Chapter 8
Chapter 8
H arper’s brain was still buzzing as she and Ollie arrived home that afternoon, when the workday was supposedly over. She’d consulted with four different students, including Gideon and Ellie Bennet, and two parents, both of whom had been either cowed or angry and defensive.
The first was the father of one of the school-bus bullies, Justin Parks.
Evan Parks seemed to hate the whole world, starting with his ex-wife and certain government officials, and he apparently blamed everyone but Justin—or himself—for the boy’s behavior. Justin, Harper had quickly realized, wasn’t the problem.
Clearly, the kid was absolutely inundated with negativity and foul energy at home, and Harper had sympathized with him as deeply as she had with Ellie, whose main problem seemed to be not so much bad parenting—though there was certainly room for improvement in that area—but plain old garden-variety poverty.
She was ashamed of her second-clothing, minor speech impediment, and learning problems. Turned out, the girl suffered from mild dyslexia and she, like Gideon, was in special classes.
Ellie’s mother had come to the school to retrieve her semi-hysterical daughter, and paused to speak with Harper, on the advice of the principal.
Becky Bennet, it soon became apparent, was basically a good person. She loved her daughter, but she was chronically unemployed, primarily because she was afflicted with one of the worst cases of depression Harper had ever seen.
And that, considering Harper’s job history, not to mention her own experience with the problem of depression, was saying something.
Becky was tiny, with enormous hazel eyes and hair the same shade of blond as her daughter’s. She fell into the chair facing Harper’s desk, rather than sitting down, and it didn’t take long to understand that the woman was literally dragging herself from one place to the next, so deep was the inertia she dealt with every day.
She’d confided, in fact, that these days, she usually didn’t even have the energy to get out of bed in the mornings; Ellie had been making her own meals and then cleaning the tiny house they shared all summer long.
Harper had empathized, certainly, but her first concern was the child’s well-being.
Now, back home, and having exchanged her crisp linen blouse and sharply creased black slacks for jeans and a T-shirt, soft with age, Harper continued to ruminate on the concerns she’d encountered that day.
First, Gideon and his temper.
Then Ellie, in her worn-out, thrift-store clothes.
Justin Parks, who was actually a good kid, in Harper’s opinion. He dealt with a lot of anger at home, and he probably needed a way to vent. Hence, the bullying.
Not that his personal troubles were an excuse.
But they were a reason.
And after Justin, two other children who, thankfully, had less severe problems, were sent to Harper’s office. One, a girl named Susie Svenson, who had recently come to Copper Ridge to live with her divorced father, primarily because her mother had recently remarried and she now had step-siblings and the blended family thing wasn’t working out.
Then, finally, there was Marcus Desmond, a thirteen-year-old living with his grandmother. He’d been caught leaving the grounds during school hours and snagged by one of the teachers, who’d sent him Harper’s way.
Marcus had simply wanted to go home on his lunch break to make sure Grandma took her allotted midday medicine. She was forgetful, Marcus explained, and the medicine was important. She could die without it.
The kid had had good reason for what he’d done, obviously, though leaving the school grounds before the last bell, unless in the company of a parent or guardian, was strictly against the rules.
Harper hadn’t come up with a solution yet—not for any of the kids and certainly not for the parents, and that bothered her.
Frankly, she hadn’t expected the job to be as hard as it was, and she was momentarily overwhelmed.
Ideas of what to do about all these pressing difficulties chased each other round and round in Harper’s head as she fed Ollie and, when he was finished gobbling down his grub, she snapped on his leash and stepped out the back door for a walk around the yard and, perhaps, as far as the creek—the same one that ran through Jack’s property.
The stream curved around in a wide loop through the countryside, flowing under a small wooden bridge three miles up the road, and then tumbling and whispering its light-splashed way right through Harper’s five acres and on toward Diamond River.
Harper loved that creek, and so did Ollie, which meant she had to keep him on the leash. On their last visit, she’d let him off, thinking it might be good to let him wander just a little, like a normal dog, and he’d jumped straight into the creek, which had spun him around twice and carried him far enough downstream that Harper had to run along the bank and finally splash into icy, knee-deep water to rescue him.
He’d been soaking wet, of course, and seemingly proud of himself.
The ways of Ollie were past finding out.
When they reached the little clearing beside the creek—where a huge, mossy, and flat boulder, probably the mere tip of a stone iceberg, provided a nice perch for sunning oneself, or reading—the dog stopped and looked hopefully up at his mistress.
She shook her head. “No way you’re getting off-leash,” she said firmly. “Remember what happened last time?”
Ollie must have understood, because he sighed so forcefully that his entire body, miniscule as it was, heaved with the expulsion of breath. Then, when Harper took a seat on the rock, he pranced to her side and sat down within petting distance.
Sitting there, in the waning light of a September day, Harper shivered slightly. There was definitely a nip in the air, and she wished she’d brought a light jacket along, or worn a sweatshirt instead of a tee.
Finally, her brain began to offload the problems of the day, and she was in an almost meditative state when she was startled by the sound of something rocketing through the dense brush on the other side of the creek.
She tensed, and automatically reached for Ollie, ready to flee, or defend him if the intruder turned out to be a coyote or anything else that might represent a threat.
Turned out, it was Trey, the O’Ballivans’ dog, and he was about to leap into the creek and swim across to greet her when a shrill whistle sounded from a copse of pine and spruce trees behind him.
“Trey! Whoa!” It was Jack’s voice.
Harper felt a thrill, and a light blush rising to her cheeks.
Jack came out of the trees and grinned over at her.
She set Ollie down again, reassured that he’d be safe. He and Trey were canine buddies, used to each other because of the regular visits back and forth, between Jack’s place and hers.
“Hey,” he said. “I know I’m trespassing, but you weren’t at the house, so Trey and I tracked you down.”
Harper smiled. “Are you here to talk about Gideon?” she asked.
Jack nodded, walked downstream about twenty yards, and crossed the creek by moving gracefully, arms out from his sides like a tightrope walker, over the trunk of a fallen tree.
Trey trotted happily along behind him.
Reaching her, Jack sat down next to her on the big rock. Like her, he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and his dark hair was damp from a recent shower.
“So,” Jack began, after huffing out a breath of resignation, “Gideon—and the principal—told me about the incident on the bus.”
“Where’s Gideon now?”
“At home, in his room. He’s under house arrest for the time being. No video games and no TV. Just his homework.”
“He’s a good kid, Jack,” Harper said, though she knew it was unnecessary. Jack O’Ballivan was invested in understanding Gideon, and he was well aware that the boy, for all his need to catch up on schoolwork and learn to interact with others more effectively, was intelligent and basically well-intentioned.
Jack turned to look into her face, and there it was again, that feeling that he was about to kiss her.
He didn’t, though.
“Any recommendations, Ms. Quinn? If so, I can probably use them.”
On an impulse she never could have explained in a million years, Harper laid a hand on Jack’s warm, muscular shoulder. He smelled deliciously of fresh air and soap, though he’d probably been pounding nails or herding cattle all day. His was a working ranch, not a hobby farm.
“Mostly, I think Gideon needs time to adjust. He’s learning to trust you, Jack. He wants to, but he’s been let down so many times, mistrust has become a habit. Besides therapy, and you’re already getting that in Flagstaff, it’s going to take patience.”
Jack sighed again, and grinned. “So, no magic formula, huh?”
She laughed. “No magic formula.”
“He trusts you,” Jack pointed out quietly. “Why not me?”
“Gideon’s got no skin in the game, where I’m concerned,” Harper answered, her hand still resting on Jack’s shoulder. “To him, I’m just the woman across the road, the counselor he sees at school. You, on the other hand, are the main pillar of his life. He’s feeling his way along, making sure you mean what you say.”
Jack nodded a little sadly. “A few days ago, I woke up in the morning and found him sleeping on the floor, in front of my bedroom door,” he told her. “I guess he was making sure if I took off, he’d know about it.”
Harper closed her eyes for a moment, feeling Gideon’s pain, his fear of abandonment. And Jack’s need to reach his child, to somehow convince him that he had a home and a father now. That he was loved and valued.
“Did you talk with him then?”
“I tried,” Jack replied. “Basically, he said he went to the bathroom in the middle of the night and fell asleep on the way back.” He paused, grinned. “He’s not a very good liar, and I find that reassuring. Call it clutching at straws, but there you have it.”
“How about going back home for Gideon and then coming to my place for supper, the two of you? And Trey, of course. I’m going to heat up a container of frozen lasagna, so the meal won’t be fancy, but—”
“But,” Jack interrupted, and his voice had turned husky, all of the sudden, “you could serve dry oatmeal, Harper Quinn, and I would eat it happily, with gratitude, if it meant sitting across a table from you.”
She couldn’t answer, and for some ridiculous reason, her eyes welled up.
And that was when it finally, finally happened.
Jack cupped her face in both hands, tilted his head to one side, and bent to touch his mouth to hers, softly at first, then more firmly.
The kiss deepened, and everything inside Harper melted.
Except her doubts.
She’d been right, thinking she might be getting in over her head, spending so much time with Jack O’Ballivan.
And she wasn’t ready for the things that kiss promised.
But that didn’t mean she didn’t want them.
All of them.
When Jack finally drew back, it was only to rest his forehead against hers. His eyes were still closed.
“Wow,” he breathed. “Is it just me, or did we just get hit by lightning?”
Somehow, the remark eased the tension—Harper didn’t try to delude herself about what kind of tension it was—though she still felt a burning ache in a particular part of her anatomy.
This was not going to turn into sex, she reminded herself silently. She’d been an old-fashioned kind of gal before she met George, and now she was one again.
Maybe it was trite and stupid, but uncommitted sex was out of the question for her now. She’d been down that road, and it hadn’t led anywhere good.
Jack got to his feet, scooping Ollie up and holding him in the curve of one arm while he helped Harper up with the other.
“Don’t panic,” he said, with warmth and uncanny perception. “I know you’re not ready to take this further, but I think we should talk about it at least. Don’t you?”
Harper had to gulp back the lump in her throat before she could answer. “Yes,” she said simply. “I think we should talk about it, but not tonight. It’s nothing Gideon needs to overhear.”
“Right,” Jack agreed. Still gripping her hand, he started pulling her back toward her little house, carrying Ollie the whole way. Trey zipped ahead of them, forging a path through the trees and underbrush. “Suppose we go horseback riding, just you and me. Saturday, maybe? Gideon can stay with Sadie and Tom, so we’ll have some privacy.”
Harper stopped, making Jack stop, too.
He looked down at her, patiently curious, one eyebrow raised, a slight grin tipping his mouth to one side. “What?” he asked reasonably.
“We can’t have sex. On Saturday, I mean.”
Jack’s grin broadened. “Yeah, I figured that,” he said. “We’re going to talk, Harper. I promise you, that’s all. With the proviso that kissing is not off the table.”
Harper suddenly felt silly, like some prissy old maid, and she laughed. “That sounds fair,” she said.
An hour later, the lasagna was ready to come out of the oven, the salad was made, and the dogs were curled up together on the hooked rug near the back door, snoozing.
For a silly moment, Harper actually envied them. They looked so unruffled, so tranquil.
Jack was setting the table, while Gideon sat in the chair he usually occupied, head down.
Once the plates and silverware were in place, Jack reached over and ruffled Gideon’s hair.
“Chin up, scout,” he said. “There are no lectures forthcoming.”
Tentatively, Gideon looked up. Glanced from his father’s face to Harper’s, then back again. “Am I in trouble, though?”
“Yep,” Jack replied, pulling back Harper’s chair and waiting politely while she set the just-baked lasagna in the middle of the table. “No video games and no TV for a week.”
Gideon groaned dramatically. “A whole week ?” he all but howled.
“Longer, if you lose your temper again.” Harper was seated by then, so Jack drew back his own chair and sat, too.
“I was defending myself,” Gideon protested, but weakly.
“The bus driver reported everything to the principal,” Jack reminded his son easily, “so there’s an eyewitness testimony. The other kid was giving you a bad time, but you threw the first punch.”
“If I’d just told him to shut up,” Gideon reasoned, “he wouldn’t have. So I had to sock him one.”
Jack sighed, rubbed the back of his neck. Exchanged glances with Harper.
She smiled. “Who wants salad?” she asked.