Chapter 3 #2
“Mr. Williams, we are not here to discuss me and my happenings,” I scold the cowboy.
He’s dressed similarly to the way he was dressed at our first meeting, dirty blue jeans, brown boots, and a green shirt stretched across his torso.
I try not to stare at the way his shirt seems to be glued to him, showcasing his defined chest, but damn, Montana men are built different.
No, bad Kayla. Don’t objectify the poor man.
“Right, why am I here? Mandy said it was an emergency.”
“I never used the word emergency,” I forewarn, already knowing this isn’t going to go well.
I gesture to my chair, opting to perch against a student’s desk instead.
He doesn’t really fit in the little chairs, but it seems wrong for me to sit in one instead, so this seems like the best compromise.
He studies my desk for a moment before taking a seat in the office chair behind it.
“Thanks.” It seems like he really has to fight to get the word out, but I’ll take what I can get.
“Sure. As I was telling Ben’s mom, I’ve noticed a concerning trend with Ben in the last few days.
He’s got a bad habit of using inappropriate words, and well, he’s informed me that it’s acceptable at home, I’ve had to remind him again and again that he can’t be using such colorful language in the classroom. ”
“Colorful language?”
“Swearing,” I clarify. “I can’t have the other kids going home and telling their parents that they learned what a shitsicle is.”
“A shitsicle,” he leans back in his seat, rubbing a hand over his dark stubble. If I didn't know any better, I’d think he was smiling behind that hand of his.
“Yes, Mr. Williams, a shitsicle.”
“Well, I appreciate your concern, Ms. Carson, but we live on a working ranch. I can’t control what the boy hears, nor from whom.”
“No,” I agree. I heard my fair share of swear words growing up, too, but I knew when they were appropriate to use and when they might get me in trouble.
Calling my mom’s drug-addicted boyfriend a fucking creep was acceptable.
Calling my teacher a bitch was not. “But your son looks up to you, Colter. It’s obvious how much you mean to him.
I suspect starting with a clear conversation about what’s okay, and what isn’t, will go a long way. ”
Brown eyes study me as he takes me in from across the desk. They flick over my face, as though looking for a trace of a lie, or maybe an inkling that I don’t know what I’m talking about. Whatever he’s looking for, he’s not going to find it.
“Okay, I’ll talk to him,” he concedes.
“Perfect, we’ll start with that, and if it doesn’t work, then I’ll reach out with another plan. Maybe a classroom contract.”
“A what?”
“It’s a tool for students who struggle to follow classroom rules. It incentivizes students to try their best to correct their behavior.”
“Sounds like a bunch of woo woo,” he tells me, and if it wasn’t so insulting, I would be thoroughly amused by a grown man saying woo woo.
“It’s a tried and true method,” I assure him, stifling my smile.
“We’ll start with a stern talking to,” he reasserts, almost sounding afraid of the school contract. He shakes his head, and dust comes flying off his hat.
“Perfect. Now, while you’re here, Mandy wanted to discuss some options for Ben’s math. He is struggling quite a bit, and I think he could benefit from some tutoring.”
“We don’t have many tutors here,” Colter drawls, deadpan.
“I noticed that when I asked Mr. Alvarez for some recommendations. Unsurprisingly, he had none.” In fact, he laughed when I asked, but I don’t need to tell Mr. Williams that.
“So?”
“So, I would be willing to help Ben out after school, once a week. If that works for you and his moms.”
“You really think he needs it?” Lifting his ball cap off his head, he runs his hand through his shaggily cropped hair. I watch as more dust lands on my desk.
“I do,” I answer truthfully. Honestly, if I had to bet, I would say Ben has some sort of learning disorder, probably dyscalculia, but I don’t know him well enough to share my suspicions just yet.
If I can tutor him a little bit more, I’ll get a better idea and be more comfortable in suggesting testing.
“Fine. Would he be tutored here?”
“I don’t know if that’s the best idea,” I wince.
“I don’t want Ben to feel like he’s being punished by having to stay after school while his friends get to go home.
Why don’t we meet once a week at the coffee shop in town?
I have an apartment right above, so if it’s too loud, we can go up there to work. ”
“You want me to leave my son alone with you at your apartment?”
“You leave him alone with me all day,” I snipe back instinctively. “But if you’re not comfortable with him being in my place, then we’ll work in the coffee shop.”
“Why don’t you come to the ranch on Tuesdays? You can tutor him there.”
“That would be great,” I answer. I mean, it was always the best option, but I wasn’t going to offer up their house first. That just seems rude.
“Great. Starting next Tuesday.”
“I can do that,” I agree.
“Okay.” Sighing, he taps his fingers against the top of my desk. “I suppose while I’m here, I should apologize. I was rude when we first met, and I should have treated you better.”
“You should have,” I nod. Despite his dickish attitude during our first meeting, he does seem somewhat remorseful. And he’s been a lot more tolerable today. “But I was also rude, so I apologize as well.”
“So we’re good? You’ll tell Mandy I apologized?”
Well, that certainly makes the apology seem less sincere, awfully quick, but okay.
“If she asks, I will let her know you apologized,” I confirm, standing upright. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve been on my feet all day. I’d love to get home for dinner.”
Clearing his throat, he stands and rubs his hands down the front of his jeans.
“Right. Of course. I have a cow to go check on, anyway. She’s heavily pregnant.
Huge. Like a bowling ball. Ben asked if we could try to roll her down the hill, but I told him no.
She’s about ready to burst, so I want to keep an eye on her.
” His eyes close, his nose flaring, and I can almost feel the regret rolling off of him by the time he’s done spewing words.
“Good luck with that,” I stifle a laugh, as a blush climbs up his tan cheeks. “It sounds like a real hot date.”
He clears his throat. “I’m just gonna go. You have the ranch’s address on file, right?”
“Mhm,” I confirm, biting my lip. Nodding his head, he lifts his hand in a half-assed way, and then he’s practically running out of the room.
It’s almost endearing, watching the middle-aged cowboy get flustered. Almost—but then I remember how he behaved the last time I met him, and how he only apologized to appease his friend, and he loses all his charm.
Presently, it’s 50/50 on whether I like Colter Williams. I guess we’ll see which way the scale tips when I see him on Tuesday.