Santa's Sweetheart (The Christmas Tree Ranch #4)(6)
Maggie hadn’t said much about her teacher, just that she was nice. But nice or not, Sam wasn’t looking forward to their meeting. She’d probably criticize his parenting and cluck her tongue over the fact that his job often called him away from Maggie. He could almost hear her telling him that his daughter needed more parental supervision—something that he couldn’t provide on his own.
Damn! In his five years as Mason County sheriff, Sam had faced down armed criminals, including a killer on the FBI’s most wanted list. So why was he getting a knot in his stomach at the thought of meeting Maggie’s teacher?
*
Grace laid out her clothes for tomorrow—sky blue shirt, tweed cardigan, and navy blue slacks—before wandering into the kitchen to join her roommates for spaghetti and garlic bread. Jess and Wynette were already at the table, dishing up the salad that Grace had made earlier, as her contribution to dinner.
“So, how was your day, Grace?” Jess Graver, a dark-eyed brunette in her late thirties, was the youth guidance counselor for the school district. She owned the house and had found her roommates with a newspaper ad. “Have the Christmas crazies started yet?”
Grace spooned spaghetti and sauce onto her plate. “So far things have been pretty calm—except for what came out of nowhere today.”
“What happened?” Blond Wynette Gustavson was currently selling beauty products while she looked for a steady job. So far, her best customers had been her roommates. “Come on, Grace, entertain us.”
“I still don’t know what to make of it.” Grace helped herself to some salad and a slice of garlic bread. “This girl, probably the best student in the class, always well behaved, staged a strike because she didn’t want to go to phys ed.”
“A strike?” Jess raised her dark eyebrows. “What did she do?”
“She just sat at her desk reading. When I ordered her outside, she said she wouldn’t go, and she didn’t budge.”
“So, what did you do?” Wynette asked.
“Well, nothing, right then. I couldn’t just grab her and haul her outside. You can imagine the trouble if I were to try that. All I could do was give her a note to take home to her parents. I invited them to drop by tomorrow after school. I’m hoping we can get to the bottom of Maggie’s behavior before the problem gets any worse.”
“Did you say Maggie?” Jess asked. “Does she have red hair?”
“That’s right. Maggie Delaney. Do you know her family, Jess?”
“Not well. But her dad’s the county sheriff. His wife died in a car wreck about this time last year.”
“And he’s hot!” Wynette said. “I hear a lot of talk in my line of work. There are women out there who’d literally die for a date with Big Sam Delaney.” She sighed. “But from what I hear, he’s still mourning his wife. That little red-haired girl is all he’s got.”
*
That could explain a lot about Maggie, Grace mused as she cleaned up after the meal. With Christmas coming, and her mother gone, this had to be an emotional time for the sensitive girl. No wonder she was acting out.
But that didn’t mean her behavior could be allowed to continue.
As for Sheriff Sam Delaney, Grace didn’t care how “hot” he was. She was only interested in finding a solution to his daughter’s problem. Dating the fathers of her pupils was against her personal rules—not that he’d be interested. Wynette had made that clear enough.
Besides, Grace knew better than to get involved with any man, especially in a small town. The baggage she came with included a history of running from relationships. She’d been engaged twice. The first time she’d bolted early. The second time she’d been a week from walking down the aisle when she got cold feet and cancelled everything.
That was when she’d pulled up roots, found a new teaching job, and moved to Branding Iron. So far, things were going well. She liked her job and the friendliness of the small Texas town. And one thing was for sure. She wasn’t about to spoil things with yet another romantic fiasco.
After the long, somewhat stressful day, Grace was worn out. In her room, she spent an hour detailing tomorrow’s lesson plans on her computer, then got ready for bed and fell asleep almost as soon as her head settled on the pillow.
The dream that rose from the shadows of her memory was as troubling as it was familiar.
She was a child, back in her old first grade class, painting a picture at the easel. She needed more blue for the sky, but when she tried to refill the paint jar, it slipped out of her hands and crashed to the floor, splattering her with blue from head to toe.
“Don’t worry about me,” she told her teacher as the janitor cleaned up the floor. “My house is just around the corner. I can run home, wash up, and put on clean clothes.”
“Will there be anyone at home?” her teacher asked.
“My mom and dad are both at work. But I know where the key is. I can let myself in, clean up, and come right back.”
“Wouldn’t you like somebody to go with you?”
“No, I’ll be fine.” It was a small town; she was often allowed to go places on her own.
She left by the outside door to the classroom, cut across the schoolyard to the corner, and hurried along the sidewalk toward her house, which was partway down the block. Her clothes were a mess. Her mother would scold her when she got off work at the bank. But her father would understand that it had been an accident. He would defend her. She was his special girl. That was what he always said.