times at his father’s fierce tone, then bobbed his head once.
“Excuse me. I didn’t hear you.”
“Yes, sir,” Petey mumbled.
“That’s better. Now get inside and write that note. We’ll be leaving here in twenty minutes.”
Petey’s expression was sullen, but he did as he was told. Inside, Chance watched him for a moment, his head bent over a piece of paper from his notebook as he began slowly writing the ordered apology. Chance suspected it would be lacking in sincerity, but the point was getting Petey to go through the motions. He had to understand there were consequences for bad behavior.
Chance had learned about consequences at an early age. His father had been tough as nails, impossible to please and erratic about the rules Chance was expected to follow. It had kept Chance in a constant state of turmoil. He wouldn’t do the same to Petey. He intended to make sure Petey understood exactly what the boundaries of acceptable behavior were.
When Jenny Adams had been telling him how to discipline his son earlier, he’d been every bit as resentful as Petey was now. But the truth was, her words had been a wake-up call. Petey needed more parenting than Chance had been giving him. Ever since their arrival in Los Piños, he’d been too caught up in this obsession with getting even with Harlan Adams. That was no excuse for neglecting his son or letting him get so carried away with his own brand of retribution. Now that Petey knew his teacher was Harlan Adams’s daughter, there was no telling what the boy would try to make her the target of his anger.
Chance resolved then and there that Jenny Adams would never have another reason to question his ability to teach his kid the difference between right and wrong. If they met again—and they surely would—it was going to be because of his plan to ruin Harlan Adams. If a few sparks happened to ignite between them in the process—and they were dead-on certain to—so much the better.
Somehow, though, he intended to keep Petey out of the middle of things. Given how well Hank had primed the boy, though, that was likely easier said than done.
* * *
The fireworks between Jenny and Chance were nothing compared to the explosion that night at the dinner table when Jenny repeated Chance’s declaration about White Pines. Harlan might have been in his eighties, but he hadn’t slowed down and he wasn’t inclined to take any threat to the sanctity of his home lightly.
“That darn fool,” he said viciously, slamming his fist on the table so hard the dishes bounced. His skin turned an unhealthy shade of red and a sheen of perspiration broke out on his brow. “Obviously Hank spent his whole sorry life filling that boy’s head with lies. Now he’s dead and the rest of us are left to clean up the mess he’s created.”
Jenny exchanged a worried look with her mother, Janet, who appeared ready to leap from her chair and go to her husband’s side to calm him down. Jenny’s younger half sister, Lizzy, stared at him, clearly stunned by their father’s outburst.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything,” Jenny said, regretting her impulsive relating of the entire incident. She should have known it would upset to her father. Being accused of cheating his brother out of an inheritance was not something Harlan Adams would take lightly. “I’m sorry.”
He reached out and patted her hand. “Of course you should have told me. No point in keeping quiet about it. Obviously this Chance Adams intends to create a ruckus sooner or later. Leastways now I can be prepared for it. There are plenty of folks in town who were around at the time. They’re familiar with the details.”
“Then you really did have a brother?” Jenny asked, though that much at least seemed obvious from her father’s agitated reaction.
“I did,” he said tersely.
“How come you never mentioned him?” Lizzy asked.
“Jenny, Lizzy, leave it be for now,” her mother warned. “Can’t you see how distraught your father is already without you two stirring the pot? Give him time to absorb all this.”
He waved off her concern. “I’m not half as upset as I’d be if this Chance Adams had taken me by surprise,” he declared, pushing away from the table.
Despite his claim, though, he was visibly shaken. Once on his feet, he took a moment to steady himself. This time Jenny was about to rush to assist him, but a sharp look from her mother kept her in her seat.
Finally he squared his shoulders and said, “I’m going to my office. I’ve got some thinking to do.”
“Harlan, you haven’t even finished your dinner,” her mother protested.
“I’m not hungry.”
Her mother gave a resigned sigh. “I’ll bring a snack to your office in a bit, then,” she said, watching him go, her expre
ssion filled with concern.
When he was gone, Jenny turned to her mother. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“No, Jenny. Harlan’s right. It’s better to be prepared, I suppose.” She didn’t sound convinced.
“Did you know anything about this brother?” Jenny asked.
“Nothing. He’s never said a word. It’s as if the man never existed. I doubt we would ever have heard of him if this Chance Adams hadn’t turned up.”
“There’s not a single snapshot in the house with him in it, I’m sure of that,” Jenny said. “Remember how I used to make Daddy sit down with all the family albums and tell me who everyone was?”
Her mother smiled. “Once he made you an Adams, you went about it with a vengeance. I’ve never known anyone so anxious to know every little detail about their adoptive ancestors.”
“I don’t know why that surprised you,” Jenny countered. “I was the same way about yours. It’s just that you’d been telling me all those stories for years and years. Besides, I wanted to figure out which one of those sneaky Adamses stole Native American land.”
She’d made the comment in jest, but her mother looked thoughtful.
“Harlan made you his heir so you’d get your share of that land back,” she reminded Jenny. “Do you suppose he’ll do the same thing to make things right with Chance Adams?”
“Nephew or not, Daddy didn’t sound much like he thought this man had a legitimate claim,” Jenny said.
Lizzy agreed with her. “In fact, I’m betting that by tomorrow he’ll have the wagons circled. You’d better tell Maritza to count on every family member within shouting distance to be here for dinner. Daddy’s probably calling Luke and Cody and Jordan now.”
“You’re probably right,” her mother conceded. “In that case, I’d better take that snack in to him and make sure he eats it. He’s going to need all his strength for whatever lies ahead.”
White Pines Summer Page 4