THE STORE MARK RAN WAS called Up A Creek, a tongue-in-cheek name for a place that sold sporting goods and equipment for outdoor recreation. Right now, however, up a creek seemed entirely apt for his situation. This breakfast felt too much like a last meal.
Across the table, Bennett Coleridge, owner of the dozen or so Up A Creek locations, looked sympathetic as he picked up the syrup pitcher. “Understand, if I do close the store, there are still opportunities in the company for you. We have other sites. The one in South Carolina is closest, although if you wanted a complete change, our two stores in Colorado stay busy all year round.”
And busy meant profitable.
When Up A Creek had first opened in Braeden, North Carolina, there had been a campground just outside of town and a popular lodge half an hour beyond that which offered hiking and kayaking excursions. Both had unfortunately closed in the past couple of years. Now it seemed as if the store Mark managed might be next to succumb to tough economic times.
Bennett had mentioned the possibility of Colorado if the Hathaways “wanted a complete change.” But Vicki had been born here, had spent her entire life in the same house. For her, anything outside Braeden limits would be an overwhelming change. Mark knew that his personal life—or lack thereof—disappointed his daughter. How could he tell her that he was a failure professionally, too? That she’d have to move away from her school and her friends?
He swallowed hard, determined to sound calm. Businessmen like Bennett were swayed by numbers, not desperation. “I know the store’s profits have dipped.” Around here, some folks were working two jobs to make ends meet, sacrificing their free time for recreation; others had been laid off, without the funds to maintain a hobby.
“But I have some ideas that might help turn things around,” Mark said. He sounded passably convincing.
Bennett raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”
“Well, a few months ago I spoke to Principal Ridenour about sponsoring a booth at the elementary school’s spring Fitness Fair. It’s an all-day event local coaches and doctors started last year to educate parents on the risks of childhood obesity. In addition to the information, they provide stations that demonstrate fun ways the kids can keep in shape. It’s a perfect platform for us. I can do a small-scale climbing wall, remind parents about the importance of bike helmets and staying hydrated, give out promotional coupons for items that will pull them into the store.
“Speaking as a dad,” he continued, “parents are more willing to spend on their kids during lean times than on themselves. Especially if it means keeping the kids healthier.”
Belatedly, Mark recalled that Principal Ridenour had retired over the holidays. He should really get in touch with the man’s replacement.
“I’m all for this fitness fair thing,” Bennett said, “but increased sales in canteens and junior knee pads aren’t—”
“Also, I recently read a business article,” Mark said quickly, “about how people who used to travel to luxury resorts or other countries are looking for less expensive domestic vacations. Let’s face it, not many of us can afford to go to Aspen or Vail. People who live right here or in neighboring states, however, might be able to indulge in a day at Sugar Mountain more easily than they realized. There are several ski resorts within a hundred-mile radius of Braeden, but the newest one, Hawk Summit, is only a forty-minute drive. Their projected grand opening last year got delayed twice due to construction and when they finally did open for the season, unusual weather conditions hurt their bottom line. They’re in their second season now and I’d guess they’re struggling.”
Bennett set his fork down with a reproachful sigh. “So you think a fledgling ski resort that’s in danger of going under itself is somehow going to save a store that’s going under?”
Mark felt his jaw tightening and forced himself to relax. “I think we can help each other, yes. And because they are, as you say, ‘fledgling,’ they have a bigger incentive to participate in some of the cross-promotional discount ideas I have. Bennett, I know I can turn the store around. I just need time, and—”
“Until the end of April,” the other man interrupted, his tone final. “My wife and I are coming to the area for her high school’s twentieth reunion. You and I will look at the numbers that week to determine whether or not there’s been significant improvement over last spring. If not…”
Mark wouldn’t let the reprieve go to waste. For the next three months, he would bust his butt and try everything he could think of to make Up A Creek a success. He owed it to his employees, who needed their paychecks, and his boss, who was giving him this chance. But most of all, he owed it to his daughter.
SHAY MORGAN PULLED HER CAR into the slot marked Reserved For Principal. Just a few weeks ago, seeing those words had filled her with enthusiasm and pride. While she was still proud that she’d been appointed the interim principal to finish out the year, well…it had been a long week. But today was Friday, which meant she’d soon have forty-eight hours to recharge, minus the stress of a family dinner Sunday evening.
Maybe the roads will be too icy for me to make the drive.
What she wanted to do was hole up in the cozy warmth of her house with a good book, free from pointed looks from a staff and faculty who were testing her authority, free from “helpful advice” from well-meaning parents who had limited knowledge of the county policies Shay was required to follow and free from the quiet disapproval of the school secretary, Roberta Cree.
Roberta had been at Woodside Elementary since it first opened its doors in 1987 and had outlasted all four previous principals, including Shay’s immediate predecessor, the Esteemed Jonathan Ridenour Who Could Do No Wrong. The corridor that led from the main reception area to Shay’s private office was lined with gold-framed portraits of the prior principals. She swore their eyes followed her whenever she passed. And the principals of yesteryear probably shook their heads at her when no one was looking.
All in all, her first month at Woodside hadn’t gone as smoothly as expected. Even though years had passed since she’d first voiced her ambition to become a principal, she could too clearly hear her father’s words in her head. You don’t need those administrative headaches, sweetie. Why not stay a teacher, with only your classroom to worry about and summers off to focus on your own kids?
Not that Shay had any kids. Or a husband. Or even a steady boyfriend.
She was currently between relationships, which seemed to worry her parents. After climbing out of the car, she shut her door—resisting the juvenile urge to slam it. Her brother, Bastien the M.D., didn’t have a girlfriend. He practically lived at the hospital, and both parents applauded his lofty career goals as building a solid foundation for the future. When Bastien had declared he wanted to go to medical school, their father had never once suggested he settle for being a school nurse and take the summers off! So why the heck couldn’t Shay get the same support for her professional aspirations? After all, it was a lifetime of listening to her mother—a retired elementary school teacher—that had inspired Shay in the first place. Mrs. Morgan and her teaching colleagues had been full of great ideas but lacked the power to implement them. Shay had decided early that she wanted to work her way up the scholastic ladder so that she could one day help teachers.
But so far, it was slow going at Woodside—an elementary school too small to have an assistant principal who might have been an ally in easing the transition. Maybe some of the faculty felt that warming to Shay too quickly would be disloyal to Esteemed Principal Ridenour. Everyone had been shocked by his heart attack in November and sorry to see him leave the school when he took early retirement midyear. Perhaps Shay’s eagerness to tackle her new position after the winter break had come across as unseemly, as if she were seizing on someone else’s misfortune.
I will win these people over, she promised herself. After all, she was pretty darn likable. She was also truly passionate about providing a wonderful environment and the best education possible for the students
of the small elementary school. In theory, her advocacy for their well-being gave her common ground with everyone else who set foot inside the door.
Like, for instance, the PTA president.
Shay sighed when she saw that exact woman pacing outside the school’s front office, talking in low, tense tones with two other mothers. Shay recognized one of them as Carolyn Moon. The mom of a first grader, a third grader and fourth-grade twins, Carolyn seemed to spend as much time on school property as Shay did. Shay couldn’t remember off the top of her head who the third woman was, but she looked just as unhappy as her companions. Thankfully, the trio kept their voices diplomatically soft—the students making their way to class before the first bell rang seemed oblivious to whatever the problem was.
If Shay were shorter, she might have given in to the temptation to blend in with a few of the fifth graders and slip past the mothers lying in wait. The PTA president, Nancy, was a sweet woman who truly cared about the student body, but she was a very anxious “the sky is falling” sort. She seemed perpetually worried that the school teetered on the brink of disaster and that, as president, she would be at the helm of the ship when it sank. It didn’t help to have a second-in-command like Carolyn Moon, who complained about everything, upsetting Nancy’s already-nervous disposition. Shay had learned quickly that finding Carolyn waiting for her outside the office was never a good way to start the day.
I can handle this. I am the principal, and I got this job because I am good at what I do. Shay pasted a wide, welcoming smile on her face and vowed that while she certainly encouraged dialogue from concerned parents, she was not going to let herself be ambushed before she’d even had a chance to pour a cup of coffee.
“Good morning, ladies,” she said as they descended on her, all talking at once.
“Ms. Morgan,” Carolyn began, “do you have any idea—”
Nancy cleared her throat and gave a surreptitious shake of her head. “Principal Morgan, we’re sure you have a very full day, but—”
“I would be happy to find a few minutes in the schedule to chat with you,” Shay assured them, “but right now, I need to prepare for the morning announcements. If the three of you want to wait, I’ll be back as soon as I can. If you have somewhere else you need to be, please email me with anything you need to discuss. Or see Roberta about setting up an appointment.”
“This should be addressed immediately!” Carolyn insisted. “A person can’t just spam—”
“We’ll wait,” Nancy said firmly, shooting another look at her fellow PTA board member. Carolyn, this year’s vice president, was clearly champing at the bit for her chance to be commander in chief, figuratively speaking.
Although Carolyn seemed like the type who might not realize it was figurative.
Shay agreed to return as soon as she could, then allowed herself to get caught up in the swell of children sent to the front office with various “please excuse Diane’s absence yesterday” and “please allow Johnny to ride home on the bus with his friend” notes that had to be filed. The thirty minutes between when the front doors first opened to students and when morning announcements began were always hectic for the administrative staff.
Today, the usual cacophony of voices was dominated by two boys, each claiming that a pair of mittens in the office Lost and Found belonged to him. One boy was wailing that his mother had sworn he’d never see his Nintendo DS again if he lost another article of winter clothing this year. Roberta was trying to arbitrate the dispute. The five-foot-tall secretary had hair exactly like steel wool and she owned a sweater set in every color invented.
“You boys are much too loud,” Shay said in quiet counterpoint to their shouting. “It’s disrespectful to Mrs. Cree and to everyone else in the office.”
Roberta looked up, including Shay in the pursed-lip censure she’d bestowed on the arguing boys. “I can handle this if you’d prefer to go check your email.”
No doubt whatever those mothers outside the office were flustered about would be explained by the contents of Shay’s in-box. Bypassing the coffeemaker, Shay left the boys in Roberta’s custody and made a beeline for her office. Once inside she shut her door and entered her password, braced for the worst.
Whatever she’d been expecting, it certainly hadn’t been a plea from a student, soliciting dates for her father. Apparently, an email had gone out to the hundred and fifty or so families on the PTA mailing list. At least eleven parents had forwarded Shay a copy. The letter appeared to have come from Dee Riggs, the chairperson in charge of both the school’s autumn and spring book fairs. But the subject line of the email stated, From Victoria Hathaway. It seemed that Victoria was trying to boost her father’s love life in hopes of eventually getting a new mother.
Did Dee Riggs even realize yet that her email account had been hijacked in this manner? Given the number of parents who had already contacted Shay, surely someone had emailed Dee or planned to call her. Shay would talk to the woman today. First, however, she needed to have a few words with Victoria Hathaway’s father and sole guardian.
Shay leaned forward and pressed the intercom button on her phone. “Roberta? I need you to get me—”
“He’s already on his way.”
Chapter Two
Most days, Mark’s employer was in Colorado, oblivious to Mark’s daily schedule. So why, the one day when Bennett was in town and wanted to see for himself how things were at the store, did Mark get a call from Woodside that would delay opening this morning? Did that qualify as irony or just lousy luck? Mark wasn’t even sure why he’d been asked to come up to the school.
“Is Vicki sick?” he’d asked as soon as the woman on the phone said she was calling from Woodside.
“No, sir. We don’t need you to pick up your daughter. Principal Morgan just needs to speak with you.”
The new principal, Shay Morgan. Mark had received the same cheerful letter of introduction as the other Woodside parents, but he’d never met Shay face-to-face. Maybe this wasn’t such bad luck after all. He’d been meaning to talk to her anyway about the Fitness Fair.
Before he disconnected the call he asked, more as a parental reflex than an actual concern, “Vicki’s not in trouble, is she?” His daughter had been eerily well behaved since his wife died. Aside from her growing exasperation that Mark showed no signs of remarrying, she rarely fussed or challenged any of the rules. Rosycheeked Mrs. Norris said she was a dream to babysit for: “So quiet you hardly know she’s in the house.”
Instead of promptly assuring him that Vicki hadn’t broken any rules, the secretary said primly, “You’ll have to take that up with the principal.” Then she hung up, leaving him perplexed for the duration of his fifteen-minute drive.
As it had in the past, walking through the school’s front doors gave him a twinge, reminding him of how much it had stung, after Jess’s death, to bring Vicki here on her very first day of kindergarten without her mother there to see it or help her get ready. Mark didn’t often find himself on campus, except for periodic performances or the August orientation held each year so that students could meet their teachers for the first time. On those occasions, he was usually part of a noisy crowd. This morning, the front hallway was quiet. The only person he passed was a woman who appeared to be signing in her tardy son. Recognizing her as someone who’d shopped at the store before, Mark offered a small finger wave. Inexplicably, the woman smothered a giggle and glanced away sharply.
Oookay. Dismissing her strange behavior, Mark turned in to the main office. The school secretary, Roberta Cree, stood at the copy machine, feeding paper into the tray. Even though he’d seen Roberta before, he was struck anew by how short she was. Over the phone, she was much taller.
The secretary dipped her chin by way of greeting. “Mr. Hathaway. I’ll let the principal know y—”
“Mr. Hathaway?” A blonde poked out of the office behind the front counter. “Mark Hathaway? I’m Shay Morgan.”
Wow. Mark didn’t recall any school principal
s looking like that during his childhood. Was she unusually young for a principal, or had his perspective of age simply adjusted now that he himself was an adult? Even without the added height of her black boots, she would be tall for a woman, and she was noticeably curvy beneath a soft aqua sweater that matched her eyes.
Unfortunately, those blue-green eyes were narrowing at him in displeasure.
Had he been caught ogling? It had been so long since he’d ogled that he really wasn’t sure.
“I didn’t mean to stare,” he defended himself. “You’re just not what I expected. I guess I’m so used to seeing Principal Ridenour come out of that office, and you’re, uh…not him.” Physically, it was hard to imagine how she could be any more unlike the stout, balding former principal.
“So I’ve been told,” she said with a tight smile.
She ushered him into her office and shut the door, indicating one of the padded chairs that sat around a small round table. “Thank you for coming up to the school so quickly. It had been my intention to discuss this on the ph—” She broke off, frowned and started over. “I’m glad you’re here, Mr. Hathaway. We need to talk about Vicki. Are you, by any chance, aware of an email that your daughter sent?”
“My daughter? That’s impossible. Aside from the fact that she obviously doesn’t have an email account, she never uses my computer without close supervision.”
Shay—Principal Morgan—settled into one of the other chairs. She crossed her legs, displayed to flattering effect beneath her black skirt and thin hose. It caught him by surprise that he even noticed. Over the years, many women had come into the store, some of them athletic and, he supposed, quite pretty. But he’d have better luck describing what any one of them had purchased than what she looked like. Feeling off balance, it took him a moment to focus on what the principal was saying.
“A number of parents forwarded me this.” She pushed a sheet of paper toward him.
His Valentine Surprise Page 2
