CHAPTER 69
Emma
I take a seat at the back of the classroom and try to make myself as small as possible. The only reason I’m here—the absolute only reason—is that Jasmine is counting on me to be here. She asked me to be here, then confirmed I would come, and I promised I would.
So I’m here.
As long as I live, I won’t promise a child something and then not follow through.
But I’d rather be anywhere on earth than at this school volunteer planning meeting. We’re here to discuss the welcome-back event for the start of the new school year in August. I won’t be here in August. I’ll be long gone by then.
And as soon as this volunteer meeting is over and I’m back at Yosemite Ranch, I’ll continue doing what I should be doing right now—applying for jobs.
Phyllis said she would be my reference if I was interested in finding a new position as a housekeeper and nanny.
I’ve seen a few ads for work in Lake Tahoe, which would be a gorgeous place to live.
I think I might like to continue this kind of work.
Just not working for Finn MacLaine.
I’m going to miss Jasmine something horrible, and I’m already grieving that loss. I’m going to miss Finn worse. But I refuse to let my mind go there. I have to keep focused on the next thing in front of me. And that is getting a new job. Finding a new place to live and getting on with my life.
From here on out, I will not be a dreamer. I will not live in a fantasy world. I will just put my head down and do what has to be done.
Tammy and Lana stand at the front of the classroom smiling down on all of us adults. I guess they have no choice, since the dozen or so parents here are seated in the low-to-the-ground elementary school chairs.
I feel lesser than, but that’s probably just me. I’m already going back to old habits, old mindsets.
Tammy and Lana start talking, but I don’t make eye contact with them. I don't want to open myself up for any more attacks. I’ve had enough.
I’m here to listen. To say that I put my butt in the chair as promised. And that's it. I'm not here to contribute. I’m not here to come up with ideas. I am just filling a chair.
Lana clears her throat. “So, you all may remember that at our welcome back to school celebration last year we set it up as a kind of festival, with a face painting booth, balloon animal station, and a taco bar.”
“That was so fun!” Tammy adds.
I hear a few faint murmurs of agreement from the crowd.
I recognize a few of the moms here and the one dad. It’s nice that there’s a father here, a reminder of how many wonderful dads are in the world.
But none as wonderful as Finn.
I’ve had some time to think about it, and I realize that his need to protect his child is at the center of his universe, the core of who he is. His role as a first-rate single dad is how he defines himself. And my observation threatened how he sees the world.
I didn’t mean to do that.
“So does anyone have any new ideas for next year? Anything that you think might be a new approach?” Tammy waits for someone to say something.
I think half the parents in this room feel the way I do about Lana and Tammy. They just want to stay away, too far away to become a target.
I’m near tears again. My heart is breaking. I don't want to leave Yosemite Ranch, but I have no choice.
“All right, then,” Tammy says. “If no one has any ideas, then I suppose Lana and I will carry that responsibility, the way we always do. We’ll ensure that the children have a quality experience.”
“I have an idea.”
The voice comes from the back of the room, from the doorway. I recognize that voice. That voice belongs to Finn. And as soon as I hear it, every nerve ending in my body comes alive just as my heart sinks.
I turn around in my seat. He takes up the whole doorway. I have to catch my breath. This man is so beautiful. He's outrageously beautiful. And every woman in here knows it. Every eye in the room is on him. Some women's mouths are hanging open.
I check to make sure mine isn’t among them.
Finn’s not dressed to impress. He’s dressed to intimidate.
He’s wearing a pair of worn and torn work jeans.
An old leather belt. His favorite pair of dusty cowboy boots.
And a plain white T-shirt. On his head is the same cowboy hat I've seen on him a hundred times. It’s the one he wore to the Summer Fair, the night he held my hand for the first time.
Through his jeans I see the bulk of his thighs and the tight muscle of his ass. The old shirt can’t hide the chiseled contours of his abdomen and shoulders. The muscles of his upper arms, forearms, and neck are right there for everyone to see.
His face is unshaven. His eyes burn hot as he scans the room, looking for me. I don’t look away fast enough, and there’s an instant of eye contact. Just a split second. But it’s too much.
I stare at my sneakers and sink even further into my chair.
I hear the heels of Finn’s boots hit the tile floor as he walks to the front of the room.
I dare to look up. His gaze is locked on my face, and his mouth is pulled tight. Then he glances at the door and smiles tightly. “Oh, there you are. Please come in, Mrs. Greeley.”
Oh, shit.
“I'm here today to contribute my ideas about what is going on in this school. Specifically, I’d like to comment about how Tammy and Lana are running this operation.”
The twinset twins stagger backward a few steps to give Finn space. I don’t blame them. He looks ferocious. And angry.
“Here's the deal,” Finn says. “If you have something to say about anything involving the MacLaines, you say it to me. Not Emma Clark.”
What is he doing? Oh, no.
I feel everyone’s eyes on me. I go back to staring at my shoes. I should never have looked up.
“If you have opinions about anything having to do with my child or her education, or who might be picking her up and dropping her off or what she’s eating for lunch—these are all things you bring to me. Not Emma.”
I pat my front pocket to make sure the car keys are within reach. I’m getting out of here. Forget the crispy rice treats and cornhole.
Finn just keeps going. Why is he doing this?
I think I might puke. This is not what I wanted. The fact that he’s here means he sees me as nothing but a victim. Nothing but a weakling. Someone who cannot stand up for herself.
I want to cry. I'm on the verge of crying, but I've cried so much today that I don't know if I have any tears left in me.
In Finn’s eyes, I’m pathetic. He sees me as a pathetic victim. And I know the smartest thing I’ve ever done in my life is not tell him that I love him.
Not past tense. I still do. What a mess I’ve made for myself.
Apparently, Finn isn’t done embarrassing me.
“If anyone feels the need to question my judgment about the people I choose to have around my family, it’s me who needs to hear it.
You got problems? You come to me. I am my family’s protector.
And Emma Clark…” His voice trails off. I think he may be pointing to me. My face has got to be tomato red.
“Emma is a wonderful and open-hearted person who is very important to me and my family. And she may be new to town and you might not know her well, but I do. I trust her to do whatever she believes is right. She has my seal of approval. And Mrs. Greeley, if I have to sign a piece of paper to that effect, I will.”
He’s making me sound like a kitchen appliance. Maybe that’s exactly what I am.
“But guess who is not new to this town? The MacLaines. We settled this area in 1865 and built this town. There would be no Sweetbriar without the MacLaines, no elementary school. So, the next time you even think about opening your mouth to Emma to say something nasty, you need to picture in your mind that you’re speaking to me.
Maybe that will help you keep your trap shut. Thanks for your time.”
The room is silent. I hear the rustle of people turning back around in their chairs now, looking at me again. I’m ashamed, completely humiliated.
I know I’m going to puke.
Now I’m sure that Finn sees me as a helpless, powerless victim who needs to be saved. Not his partner. Not his equal. He’s not here to tell the world that he loves me. He only wants them to know that I’m a pathetic victim under his protection.
I cannot wait to get out of this room. I hear Finn’s boots pound on the tile, exit the classroom, and head into the hallway. I know he's waiting for me in the lobby or on the sidewalk or next to the SUV I drove to school this afternoon.
But I can't talk to him. I can't face him. Not now. Not ever.
I’ve changed my mind about the crispy treats and being on snack duty. I plan on being the last adult here. It’ll be hours until I return to the ranch.
“Well, then,” Tammy says, her voice abnormally chipper. “Face painting, balloon animals, and tacos it is! Thank you, everyone, for showing up today. Really appreciate it. Now let's all get out there and play some cornhole!”