Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Derek
M y phone begins ringing and vibrating.
“What?” I grumble as I open my eyes and realize it’s still dark.
Three thirty in the morning? Jeez, I think I’ve barely been asleep for an hour.
I groan when I see it’s the sheriff’s office calling me. My stomach drops as I grip the phone tightly.
This can’t be good.
“Hello?”
“Townson, it’s Clarke. It seems your horses got out. We got a call that someone almost hit your white mustang out on Tucker Road.”
“Shit,” I breathe.
White mustang horses are extremely rare, so it isn’t really possible that they belong to someone else.
“Was it just Ghost, or were the others there, too?”
“They were pretty freaked out but did say they thought it was a pack of wild mustangs running.”
“Shit. I’ll get some of my guys, and we’ll wrangle them up. They were all in their stalls at ten last night.”
“Justin and I will head out that way too and see if we can help so we don’t have anyone hitting one of them.”
“Thanks, Sheriff.”
We hang up, and I drag myself out of bed and get dressed. I start a pot of coffee before I begin making phone calls to some of my farmhands. I go to Eric’s room and gently shake him awake.
“Hey buddy, sorry to wake you up.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Some of the horses are out.” He’s already trying to roll out of bed to help. “No, the guys and I can handle it. I just want to make sure your alarm is set so that you and Case have enough time to get up and ready and don’t miss the bus.”
“It is, Dad. Are you sure you don’t need help?”
“Nope, just take care of your sister.”
“Yes, sir.”
I stand and start out of the room. He grabs his pillow, blanket, and phone before he follows me out. He goes down the hall to his little sister’s room, climbs on the old recliner in the corner, and falls back asleep quickly.
He’s such a good kid.
I make my way out of the house, my thoughts back to whirling.
How did they get out? They were all in their stalls when I went to bed. Someone would have had to have gone in, let them out of their stalls, and then out of the fence.
I scrub my hands across my face and shake my head.
If it’s not one thing, it’s another.
Irritation fills me. This is the life I chose, but I definitely don’t love three a.m. wake-up calls.
* * *
I drag myself through the orchard, grit and dust clinging to every inch of me. My boots are heavy with yesterday’s mud. The sun isn’t even up yet, just a dim haze of light stretching across the sky as we get the last of the horses back in their stalls.
Now it’s nearly six, and I can barely keep my eyes open, my muscles aching like I’ve been dragged over the ground myself. We found the fence line shattered in places. It was like someone had rammed right into it with something heavy.
“That doesn’t look like an accident,” my farmhand Willie says.
“I’m thinking the same thing. I didn’t hear any four-wheelers or anything out tonight, so it doesn’t seem likely that kids hit it on accident or something.”
“I didn’t either. The horses wouldn’t have found the break that quickly either, but the splintering of the wood looks recent.”
I blow out a long breath and scrub my face with my hand. I can feel the lack of sleep catching up to me, exhaustion seeping into my bones.
“Can you guys get it fixed up today?”
“Yup. Already on it, boss.”
“Thanks, Willie,” I sigh before I start back up to the stables.
The last mustang finally settles, and I let out a sigh of relief. I shuffle back toward the house, hands heavy at my sides. The smell of coffee hits me before I reach the kitchen, a little energy spike, even if I know it’ll do next to nothing to pull me out of this fog.
I’m in the middle of scarfing down a quick breakfast when the kids stumble in. I plate up their breakfasts and get their lunches ready while they eat. With Hicks Creek being smaller, they still ride the same bus. Hicks Creek Grade School houses kindergarten through the eighth grade. The high school is just a few blocks from the grade school.
It’s not long before I send them out the door to catch the school bus, barely managing a wave. Just a few hours in, and I feel like I’ve worked a full day.
By the time I pull into the school parking lot for the meeting that afternoon, exhaustion and irritation are threading through me. I can feel my patience stretched thin and ready to snap. I shut the truck door a little harder than I need to and trudge toward the front office, hoping we can get this over with.
Amber’s already there, waiting outside the principal’s office, her arms crossed as she leans against the wall. She looks up as I approach, her eyes softening just a bit in what I guess is concern. A smile tugs at my lips, but I force it away.
She’s a gorgeous woman with a certain poise and determination that’s hard to ignore. Her dark brown hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, framing a face that always has a bright smile. Her eyes are a striking clear brown, and she has this habit of looking directly at me when she speaks. It’s like she’s reading into my thoughts. She knows that she’s pretty. It’s clear by her quiet confidence and how she carries herself, but that smile makes her beautiful. It’s like she’s exuding some sort of light and happiness that I haven’t felt in a long time.
My eyes go directly to her pouty lips and that kissable mouth of hers. I feel the urge to grab her in my arms again and kiss her, but I know that’s not what I should be thinking about in my daughter’s classroom.
“Rough day?” she asks, tilting her head, her expression sympathetic.
Is it that obvious?
I look down and realize I haven’t changed from being out in the orchard all day. I’m covered in mud, and God only knows what else. She probably thinks I’m homeless.
I chuckle inwardly. I can’t remember the last time I was worried about what my appearance said to someone, so why do I care what she thinks?
“Something like that,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair and biting back the urge to snap. It’s not her fault my night was hell, but that doesn’t keep my mood from souring even further.
I’m embarrassed about the way I look and by how I’ve treated her since day one. It’s almost as if I can’t do anything right when she’s around. I let out a little huff as she gestures for me to walk toward her classroom. She’s quiet, and it’s unnerving.
“I talked with Miss Bruntil and Miss Brooks, Casey’s prior teachers, because I wanted to get an idea of what she was like as a student before. Miss Brooks said she was a delight, funny and outgoing, always participating. She always went out of her way for her classmates, and she was usually the first one done with in-class work. Miss Bruntil said the same thing. But that’s not the child I’m seeing. It’s like she’s just…slipping away. She’s lost interest, and I’m worried her grades will drop. Did something happen over the summer that might have caused the change?”
We walk inside her room, and she gestures for me to sit at one of the ridiculously small desks. My knees are practically in my chest. I can feel my irritation prickling at the edge of my patience. All I want is to get through this and get back to the farm. But Amber keeps talking, and every word feels like it’s somehow digging into me.
Of course, she lost interest. Her mother died, for goodness’ sake! My part of the marriage was to take care of the orchard, the farm, and the finances. Sharon raised the kids. I didn’t know the first thing about it.
“Her mom died two years ago. She’s handled that better than I could have imagined. And honestly, we’re only a week into the school year. I think you’re overreacting,” I say rudely.
“I really think we should do something to help her before she falls behind,” she continues. “I know it’s a lot to ask, Derek, but I’d be more than willing to help tutor her or spend extra time with her. Whatever it takes.”
Something in the way she says it, her tone that’s just a little too earnest and insistent, rubs me the wrong way.
“Tutor her?” I snap, crossing my arms. “She doesn’t need to be tutored.”
She blinks, a little taken aback, but she doesn’t back down. “I’m not implying she’s not smart. She’s very bright. I can tell that in the little bit that she has turned in. She just…she doesn’t want to do the work at all. Casey needs a little extra support, and I want to make sure she doesn’t slip through the cracks.”
“Well, that’s a nice thought,” I retort, my voice coming out harsher than I mean it to. “If she was fine in her other classes, maybe the problem is the teacher.”
Her eyes narrow, and I can see the frustration brewing beneath her calm exterior. I immediately regret the insinuation.
Why am I such a jerk to her? Why am I reacting so rudely to everything she says?
“This isn’t about blaming anyone. She’s a kid. Kids sometimes need help, and I’m just trying to offer that.”
“Sure, but you’re acting like she’s completely lost,” I argue. “She’s just been distracted. It’s the fifth day of school, and she’s getting back into a schedule. She’ll come out of it. I think you’re trying to be overzealous or something.”
“Maybe it is a phase. But if she is struggling, it could get worse and cause issues down the road if she thinks no one cares or is paying attention.”
“Are you insinuating that I don’t care because I’m not jumping on the negative train with you?” I snap. “Do you think I’m just sitting back, doing nothing? Just letting her fail?”
I feel my fists clenching in frustration, the exhaustion weighing on me, making every word she says feel like a jab. The accusations slip out before I can reel it in, the bitterness in my voice plain.
Her jaw tightens, and she shakes her head, looking down at her hands before meeting my gaze. She’s quiet, watching me carefully as she inhales and exhales slowly. I can almost see her mentally counting to herself before she replies.
I crossed a line, and I know that. She really is being overzealous, though. It’s the fifth day of school, for goodness' sake.
“No. That’s not what I’m saying. I just want to help her. That’s all.”
We stare at each other, the tension thick enough to cut through.
“Listen, I can’t pretend to understand what you or your children have been through. But I do understand kids and when they’re silently asking for help. If this goes on too long, it’ll be too late to set Casey up for success. Maybe we can work together to come up with a plan,” she continues gently.
The sincerity in her voice pulls me up short, though, and I feel a flicker of guilt for snapping at her. But the frustration is still there.
I don’t need anyone feeling sorry for us.
Is she questioning my ability to care for my daughter?
Have I been so busy with the farm’s growth that I didn’t notice Casey was struggling?
Eric’s been picking up a lot of my slack at the house. I wonder if he’s noticed anything and hasn’t told me. She’s still going to her regular counseling sessions, and there haven’t been any concerns there. At home, she’s been reading and drawing a lot more, and still getting out and playing with the animals. I would have noticed if there was a problem, right?
Amber clears her throat, pulling me back to the present. My gaze flits to hers, and the sad look in her eyes makes me want to apologize by pulling her into my arms and kissing her so she can feel my regret. Which is the stupidest thought I’ve ever had. Especially in the middle of a parent/teacher meeting.
I need to get out of here.
I stand, rubbing the back of my neck as I glance at the door. I just want to go to sleep. I know my daughter, and she would tell me if there was an issue, but maybe it’s not such a bad thing if she has a teacher who cares enough to question her being quiet.
“Listen,” I say with a groan. “I’m sorry, it’s been a really long day, and I’m going on little to no sleep. I didn’t mean to snap at you. If you think you can help, go for it.”
“I would like to keep her after school, just until her brother finishes football practice each day. If that’s helpful with your schedule.”
Not having to come into town twice every day would actually be helpful.
My demeanor doesn’t change, though. If I relax for one minute, if I focus on her kindness or her patience, I’ll forget where I’m at and pull this woman into another kiss.
I can’t do that. She’s my daughter’s teacher.
“That would work perfectly.”
“Great, we can meet this time next Friday to go over her progress.”
She stands and turns around, dismissing me with her gesture. I take a step forward, needing to apologize again, but instead, I nod curtly at her back and head for the door.
Thoughts of that kiss at the winery and the way she effortlessly molded herself to me race through my head, making it hard to concentrate on anything else. I have to put distance between us before I embarrass myself any more.
The muggy air hits me as I step outside, and I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
Maybe I should go back in and apologize and explain why I’m being a jerk right now. She didn’t deserve the way I acted. No sleep isn’t an excuse for shitty behavior.
I blow out a long breath and scrub my face. I start to turn around and go back inside, but my phone rings, stopping me in my tracks.
“Hey Teddy, what’s up?”
“Do you still want to meet for drinks tonight?”
“Shit, I completely forgot, bro.” I chuckle dryly. “I’m working on an hour of sleep.”
“Which means that you’re a cantankerous asshole right now, so I’ll take a rain check.” He laughs.
“That’s a pretty good description. Your sister got the brunt of that, unfortunately.”
“Uh-oh, what happened? But start by explaining why you only got an hour of sleep.”
“Someone let the horses out in the middle of the night, so we were chasing them down. By the time we wrangled them all back in, it was time to start the workday. Your sister asked me yesterday to meet to talk about Casey.”
“Is everything okay?”
“She’s worried she’ll fall behind because she’s not engaging in class.”
“My little sister can be annoying, but she’s good at her job, especially reading kids. She has a gift. Don’t take offense to her offering to help.”
“Too late.”
“Should have known.” He chuckles. “Be warned, my sister doesn’t back down from much when she believes in something. I’m sure she sees how amazing Casey is and wants to help her get back to that.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” I sigh. “I should go back and apologize to her.”
“Hey, Sofia is calling. Let me call you back later.”
I hang up the phone. I walk back into the school and straight to Amber’s classroom, but when I get there, she’s already gone.
Shit, so much for apologizing.
I’m mentally kicking myself for being a jerk to her yet again. I need to make a better impression on her, that’s for sure. I can’t be rude to someone who cares about my daughter. She needs a positive female role model in her life for the things that I can’t help her with.
I let out a long groan as I climb into my truck. I feel embarrassed by my behavior. This moodiness was a lot of the issue in my marriage, too. I thought I had been getting better, but it’s only because I avoid being around people. It’s clear I still need work.
I wonder what I need to do to get better at regulating that. I don’t want my kids growing up thinking it’s okay.