Chapter 3 Ilsa #2
“Do you want me to be honest or tell you what you want to hear?” The words came out so fast, I didn’t have a chance to stop them. Shit. Normally, I kept those snarky comments inside my head.
Harlan’s mouth fell open, his eyes flared. Then his cheeks turned an ugly shade of red. “Excuse me?”
Beggars can’t be choosers. I swallowed the urge to throw his own statement into his flushed face.
This temporary job might be more temporary than planned. If Harlan did fire me, I guess I’d spend the next six months unemployed and leverage my savings. Dad had left all of his estate to me in his will—I hadn’t gone to the bank, so the value was still a question mark.
But money wasn’t the only driving factor here. The idea of spending all day, every day, in Dad’s cabin? No. I wanted this job simply for an excuse to leave that house.
And I loved teaching. I loved kids. But I wasn’t going to do a shitty job just because shitty had been Mrs. Riley’s standard of excellence.
“I’ve already decided to make it a practice test,” I told Harlan.
“The students will be able to retake it again next week. But, Mr. Harlan, I tested the students on the material they were supposed to have completed last semester according to Mrs. Riley’s notes.
None of these kids are at the level I would expect for their respective grades. ”
From the freshmen to the seniors, all of my students were missing fundamentals they should have learned in junior high.
“Mrs. Riley has been with us for years,” he said. “She’s beloved in this school and community.”
“That’s wonderful.” I gave him a saccharine smile. “But it doesn’t change the fact that these students are behind.”
Harlan’s lip curled. “According to who? You?”
“Yes. I’ve spent years—”
“You’re the teacher. Catch them up.”
My hands fisted on my lap.
To quit. Or not to quit.
Damn it. I was not a quitter. “Fine.”
Harlan hopped off my desk, jutting up his chin as he headed for the door.
“Could I please get a student roster for each class?” I asked.
“Why?” He didn’t even turn around as he spoke. “You see the students every day.”
I tucked my hands between my thighs so I wouldn’t flip him my middle finger. “How about some new textbooks? The sophomores’ books are falling apart. Most of the seniors don’t even have one.”
“Mrs. Riley didn’t use them,” he said, then walked out.
The irony of that statement was stifling. I waited until the sound of his footsteps faded in the hallway before I folded forward, letting my forehead rest on the desk. “Asshole.”
“Is that how you greet all your visitors, Miss Poe?” The deep, gravelly voice made me jump.
I straightened as none other than Dalton’s incredibly built, incredibly attractive sheriff walked into my classroom. “Sheriff Raynes. Sorry. I thought I was alone.”
He walked with unhurried confidence. It wasn’t arrogant or swaggering, just the stride of a man who was entirely comfortable in his own skin. That confidence was almost as attractive as his chiseled jawline and the thick, dark mustache above his upper lip.
The features I’d missed last night in the dark, in my fear and panic, were on full display beneath the fluorescent lights.
Broad shoulders covered in an open flannel with a white Henley beneath. Faded jeans that molded to long legs and bulky thighs. Scuffed cowboy boots and a tooled leather belt that held his badge and a gun.
His nose was perfect, a classic shape that would make a sketch artist drool and positioned exactly in the center of his face. His hair was a rich brown, and the strands curled slightly at his nape. Loose curls that were practically begging to be threaded through a woman’s fingers.
Just not my fingers.
After all the ups and downs with Troy, after losing my father, I was in no place for a relationship. So while Sheriff Raynes was, without a doubt, the most handsome man I’d ever seen in my life, I’d appreciate his good looks from afar.
“Did you find out anything about last night?” I asked.
“No.” He shook his head, taking a seat on the edge of a desk in the front row. When he crossed his arms, his biceps strained the fabric of his shirts. “I sent a deputy to look around. But other than your tracks and Larry’s, he couldn’t find anything.”
So I was losing my mind and imagining masked faces outside windows. Cool.
“Well, all right. I appreciate the effort.”
With his update complete, I expected him to leave.
But he stayed put, staring at me for a long moment.
Long enough for me to take in the gray and green striations in his hazel eyes.
Long enough that I began to squirm. What Principal Harlan lacked in natural intimidation, Sheriff Raynes made up for in spades.
“Was there something else, Sheriff Raynes?”
“Cosi.”
Now that was a great name. Unique. Bold. Fitting for a man so striking. Cosi Raynes. I couldn’t imagine him being named anything else.
He shifted, digging a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of his Wranglers.
I didn’t need him to bring it closer to recognize last week’s test. “Yikes. It’s bad if parents are calling local law enforcement to reprimand a high school math teacher.”
Cosi stood, bringing it over. With him, a hint of cedar and juniper and cloves.
Of course he smelled incredible. That scent was as bold and unforgettable as the red F circled on the test.
“Spencer Michael,” I read the name aloud.
“Spencer is my son.”
“Ah.” So this visit wasn’t really about my call to the police last night. He was here to talk about his son’s grade. With the different last names, I hadn’t put that together.
“His last name is Raynes,” he said, like he had a direct line to my thoughts.
“Then why did he put Michael?”
“That’s his middle name. He likes to forget the Raynes whenever he’s pissed at me.”
I opened my mouth, about to ask why Spencer was pissed at his father, but stopped myself. Not my business. Not my problem. I had plenty of my own at the moment.
“Don’t worry. Now that I’ve seen everyone’s work, I’ll be making it a practice test. Students will get another chance. That said, Spencer is behind in math.”
“It’s his best subject.”
Ooof. That didn’t bode well for his GPA. I laced my fingers together on my desk. If he was hoping I’d bend the rules so Spencer could keep a decent grade, he was poorly mistaken. “What exactly can I do for you, Sheriff Raynes?”
“Cosi,” he corrected again.
A fantastic name that I’d love to use, but at this point, it seemed safer to keep titles in place.
He stared down at the paper in his hand, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “Spencer is a smart kid. But somewhere along the way, he decided to check out. He gives school the bare minimum. Enough to stay on the basketball team.”
“And if math is his best subject, a bad grade means no more team. I understand that sports often trump academics for kids, but I’m not one for making exceptions. He’ll have to put in the work to understand the material.”
“I’m not asking for a favor.”
“Then what do you want?”
He studied me for a long moment. “You’re direct, aren’t you.”
“I’m tired. I didn’t sleep well last night. Direct is a side effect.”
“Fair enough.” He folded the paper in half, returning it to his back pocket. “Honestly, I’m not sure what I’m asking for at this point. I guess . . . I wish my kid gave a shit about school.”
“Well, if it makes you feel better, most kids at this age don’t.
They’re too worried about girlfriends or boyfriends or sports.
It’s normal. I’ll do what I can to help Spencer catch up in class, but education doesn’t end in this building.
I’m happy to send home worksheets to help reinforce lessons. ”
“Appreciated.”
There was no ring on his left hand. Where did Spencer’s mother fit into this puzzle? Also not my business. I’d learned early on in my teaching career that homelife meant something different for each and every student and stopped making assumptions.
With a short nod, Cosi walked to the door, but before he stepped into the hallway, he turned back. “Don’t know how much you know about Dalton, but people around here talk. You’re making a name for yourself already.”
My eyes narrowed. “Is that a warning or a threat?” I wasn’t really in the mood for either today.
“Let’s call it an observation.”
I didn’t give a damn about his observation. I was leaving in six months. In exactly one hundred and seventy-four days, when this semester was finished and Dad’s cabin was cleaned and listed with a realtor, I would be gone.
“How about you stop worrying about the name I make for myself and focus on finding the person creeping around my house at night?”
Cosi’s mouth flattened into a thin line, then he was gone, the echo of his boots in the hallway fading with each step.
“Great.” The air rushed from my lungs as I sagged in my chair.
Who else in this town was calling me a bitch? I’d been here for a week. Was this all because I’d given a test on the material the kids should have already learned? How was this fair? Or my fault?
Why was no one questioning Mrs. Riley?
Well, I guess I’d have to live with this reputation. I wasn’t going to do a half-ass job when the people who’d suffer most were kids.
I glanced at the clock. Forty minutes to go.
Reaching for my red pen, I was about to start grading the worksheets on my desk when a knock came at the door.
Another parent stormed into the room, her daughter’s test wrinkled in her grip. “Are you Miss Poe?”
“Yes.” Unfortunately. I set my red pen aside. Forty minutes.
Then one hundred and seventy-four days until I put Dalton in the rearview mirror and said farewell to Montana forever.