by Abby Gaines
Kyle restricted himself to just the one.
He led the way to the first of the two kindergarten classrooms. Mrs. Mason, Daisy’s teacher, put down the stapler she was using to attach a poster to the noticeboard and came to greet them.
“Daisy, dear, welcome back. Hello, Kyle.”
Daisy threw her arms around the teacher, clinging to her as if no one else had offered her a hug all week. Mrs. Mason hugged her back, then looked at Jane over the top of her spectacles. “Now, who have we here?”
“I’m Jane Slater, Mrs. Mason.” Of course, the older woman would have been on staff when Jane was at school.
“Ja-nelle?” Mrs. Mason asked.
“It’s Jane now.”
“Janelle Slater.” No mistaking the disapproval in the usually warm Mrs. Mason’s face. “When did you get back into town? Is Darren with you?”
“I arrived Saturday. I don’t know where my brother is.”
Kyle couldn’t conceive of not knowing where his family was.
“That boy was the worst student I ever had—he could disrupt a class like nobody else.” Mrs. Mason tutted. “You weren’t much better, young lady.”
Ouch. Kyle winced on Jane’s behalf. She squared her shoulders and said nothing, her gaze somewhere over the teacher’s shoulder. Her withdrawal was almost tangible. It reminded him of something....
“Did you ever make anything of yourself?” Mrs. Mason asked. “You had a brain under all that attitude, you know.”
Was that meant to be a compliment?
“I have my own business in Denver,” Jane said.
Her company had something to do with helping women, Kyle recalled.
The teacher harrumphed. “That’s not so bad...assuming it’s legitimate.”
“You’re too kind.” Jane pressed her lips together as if she regretted the sarcasm, regretted rising to Mrs. Mason’s bait.
Jane’s achievement was more than “not so bad,” Kyle thought, especially if this had been the attitude of the people who were supposed to guide her. She couldn’t have been that disruptive in school—he knew from Lissa they’d scored identically on their SATs.
Mrs. Mason hadn’t missed the sarcasm. “Watch your step, young lady,” she said. “Because you can bet I’ll be watching, too, and so will plenty of others. This town doesn’t need any more trouble from your family.”
“Jane’s a visitor to our town and a guest in my house,” Kyle said sharply. “She’s been away a long time, so I hope you’ll extend her the kind of welcome we pride ourselves on in Pinyon Ridge.”
The kind of welcome he hadn’t given her himself, either at Lissa’s funeral or when she arrived on Saturday. He’d been a jerk.
Jane had gone quiet—a combination of hurt at the teacher’s remarks and gratitude for his intervention, he guessed.
Mrs. Mason, who’d traipsed the streets of Pinyon Ridge door-knocking to support Kyle’s first mayoral campaign, huffed and bristled like an outraged hedgehog.
“Let’s go,” he told Jane. “Have a nice day, Mrs. Mason.” He suspected he’d lost her vote. He couldn’t afford to throw away votes...but he couldn’t let that kind of behavior slide.
Back in the car, he drove to the Eating Post.
“I thought we could have coffee,” he said to Jane. “We can go somewhere else if you prefer, but I have a standing order here on school mornings.”
Inside, Micki noted their arrival—she jerked her chin at a cup, already lidded, on the circular end of the counter next to the supplies of cream and sugar.
Kyle picked it up, raised it to her in thanks. “What will you have?” he asked Jane. “We can sit down.”
“I don’t want coffee,” she said. “You got out of the car so fast, I didn’t get a chance to say so.”
Huh? She sounded ticked off.
“We need to talk about what this period of shared care of Daisy will entail,” he pointed out. “You’re supposed to be helping ‘settle’ Daisy, but what does that mean?” He pulled one of the laminated menus from the holder on the counter. “Do you want something to eat?”
“No. Thank you,” she said. “How about I figure out a plan for the next couple of weeks, then run it by you?” She glanced toward the door, as if she were anxious to be out of here.
Suddenly, he figured out the reason for her discomfort. “Look, I’m sorry Mrs. Mason was so rude,” he said. “Just ignore her.”
“Not your fault. I’m used to it.” She tugged her sweater tighter around her shoulders. “Can we go? I have some things I need to do.”
In Pinyon Ridge? Really?
He tried again. “If you’re worried Micki or anyone else here will speak to you that way, I’ll make sure they don’t.”
Her chin shot up, and she stared as if she couldn’t believe he would do that for her.
He gave her a nod, intended to convey reassurance. Because, contrary to her belief, he was a nice guy who knew what was right and did it.
“Butt out, Kyle,” she ordered.
“Hey!” What happened to gratitude?
“I’m happy to do what Lissa wanted as far as Daisy’s concerned,” she said. “And if you and I can work peaceably together the next couple of weeks, so much the better. But we’re not friends, and you’re not responsible for me. So let’s keep out of each other’s space.”
“I’m trying to be nice,” he said. “I know I wasn’t much more welcoming than Mrs. Mason when you showed up last week, but I’m trying for a fresh start here.”
Micki directed a curious gaze at them. Kyle took a sip of his coffee through the hole in the lid.
“A fresh start like the one you said you wanted on Saturday night, right before you accused me of lying?” Jane asked.
Damn. “Okay, I’m sorry about that. Look, Jane, you’re right, we’re not friends. But Lissa’s death reminded me life’s too short to hang on to old resentments. I thought for Daisy’s sake we could at least be friendly. But if you don’t want that, no problem.”
He stuck the menu back in its holder and left.
* * *
JANE OBSERVED THE STIFFNESS in Kyle’s shoulders as he walked out the door of the café. She let out a long breath, relaxed her own stance. It had been a long time since she’d put herself in a situation where someone could reject her, so accepting his overture had never been an option. But it had been harder than expected to turn him down. Much harder.
When he’d defended her from Meanie Mason, as Jane and her sister Cat used to call the teacher, she’d felt a strange mushiness inside. She wasn’t used to anyone taking her side, not since Lissa.
But the secret he didn’t know existed meant she couldn’t commit to any kind of...of friendship. Because it would be gone in sixty seconds if he knew the truth.
Besides, she’d grown used to relying only on herself.
“Coffee?” Micki called.
Jane supposed she couldn’t stand there without buying anything. “A cappuccino, thanks.” At least by the time Micki made the drink, Kyle would be long gone.
While she waited at the pick-up area, she surveyed the café.
The place wasn’t that busy, but it gave the impression of a recent rush. A middle-aged woman was busing tables, and a half-empty dishwasher tray of clean cups sat on a shelf behind the bar. Micki must have been too busy to put them away—she had a couple of coffees on the go at the big Italian machine on the counter as she chatted to a customer.
Jane moved to the magazine rack and
pulled out the latest issue of an outdoor adventure title. She flipped through glossy pages with photos of kayakers in foamy white waters and climbers hanging off cliff faces.
Micki spoke right next to her. “Where do you want this?”
“Oh.” Jane eyed the speckle-glazed brown cup and saucer she was holding. “I forgot to say I wanted it to go.”
“I could make you another one,” Micki said, “but why don’t you take a load off at that table nearest the counter, and I’ll join you for a chat.”
The offer was unexpected. And after offending Kyle, it seemed a chance to make amends, however indirect. Jane sat at the table Micki suggested. Micki issued a couple of instructions to her staffer, then took the seat opposite.
“This is my favorite time of day,” she said. “The breathing space after the morning rush.”
“Sounds like business is good,” Jane said.
“It is, so long as I work like a dog.” Micki stretched her arms and clasped them behind her head. She gave a little groan. “The old shoulder muscles tend to knot when I hunch over that coffee machine.”
They talked for a couple of minutes about the café business. When the door from the street opened, Jane glanced over and saw Kyle’s father. Ugh, this town was full of people she’d rather not see.
“Morning, Charles,” Micki called. “The usual?”
“Good morning, Micki.” The ex-police chief didn’t look thrilled to see the woman who would cook his breakfast in cahoots with a Slater. It took him a moment to mutter, “Hello, Jane.”
At least he’d got her name right. “Good morning, Charles,” Jane said, equally frostily.
Micki snickered.
He paused next to their table. “How’s my granddaughter?” An unmistakable whiff of territorialism.
“She’s doing fine.” An exaggeration. Daisy might have let slip that one, precious giggle on Saturday night, but she’d since reverted to her somber self.
“Don’t forget to tell her she needs to speak up when people talk to her,” Charles ordered. “Folk will think she’s rude.”
Typical of the old coot. Indignation surged within Jane on Daisy’s behalf. “Folk would be wrong,” she said.
He frowned. “Right or wrong, a negative perception is hard to shake. You should know that.”
Jane stiffened. “Anyone with a grain of sensitivity would understand that Daisy’s a little girl who just lost her mother.”
He harrumphed.
“Sit down, Charles, I’ll get your breakfast started,” Micki said.
With a warm smile at Micki, he headed for the booth where he’d been sitting when Jane arrived in town on Saturday.
“One of my best customers,” Micki said, following Jane’s gaze following Charles.
“Shame about the stick up his backside,” Jane muttered.
To her surprise, Micki hooted a laugh. “All the Eversons are a bit uptight,” she said. “Comes with the genes. Even Gabe has the habit, though he controls it better now that he’s practicing Christian tolerance. Thing is, they’re such good guys, they get away with it.” She flipped a sugar sachet between her fingers and said casually, “They’re probably Pinyon Ridge’s most eligible bachelors, if you’re interested.”
“I’m not interested.” Jane eyed that sugar sachet, rotating much faster than Micki had spoken. “But you clearly are.”
The sachet landed on the table. “I...no...what do you mean?” Micki demanded.
“Sorry, it’s none of my business. My professional instincts kicked in.”
“What professional instincts?” Micki said, aghast.
Jane held up both hands in a gesture of peace. “Reading the subtext behind people’s words and facial expressions is my job.” Or rather, it was the first part of what she did for her clients—assessing the messages they didn’t even know they were giving out. The second part was helping them rewrite those messages. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”
Micki leaned across the table. “But you can tell me what I did, right? How did I give it away?”
“It was just an impression. Your tone and words were casual, but your gesture was nervous.” Jane picked up the sugar sachet and flipped it to illustrate.
Micki eyed it with dislike. “Do you think anyone else might have noticed? I mean generally, not just now.”
“Hard to say,” Jane said. “Not if this is the biggest clue you’ve given.”
Micki puffed out a relieved breath.
“Not consciously, anyway,” Jane added honestly. Because people often made judgments on subconscious observations.
Micki groaned.
“The Everson men aren’t sensitive enough to pick up on something like that,” Jane assured her. Except maybe Gabe. Micki had brought up Gabe’s name just now, but Kyle had suggested he was in here most mornings for his coffee—was that maybe more than just a coffee run? “Is it Kyle or Gabe you like?” she asked.
“So how is Daisy doing?” Micki asked, a blatant change of subject. “She’s such a quiet little thing, it’s hard to know what she’s thinking.” Of course, it might not really be a change of subject if Micki had ambitions to be Daisy’s stepmother.
And why not? Kyle and Lissa had been divorced for years. Someone like Micki might loosen Kyle up. A stepmother could be good for Daisy.
“She doesn’t say much,” Jane said, “but when she does talk it’s usually about her mom. I don’t know if she grasps the fact that Lissa’s not coming back.”
“She and Lissa were inseparable,” Micki said soberly. “I mean, sure, Daisy went to school, and Lissa went out with friends or on dates—though only ever after Daisy was asleep. She was protective, I guess.”
“Were you and Lissa friends?” Jane asked, aware of a twinge of jealousy. Stupid.
Micki shrugged as she stood up. “Since you’ll probably read my subtext, I’ll be honest and say no. Lissa liked to control the people she was in relationships with. Not in a bad way. At least, not mostly. I like my independence.”
“Me, too,” Jane murmured. She’d never thought of Lissa as controlling. But it made sense. Jane had promised to keep their secret, but maybe Lissa had felt she didn’t have enough control over Jane to be able to trust her. And so she’d pulled back from their friendship.
“It’s great Daisy spent so much time with Lissa,” Jane said, trying to be positive. “Daisy must have felt very loved.”
“I think Daisy adored her even more than most kids adore their mom.” Micki splayed her fingers—ringless, with her unpainted nails cut sensibly short—on the table. “But maybe in a way that wasn’t quite healthy.”
“What do you mean?”
“There always seemed to be, I don’t know, an edge to their closeness,” Micki said. “As if Lissa had something to prove. Don’t get me wrong, Lissa loved Daisy. But, maybe because of the divorce, I don’t know, her devotion seemed more about possessiveness than closeness.”
Something flared deep inside Jane, some kind of protective instinct. She pressed a hand to her middle, willed the sensation to subside. No way, I’m not going there. Lissa was dead, and if there had been any problem in her relationship with Daisy—and who’s to say Micki was right about that?—the problem was dead, too. Jane’s job was to help Daisy and her dad into a new routine, then to get out of town.
Rule number five of her looking-after-Daisy protocol just happened to be rule number one in Jane’s life: don’t get too attached.
Developing f
eelings for Lissa’s daughter was not an option.
CHAPTER FIVE
JANE ATTRIBUTED THE EASE with which the rest of her two weeks passed to her strict adherence to her protocol.
She was decisive and predictable—rules one and two—having established a routine after that first Monday, the day she’d turned down Kyle’s offer of a fresh start. Each morning, she helped Daisy get ready, drove her to kindergarten, then had coffee at Micki’s. Charles Everson’s arrival was her cue to leave the café each day, after which she spent an hour or two with Hal while Barb ran errands, then checked in with her clients by phone or email. By the time she’d done all that, it was time to pick up Daisy from school. The rest of the day passed in preparing dinner for the two of them, then getting Daisy to bed. On time.
Being used to reading people and assessing their personal styles, Jane felt she’d had no trouble getting down to Daisy’s level without condescension—number three in the protocol—and she certainly hadn’t promised anything she couldn’t deliver. She hadn’t promised anything at all.
Lastly, although there were times she was tempted to stray into things that weren’t her concern—to ask questions or share things about herself that might coax Daisy to talk—she managed to pull back. She stuck with a “friendly babysitter” manner that didn’t encourage Daisy to get too close to someone who didn’t plan to stick around. Definitely no attachment.
If she assessed “Project Daisy” objectively, Jane thought, as she pulled into the cottage driveway after school on Friday, with Daisy in the backseat, she’d rate it a success.
With one fairly major exception.
The routine she’d cultivated didn’t include Kyle. Tonight, her last night in Pinyon Ridge, she knew he planned to arrive home early. Charles was hosting a farewell barbecue for Jane at his place—Micki had suggested it to Kyle when he’d called into the Eating Post for his coffee a couple of days ago. She’d badgered him until he’d given in, then she’d promptly added herself to the guest list. Jane had to admire her determination.
