by Maisey Yates
Never.
She wasn’t that girl now. Not the girl people had believed she might be. And not the black hole that she’d been inside. She was something else entirely. Something belonging only to her. And, more to the point, she was the teacher. She had taught classes before. But it had been different. Really different. She had taught at rec centers. Had taught people who had chosen to be there.
These kids were like she had been just a few short years ago. Angry. Disenfranchised, in a place they didn’t want to be.
They were going to think she couldn’t understand that pain. That she was stupid. And she couldn’t say that she blamed them. Nobody wanted to be forced into something. But it wasn’t too late for them. It wasn’t too late for them to make different choices. And that mattered to Vanessa. It mattered deeply. She had gone over a cliff and no one had been able to reach her. If she had the opportunity to take kids’ hands, she was going to.
She parked her car as close to her classroom as possible and got out, taking a deep breath and trying to calm the beating of her heart.
She was an expert at what she was teaching. She had something to say. She had things to teach. She was going to offer the help she’d had, and she was privileged to be able to do it.
She took a deep breath and rolled her eyes at herself. “I’m good enough. I’m smart enough. Gosh darn it, people like me.” Then she laughed because it was all a little bit—or rather, a lot—ridiculous.
“Some affirmations before you head into battle?”
She whirled around and saw who else but Jacob.
“Yeah. I didn’t have time to do them in the mirror before I left the house. I only barely had time for mascara.”
“Well, that’s a shame. Though I don’t really think you need mascara.”
“Thanks. I’ll be sure to change my routine established over the course of years because you told me I didn’t need it.”
“Sorry,” Jacob said. “Habit. It’s...bar banter.”
She snorted. “Bar banter? Is that a fancy way of saying a pickup line?”
“I guess.”
“You don’t want to hook up with me,” she said.
“No.” Jacob looked somewhat mystified. Like he’d been hit on the head with a hammer. “But it turns out my conversation skills with women are maybe a little bit limited when I don’t.”
“Great. That instills a whole lot of confidence in you as a human. I didn’t expect to see you.”
“Well, the surprise is on the both of us. Though if you had gone to the meeting last night, we would have been surprised at the same time.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes.”
“I was busy.”
“What were you doing?”
She frowned. “That’s a little bit invasive.” She began to open up the back of her car and get out her art bag and the papers that she had prepared last night.
“I’m just curious.”
“I was setting another fire,” she said drily. “You caught me. I’m a very bad arsonist.”
“Yeah, you are a very bad arsonist. Since you keep running into a firefighter.”
“I like to live dangerously.” She flashed him a wide smile. “I didn’t feel like going out to a bar.”
She turned away from him and began to walk toward the classroom.
“Does it bother you to go to a bar?”
“No,” she said honestly. “I mean, I can go. I didn’t feel like going to this particular bar in this particular town.”
She would run into someone. There would be questions. And as much as there was a kind of perverse self-righteous joy in being able to answer those questions in a bar with a club soda in front of her, she wasn’t really looking to do that here. Not yet.
“Bad memories?”
She crossed her arms. “You’re very nosy for someone who claims to not want to sleep with me.”
“Just making conversation.”
“You’re bad at it. And no. There aren’t any bad memories in the Gold Valley Saloon. Not mine. I’m sure there are plenty of other bad memories that belong to other people soaked into the wood over there. I was barely eighteen when I left town. And believe me when I tell you, a fake ID doesn’t work when everyone knows your family. Or when your identical face is wandering around being underage also.” She looked at him. “But I don’t feel like I should have to tell you about how difficult it is to try to get away with things in a small town. I doubt you were a model citizen back in your high school days.”
“No,” he said. “But we didn’t have to hide anything. If we wanted to have a party my dad would buy the booze.”
“Really?” She had seen parents like that on TV. The cool parents. But she hadn’t known of any in Gold Valley. The Dalton brothers were old enough that she would never have partied with any of them.
And many of the people her age that she’d met in LA had been running from the same kinds of things that she’d been. If they had cool parents, they didn’t remember them. Or they were dead from overdoses.
“Yes. But then, I don’t think Hank Dalton was ever going to win father of the year. I mean, growing up with him was pretty fun.” Jacob nodded, a strange expression on his face. “When he was around.”
“Your dad is famous for riding in the rodeo, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Jacob said. “Though so are a lot of rodeo riders. There are a lot of champions quite frankly. It takes a lot more than that to become a personality. Hank Dalton is a personality.”
“Wasn’t he in commercials for chewing tobacco?”
“You know, if you’re asking that you know he was.”
Vanessa snapped her mouth shut, bemused. Because he wasn’t wrong. “True.”
“Yes. He advertised chewing tobacco. And of all the vices that my dad has, I don’t even think that’s one of them.”
“It’s funny. Because my dad is kind of famous. But in this town. Not really anywhere else. For completely different reasons.”
“Yes. It’s my understanding that Cole Logan is a model citizen. Of whatever town you might want to put him in.”
Model citizen. Inflexible. A good heart, but a hard heart. One she’d always desperately hoped had held love for her. And maybe it had. But she’d tested the limits of it. Vanessa had a lot of thoughts about her dad. But she wasn’t going to put any of them to words. Not now. Talking to Jacob about mascara and bad memories she didn’t even have was one thing. Getting into issues with her parents was another.
“A true-blue cowboy in every sense of the word,” Vanessa said. “If he had any interest in politics he definitely would have been mayor of the town.”
“Well. The county is named for you, after all.”
“Yes. Because our ancestors happened to show up here. I’ve always thought that was kind of funny. I mean, don’t get me wrong. My parents, my grandparents, they did a lot for the community. But I have the feeling that all they would’ve had to do was exist and they would have been important. Because they have the same last name as a weird uneven circle on the map.”
“That’s how that kind of thing works, isn’t it? Names create a legacy long before a person ever has a chance to get their say on what they might want their legacy to be. If you live in a place like this, you aren’t born with a clean slate. You’re born with your family ties wrapped around your hands, and you can either spend your whole life trying to wiggle your way out of them, or you can figure out a way that they can work for you.”
“Can I help you carry anything in the classroom?”
She turned to the side and treated him to a cursory glance. “Are you a gentleman?”
“Oh no. At least I don’t think so. My dad is about the furthest thing from a gentleman there is. But even he wouldn’t let a woman heft things from the car to the classroom when he has two good hands and could easily offer to help.”
“Well, that I will accept.” She handed him all of her materials and then passed him, leading the way inside the classroom.
<
br /> “It’s my understanding that I’m going to be taking two to three kids at a time,” she said. “And that they won’t start until they’ve had a tour of the ranch.”
“Yeah. That’s how it was explained to me. I actually don’t know much about any of it.”
“You haven’t asked?” she pressed.
“Not really. Look, I want to help my brother. But this whole thing with the kids isn’t something I’m particularly invested in.”
“Why is he?”
“Our dad. I told you already...our dad is a little bit of a mess. He’s selfish. And it turns out we have some half siblings we are collecting more and more of as the years go on.”
She blinked. He admitted to secret siblings like some people might mention they had a cold at Christmas last year. “And you don’t want to find them?”
“I don’t feel anything about it one way or the other, to be honest.”
She could tell by the tone of his voice that wasn’t strictly true. She took her supplies from him and set them on the counter, began setting up. “Okay. So you don’t feel anything about it particularly. But you also have gone out of your way to not be invested?”
“I’m investing. I’m here. That’s about as good as it gets, right?”
“Oh sure. You grudgingly and angrily helping him live out is his dream come true. I don’t know Gabe that well, but I’m certain all he requires is angry servitude.”
“Believe me. That is all my brother requires.”
“I was being serious, actually.”
“Oh, I have no doubt you were.”
“I don’t really understand what your half siblings have to do with this school.”
“I think Gabe feels responsible in some ways. Basically he knew about my father’s illegitimate children. And when our half sister showed up a year or so ago...”
“Oh. You’re going to have to explain ‘half sister’ to me.”
“Okay. McKenna showed up out of the blue a year or so ago.”
She snorted. “That is not clarifying. That’s repeating.”
“Sorry. There’s not a whole lot to clarify there. It just is what it is. We found out we had a half sister, which seemed pretty unique and crazy. And now we know we’re lousy with half siblings.” He paused. “You’re setting them up on easels on the first day? I don’t think you’re quite prepared for just how feral this group of kids is.”
She shot him a sideways look, wondering if he’d switched the subject away from personal things deliberately. “I thought you said you didn’t know anything about kids.”
“I don’t. But as a relatively feral adult who used to be a feral teenager, you set me up in front of one of those things...”
“And now that’s my goal, Jacob Dalton. So congratulations to you. But I think you might be underestimating me. What is it you think? I’m the town princess, like my sister? Not true. I’m sure I have more in common with your half sister.”
“Maybe. Anyway. My half sister was the catalyst for a lot of this. She grew up in foster care. I think Gabe sees this as a way to right some of our father’s wrongs.”
“Does Caleb feel that way?”
“As far as I can tell Caleb feels allegiance to one person and one person only.”
“And that is?”
“Ellie.”
“Oh right. You were... You were friends with her husband. She mentioned that you all fought wildfires together.”
Jacob grew visibly uncomfortable. “We were good friends with Clint for most of our lives. And when he brought Ellie into the fold we accepted her right away. I don’t know. I think Caleb has decided that he’s doing something for Clint by making Ellie and Amelia and their happiness his mission on earth.”
“And you?”
“Everything I’ve said to you about my dad—minus the secret kids—could have been said about me. I was the middle child. The wild one. Live while you’re living because you never know when you might die.”
“You were...worried about that even before Clint?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Not worried, just aware. But since Clint... Well, now I see it different.”
“His death changed you, didn’t it?” she pressed.
He looked at her, his reluctance to answer her clear. “I think if the death of your best friend doesn’t change you, there’s something wrong with you.”
She lifted a shoulder. “There’s something wrong with all of us.”
“True. And after he died I realized there was something wrong with me. So I’m trying to fix it.”
“So, for you that means fixing the ways you were like your dad?”
He looked at her, his blue eyes connecting with hers. And she felt it down deep. She was curious about him, and she didn’t want to be. Curious about who he was before Clint. About who he was now.
About who he could be.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’d like to fix that. I can’t bring Clint back. But he’s not here and I am, and it seems like I might...make the space I’m occupying here worth something.”
Words got caught in her throat, all tangled together. “You know, for what it’s worth, the space you occupy has always been worth something to me.”
She expected to feel gratitude when she looked up at him, because that was what she’d meant by what she’d said. But it wasn’t gratitude for his help when she’d had her miscarriage that she felt when she looked at him.
It wasn’t about him being a savior.
It was about him being a man.
And she really didn’t need that.
“Let’s get these easels set up,” she said, changing the subject on herself.
Because she didn’t want to think about what the tension in her chest, the tension between them, could turn into. She had an art class to focus on.
And that would be enough for now.
CHAPTER SIX
JACOB HADN’T KNOWN what to expect with an art class like this. Hell, the closest he’d ever been to a paintbrush was when he’d helped paint one of the barns for the ranch. He didn’t do...art. At all.
And it was clear to him that most of the kids coming into this place didn’t either. The first two boys were sullen most of the time, and Vanessa had happily spent the hour intermittently talking or staring at them while they refused to do anything, their aggression seeming to feed off each other.
And Jacob knew even less of what to do with kids than he did with art.
He was basically no help. And he looked like exactly what he was. A potential bouncer if the situation called for it. Which he imagined didn’t exactly ease the situation. If anything, it probably counteracted the general sense of therapy that was supposed to be happening here.
When the two of them left, they had a small break, and Vanessa looked around. “No need to clean out paintbrushes, I guess.”
“What happens if they keep doing that?” he asked.
“Then they keep doing it. But they won’t. Eventually, even if it’s out of anger, one of them is going to pick up that brush. That was my experience with it. A few strokes of defiance. But then I found out I wanted to fight with a whole lot more than just the person in front of me. That I had a lot more to get out on that canvas than I thought.”
“What if they don’t?”
“They’re going to get it out somewhere,” she said. “And long term... I suppose art isn’t for everyone. But it isn’t going to hurt someone to do a painting. And if all they learn from this is that it isn’t going to hurt them to comply when someone asks them to do something, even if it’s outside their comfort zone, then they’ve learned something.”
“I didn’t think you had a whole lot of experience teaching kids.”
“I don’t. But I have a whole lot of experience being this kind of kid.”
“It’s hard to imagine.”
It was. Vanessa was beautiful. Glossy brown hair, and a willowy frame. Her skin was clear and glowed with health. It was difficult to imagine it ever being any differe
nt. Difficult to imagine that she had ever been the drug addict she so freely claimed to be.
She more than claimed it. She’d worn it like a badge when she’d talked to him that first day at the ranch. Like a shield.
Not that he was in any place to go psychoanalyzing anyone.
She leaned back against the desk, her thin, cream-colored blouse molding itself over her breasts. He didn’t really want to psychoanalyze anyone. But he didn’t mind having a look at her.
It’d been a long damn time since a woman had stirred his interest.
Ever since Clint had died.
But then, that had made sense to him this whole time. His friend was dead. He couldn’t go home to his wife, would never hold his baby. Why should Jacob continue to live life as if nothing had ever happened?
Vanessa tilted her head back, lowering her shoulders and stretching gracefully. And his mouth went dry.
He was positively struck dumb. Not just by the attraction that centered low in his gut, and down lower still, but at the fact that it existed at all.
And just how intensely it presented itself.
Why do you think that is? Because you want to cling to the time that you did something good? And she represents that somehow?
Hell, he hadn’t even picked up a paintbrush and here he was getting overly thoughtful about blood rushing to his dick. There was no point in that. He was a man. She was a woman. She had a fine set of breasts, and he hadn’t touched any in a while.
It was as simple and complicated as that. He was certain.
About the time he was thinking about how nice her rack was, and how long it had been since he had touched a naked woman, the next couple of students came in. Marco, Calvin and Aiden. He would forget those names as soon as they walked back out. But he imagined for the purposes of getting through the next hour he ought to remember.
