Right now Shania was eyeing her knowingly.
“No, it’s going very well,” Wynona responded, nodding around the room at the clusters of milling students. As if united in purpose, the children were almost all tugging on their parents’ hands, leading them from one wall to another as they proudly pointed out their artwork from amid the rest. “Better than I’d hoped, actually,” she confessed.
But Shania saw through her cousin’s act and her blasé attitude. “He’ll be here, Wyn,” she assured Wynona in a low voice.
Wynona didn’t bother to pretend that she didn’t know who her cousin was talking about. A denial would have been childish and dishonest and she had never been anything but honest with her cousin. Ever.
She answered Shania in a tough tone. “He’d better if he knows what’s good for him,” Wynona retorted.
Shania grinned. “Ah, there’s the Wynona Chee that I know and love,” she declared with a laugh. The next moment her smile grew even wider. “And you are living proof that everything always comes to she who waits,” Shania concluded.
Wynona stared at her cousin. “What are you talking about?”
Rather than answer, Shania merely pointed behind her, toward the doorway.
Wynona turned her head to see Ryan entering the classroom, his small fingers wound tightly around his father’s hand as he led the way into the room.
Wynona hardly felt Shania’s pat on her shoulder. The next moment her cousin had made herself scarce, managing to unobtrusively meld into the gathering of parents and children. Leaving her to greet the father and son coming into the classroom.
“You came,” Wynona said, addressing the remark to both Ryan and his father as she greeted them warmly.
“One of the horses got loose,” Ryan said, speaking up. It was obvious that he wanted his teacher to know why they were late. “We had to get to Flora before the coyotes could find her,” he explained, a very serious expression on his face.
“I understand completely,” Wynona assured him. “So did you finally find her?” she asked, although she already assumed that they had because the boy didn’t seem distressed.
Ryan nodded his head up and down with vigor. “My dad’s real good at finding lost animals. Horses and cattle,” he told her proudly.
“Good thing to know in case I ever need help,” Wynona said. Her eyes shifted toward the silent rancher. “Thank you for coming,” she told Clint.
“Had to,” he answered simply with a vague shrug of his shoulders. When she looked at him quizzically, he said, “You were holding my word hostage.”
“I had nothing to do with it,” she told him. “You were the one honoring your word.”
Clint merely made an unintelligible sound under his breath in response. Turning his attention to the classroom in general, he asked the teacher, “So tell me, why am I here again?”
She didn’t even have to pause to frame her answer. “To see firsthand how well your son is doing,” she told him. Gazing down at the boy, she gently coaxed Ryan, “Tell you what. Why don’t you take your dad around and show him all your different projects?” Redirecting her attention toward the rancher, she said, “The students spent the entire day getting the classroom ready today.” She smiled, oblivious to the effect her smile had on both father and son. “I think they’re very proud of their work—and rightly so,” she concluded.
Wynona could see Ryan’s father looking at the various displays. The expression on his face gave her no clue what was going on in his mind so she felt obligated to add, “They all put their hearts into it.”
Clint glanced at her. He had a feeling that the teacher was putting him on notice that he was to say nothing but appreciative words when talking about the work on the walls as well as the booklets that had been put together for viewing.
“Did they, now?” Clint asked, his tone giving nothing away.
Glancing around, he zeroed in on the booklet that Ryan had painstakingly put together. It was placed right below some of his artwork. Clint picked up the booklet to take a closer look.
She could see Ryan holding his breath as he watched his father leafing through the booklet.
“They certainly did,” she told Clint with quiet enthusiasm that cautioned him to say only positive, glowing things about the pages he held in his hands. Moving closer to the rancher, she indicated the wall with Ryan’s drawings. “I think his artwork shows a lot of promise, especially for an eight-year-old.” Her eyes met Clint’s. “I think your son has a great deal of talent,” she said.
Clint stopped flipping through the pages of the booklet his son had put together and looked up, his eyes meeting the teacher’s.
It struck him how intensely blue her eyes were. It struck him that she could look into his very soul.
Clearing his throat, he commented, “Not much call for that kind of thing on a ranch.”
Wynona glanced to see that Ryan was talking to another student. That, too, was a heartening sign as far as she was concerned. The boy was blossoming, slowly coming out of that shell he’d had around him those first few weeks of class.
Grateful that Ryan was out of earshot and hadn’t heard his father’s comment, she told the rancher, “Maybe Ryan won’t always be on the ranch.”
Clint’s eyes darkened. He looked as if he was less than happy at her observation. But she felt she had to at least voice her thoughts as well as give the man something to consider.
Despite the brooding expression on Washburn’s face, she pushed on. “When he grows up, he might decide he wants to do something else with his life than be a rancher. I’m not saying that he will,” she quickly clarified. “I’m just saying that that door should remain open to him.” Her eyes were on his again. “You do want to be fair to your son.”
“Did I say that?” he questioned, as if wanting to know if he had given her that impression.
“You don’t have to,” she informed him. Part of her felt that she might be on shaky ground but she stood on it anyway. “You’re a fair man by definition.”
Clint made no response. Instead, he studied her in silence for so long, Wynona thought he had decided just to stop talking altogether.
But then he completely surprised her by saying in a grudging tone, “You’re good.”
For a second she thought she’d either misheard him, or imagined his response. Her eyebrows drew together as she said, “Excuse me?”
She half expected him to just walk away. But Clint didn’t walk away. Instead, he explained what he was telling her. “You twist words around, saying flattering things as if they were gospel. You also make a person feel as if he was being extremely unfair if he says anything to contradict you.”
He got all that from her simple answer? “I’m afraid you’re giving me way too much credit, Clint,” she told him, shaking her head.
Just for a moment the rancher appeared as if he was about to laugh at her. But he didn’t. Instead, he responded, “If anything, I’m not giving you enough credit.”
Before she had a chance to dispute his answer, Ryan had returned to his side. With a smile on his bright, shining face, the boy was eagerly tugging on his arm, wanting to bring him over to another display.
“Dad, come this way,” Ryan urged. “You gotta see this one.”
For a second, Clint could only stare at his son. He really couldn’t get over the boy’s transformation. The difference seemed almost like night and day. His son wasn’t the hesitant, quiet, wide-eyed boy he’d always known up until just a few weeks ago. If anything, Ryan was like a whole new person.
The boy’s withdrawn, quiet qualities had receded until they had vanished into thin air like vapors that had dried up in the fall breeze. In place of those quiet qualities were traits more in keep with the way a regular eight-year-old boy behaved.
In a way, Clint realized that he could now see himself in Ryan. Thinking back,
he had been just like this when he had been Ryan’s age.
Except not nearly as eager for parental approval, he recalled.
“I drew this, Dad,” Ryan was proudly telling him. Then, in case his father was having trouble recognizing just what it was that he had drawn, Ryan said, “It’s a picture of my horse.”
“I can see that,” Clint answered.
The truth of it was he was rather surprised that he actually could recognize what it was, given the usual nature of childish drawings.
All around them there were drawings on the walls that looked more like colorful blobs or slashes of color than anything that was actually recognizable.
Apparently, Wynona was right, Clint thought, grudgingly giving the woman her due. Ryan did have a glimmer of talent when it came to those drawings of his. But he had to admit that he just hoped the boy had talents that lay elsewhere.
Like having a penchant for learning.
That would stand Ryan in good stead as he grew older, Clint thought.
As far as those pictures went, drawing those things wasn’t going to lead to anything on its own. It certainly wasn’t anything for him to consider when it came to making a living.
Clint hadn’t realized that he had been looking up at the drawings for some time until he felt Ryan tugging on his sleeve.
“Do you like them, Dad?” Ryan asked. There was no missing the hope in his voice.
For a second, Clint weighed his options.
“Yes, I do,” he finally answered, knowing that his response would make the boy happy. He thought he heard a sigh of relief behind him coming from the teacher.
He had to admit, in an odd sort of way, he did like the drawing. Or rather he liked that his son could do something that he couldn’t. When it came to drawing, stick figures were a challenge for him.
“I’m glad,” Ryan said.
Wynona stepped back. Although she would have loved to have accompanied Clint and his son around the classroom, pointing out things and attentively listening to anything the rancher had to say about or to his son, the reality was that she had a great many more parents to talk to before the evening was over. She couldn’t very well ignore them, especially after they had come out at her behest.
Slanting a last glance in Clint and Ryan’s direction, she forced herself to turn her attention toward the rest of the parents.
Wynona made herself available to answer any questions, comment on any parental observations and in general just share the evening with these parents who had come out to show their children that they supported them and were proud of them.
* * *
The evening lasted a little longer than she had initially planned, but eventually, parents began to slowly leave the classroom, their children safely in tow. Almost all of them had a few words to share with her in parting, telling her the same comment in a variety of different ways.
But in essence, what they all told her was that they appreciated that she saw as much potential in their offspring as they did. They told her, in so many words, that they were very glad that she was their children’s teacher.
She had to admit that their sentiments made her feel really happy.
And then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Clint and Ryan leaving. They were going without bothering to say anything to her. She knew she could have hung back, but given the effort she had made just to get the man to come out here, she wasn’t about to just stand by and let him walk out.
Instead, she made her way over to the duo before they reached the door.
Getting in front of them, she smiled at Clint and his son.
“Thank you so much for coming,” she said, taking Clint’s hand and shaking it.
Rather than giving her the brush off, or mumbling, “Yeah, sure,” Clint fixed her with a look. “I really didn’t have a choice,” he reminded her. “Did I?” He challenged her to contradict him.
Which she did.
“Actually, you did,” she told him cheerfully. Before he could ask how she had come to that conclusion, she said, “You could have looked for that horse a little longer, then used that as an excuse not to attend the event tonight.”
“And be accused of missing your cookies on purpose?” he asked.
There was actually humor in his voice, she thought, pleased.
“I would have set some aside and sent them home with Ryan tomorrow,” she told him in the same tone that he had just used.
There was a glimmer of admiration in his eyes. “Got an answer for everything, don’t you?”
“Not yet,” she said honestly, “but I’m working on it.”
“I’m glad we came, Dad,” Ryan said, speaking up, then added, reverting back to his shy persona for just a moment, “I’m glad you came.”
Taken completely aback for a moment, Clint managed to gather himself together in order to say, “Yeah, me, too.” And then he looked at the woman who had all but goaded him into being here. “Me, too,” he repeated, this time addressing his words to Wynona.
She smiled at him and he felt something within him responding.
He didn’t want to and he didn’t welcome the feeling within him, but it was there nonetheless.
Clint took a breath, steeling himself off.
With a nod of his head, he said, “Good night, Miss Chee.”
Then, with his hand against his son’s back, Clint guided the boy to the door and out into the hallway.
For his part, Ryan turned around and waved at her, beaming like he had just been awarded a lifetime supply of his favorite ice cream.
And while she smiled at Ryan and returned the boy’s wave, she couldn’t help wondering what had just happened here. At the very last moment, Clint Washburn seemed to withdraw and take ten steps back from where they had just been only a few minutes ago.
Or was that just her imagination?
“You’re frowning,” Shania whispered, coming up behind her. “It didn’t go well?”
“Oh, it went well,” Wynona answered. “And then it didn’t.”
“I don’t allow any riddles after seven o’clock,” Shania told her. “My mind won’t process them after that. Save it until morning.”
Wynona was staring in the direction that Clint had taken. “I hope it’s gone by morning.”
“One can only hope,” Shania said just before they closed up the classroom. It just seemed like the thing to say.
Chapter Eleven
There were some people living in and around Forever who considered Miss Joan to be as close to an institution as they could ask for.
Tireless, the older woman—no one really knew how old she was and no one, not even her husband, was brave enough to ask—kept the diner open seven days a week, closing only on Christmas, New Year’s and Thanksgiving. On those days the people who had no family found themselves sitting at the table with Miss Joan, her husband, Harry, and anyone else who was alone on that day.
It was also generally believed that if there was anything worth knowing in the town, Miss Joan already knew about it. It wasn’t that Miss Joan gossiped. She just had a way of assimilating information before anyone else even knew there was information to be gathered.
When Wynona finally decided to come into the diner to ask Miss Joan what light she could shed on Clint Washburn’s self-imposed isolation, she felt rather uncomfortable about it.
She hadn’t seen the woman since she had left Forever all those years ago. More important, she hadn’t dropped by since she had returned. That made turning up now to ask questions particularly awkward.
As she entered the diner, Wynona tried to think of the best way to approach Miss Joan. Arriving at the diner when she felt fairly certain that it wouldn’t be full, Wynona practically tiptoed up to the counter.
The redheaded woman had her back to the door and was, from the looks of it, slicing up the freshl
y baked peach pie that was sitting on the counter right in front of her.
Wynona pressed her lips together, still searching for the best way to initiate the conversation.
“So are you going to just stand there admiring my hair, or are you actually going to say something, Wynona?” the woman asked, her back still to her.
Wynona’s mouth dropped open. It had gone suddenly dry and she was totally speechless as she continued to stare at the woman’s back.
The sound of her own breathing seemed to echo in her ears.
Finally, she found her tongue. “How did you know it was me?”
Miss Joan slowly turned around to look at her. Wynona continued to stare. It was as if the woman had some how been preserved in time. She hadn’t aged in ten years.
“I’m Miss Joan. I know everything,” the older woman replied simply. And then she added matter-of-factly, “And I saw your reflection in the metal cabinet.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” Wynona replied with a relieved laugh. “For a second I thought you actually had eyes in the back of your head.”
Hazel-green eyes traveled up and down the length of her body slowly, taking complete measure of the young woman before her.
“I never said I didn’t,” Miss Joan replied quietly.
Finished with the pie, Miss Joan retired the long, thin knife she’d been using, letting it slide back down into the pitcher filled with hot water. She had been dipping the knife into the hot water in between cuts to ensure the pie was cut in clean, even pieces.
“You filled out some since I last saw you,” she observed.
Given that her last clear memory of the woman was just before she and Shania had been taken to Houston to grow up there, Wynona could only smile. “Well, it’s been more than ten years,” she replied, even though she knew that Miss Joan was aware of that fact.
Miss Joan nodded her head, as if silently agreeing with Wynona’s response.
“It took you this long to say hello?” the woman asked.
Wynona flushed. “Sorry,” she apologized, at a loss as to how to excuse the fact that she hadn’t come by even once since she’d returned to Forever. She’d been busy at first and then, the more time that went by, the more awkward just dropping by became.
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