Huntington Family Series

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  Less than an hour had passed when a terrified scream pierced his weary brain.

  Kevin!

  He ran to the children’s room. “I’m here, Kevin,” he called out. “Don’t worry, Uncle Blake’s here.”

  Reaching the twin bed, he cuddled Kevin in his arms. The boy clung to him. “What is it?” Blake asked. Was this a realization of Blake’s greatest fear? Had Paula’s lifestyle damaged the boy permanently? He mentally kicked himself for not calling the authorities six months earlier. Paula obviously was not the sweet girl he’d grown up with. There was no one to protect Kevin and Mara. No one but him.

  “The bugs,” Kevin moaned. “Bugs all over my bed! They’re all over my bed!”

  “Bugs?” Blake looked at the bed uncertainly. In the dim light coming from the hall, he couldn’t see any bugs.

  “Uh-huh. Crawling on me!” Kevin shuddered and buried his face in Blake’s stomach.

  “Kevin. I don’t see any bugs. You had a dream. Look at the bed.”

  Kevin pulled his face reluctantly from Blake’s shirt. “I see them still,” he cried. “When I shut my eyes. Lots and lots of bugs! And snakes, too.”

  Blake rubbed the boy’s back. Bugs and snakes? Where had this come from? Then understanding dawned. The books from the schoolteacher’s house! One had been about insects, if he’d understood Kevin’s babbling in the truck, and the other about snakes. Here he was worried about abuse and Kevin was only dreaming about bugs.

  Chuckling to himself, he held Kevin away from him so he could look down into his face. “It was those books at the lady’s house, wasn’t it?”

  Kevin shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “You want to go to my bed? Or to the couch?”

  “Your bed,” Kevin snuggled against him, sighing softly as Blake picked him up and took him to the other bedroom.

  “There, no bugs here,” he said, making a big show of looking beneath the covers. “But just in case, I’m going to leave my magic bug-repellent light on.”

  “And snakes.”

  “Yes. My magic bug-and-snake-repellent light. See?” He switched the dimmer on his overhead light low enough for the boy to see but not so bright as to chase away sleep.

  “It really is magic,” Kevin said, laying his head on the pillow. “But what about Mara? Her might have bugs too.”

  “She might have bugs,” corrected Blake. “But I bet she doesn’t.” He held up a hand to stay Kevin’s inevitable protest. “However, just to make sure, I will use another magic bug-and-snake-repellent light for her. Now, where did it go?” He rummaged through his top dresser drawer. “I know I put it here somewhere. Ah-hah!” He held up the nightlight he had used for Kevin the last time he’d come to stay.

  “Good.” Kevin smiled sleepily.

  “If you need me again, call me.” Blake said. “I’m right here in the kitchen.”

  Kevin shut his eyes. Blake watched him for a full minute before going into the children’s room and plugging in the nightlight. Mara wouldn’t need it, but Kevin would check in the morning. He was protective of his little sister.

  Blake sat down before his school books, grinning to himself. Bugs were serious business. How he wished that was the worst thing Kevin would have to face in life!

  What would Amanda think of her books now? Blake thought. Amanda, Amanda. Her name reverberated in his mind. He didn’t really know her well enough to call her by name, but he did all the same. It was a beautiful name, so vibrant, alive, spunky, and so . . . so her.

  He sighed. It didn’t matter what she would think of Kevin’s dream because she wouldn’t know. If he had told her the truth about the children, maybe he would have been able to tell her. Maybe they would have passed each other in the grocery store and casually chatted about Kevin’s dreams. Then he would have asked her out.

  Blake started suddenly, realizing that his face was on the cool kitchen table and that he was almost asleep. Almost dreaming . . . of her. Absurd!

  He should have told her. Why hadn’t he, really? He knew the answer, one difficult to admit even to himself. He hadn’t told her because when he looked into her eyes, he’d wanted never to stop. He knew too well that he was ripe for a relationship, hungry for something lasting and permanent. When he fell it would be hard. But now was not the time to lose himself with either success or failure in a relationship. He had to stay focused for Kevin and Mara.

  Chapter Four

  Being with the fourth-graders at school was Amanda’s favorite way to spend time. She loved watching them, loved their innocent way of looking at the world, their unabashed amazement when she taught them something new. She didn’t mind their constant questions, their awkwardness, or even their rare bouts of stubbornness. She adored teaching and had wanted to be a teacher for as long as she could remember. She only wished that along with all the secular teaching, she could also teach them of God and the gospel as she did the young women in the church class she taught on Sundays. Most of her fourth-graders were members of the Church, two were even in her ward, but there were a few whose occasional comments showed they didn’t have a clear idea who God even was, much less Jesus.

  For the past three weeks in science they’d been studying insects. They’d read about them, made illustrations of them, and shared with the class stories they’d written from the perspective of an insect. They had brought insects to class—found around their homes, even at this cold time of year—looked up their names, and discussed their parts and where they fit in the ecology. When the children showed eagerness for more, Amanda had taken to calling pet stores to find new insects. Once she had some odd-looking black crickets shipped to her from the Internet. Her brother Mitch, studying to be a wildlife biologist at Brigham Young University, had also been a great source for unusual insects, most of which he borrowed from his professors.

  Amanda knew this was one of her finer science units. Girls who had been afraid of insects before they’d started the unit now eagerly held the bugs. Boys who had smashed them before without thinking now released them unharmed outside—at least in front of Amanda. Today was the last day of study and then on Friday she would conclude the section by giving each child the small insect sticker books she had purchased at her own expense.

  As they broke down in groups to study their insects, with several parent volunteers leading the discussions, Amanda found her mind drifting to the man who’d repaired her oven. He had been so irritated with her when she’d asked about his children. She thought he was telling the truth when he promised to take care of them, but had he really? Was it any of her concern? Surely their mother would take care of them.

  Or would she?

  Before Amanda had started teaching, she’d thought every mother was like her sister, Kerrianne—completely and totally wrapped up in her children and attentive to their every need. By now she’d learned that some weren’t. Some mothers didn’t seem to mind if their children wore clean clothes or combed their hair. Some mothers never paid attention to their children’s homework, either because they didn’t think it important or because they had too many other responsibilities. In a few heartbreaking cases, Amanda had found mothers who simply didn’t care. What if the repairman’s children had a mother like that? After all, they had been with their father at work.

  Then another thought came. Maybe they don’t have a mother.

  Hadn’t he mentioned a mother? She couldn’t remember now. She did remember his face, his name, his eyes like pools of chocolate fudge that made her weak in the knees.

  Ridiculous! Chocolate fudge indeed!

  She needed to let it go. Or . . .

  Or what? Was the Spirit telling her she needed to check up on those children? Were they in danger? Was this an excuse to see their father? That could be even more dangerous . . . for her, at least. For all she knew, he was a happily married man who’d made the mistake of leaving his child unattended. Still, there was always the possibility that he was a neglectful father whose children were at risk.

  I’ll go
check on them, she decided. I’ll see for myself that they’re okay and then forget it. She felt immediately at peace with her decision and knew it had been inspired. Saying a silent prayer of thanks, she turned her focus back to her students.

  When school was over for the day, Amanda grabbed an extra insect sticker book, looked up the address of the repair shop in the school office phone book, and drove over. Located one block west of the post office, the medium-sized building was sided with huge strips of corrugated metal. A large sign announcing Doug’s Appliance and Repair ran half the length of the shop, and an old, white, lidless washing machine by the entrance held a mound of dead plants. There were only two cars in the parking lot, a blue pickup on the far side and a four-door sedan close to the entrance. Employee and customer? she wondered.

  Now that she had arrived, the assurance she had felt abandoned her, and she thought of a hundred excuses not to go in: the children might not be there, Blake might be angry, he might call the police and accuse her of stalking, the children’s mother might think she was trying to steal her man . . . There were others, each more outrageous than the last.

  Finally, Amanda grabbed her purse and left her car, glad that the overhead sun had melted all of last night’s snow, except in the mountains. The snow had cleared the air, making it smell fresh and new. Biting her lower lip, she entered the shop.

  The interior was dark, though she immediately recognized the man behind the long counter bordering the right side of the shop. He was talking to a faintly familiar, rotund lady dressed in a long black sweater, but he looked up as the bells over the door jingled. His mouth froze, apparently in mid-sentence, and then continued on so deftly that Amanda wondered if she had imagined the hesitation. Her eyes wandered over the shop. Sure enough, there was a playpen that held the baby from the night before, and beside it stood little Kevin. Next to him was an older girl she knew well: Natalie Michaels, a child as skinny as her mother was round.

  “Sister Huntington!” Natalie shouted, running to her. Kevin trailed behind. Natalie reached Amanda and hugged her. “This is my teacher, Kevin—in the fourth grade. She’s my most favorite teacher ever! Her name’s Miss Huntington, but I call her Sister Huntington ’cause she’s also in my ward. She teaches my sister in Young Women’s.”

  “I know her, too,” Kevin said, lifting his chin. “We fixed her oven. I read her books.”

  “Sister Huntington always has the best books!” Natalie said, her excitement bubbling over. She looked back to Amanda. “Your stove was broken? You didn’t tell us.”

  Amanda smiled. Sometimes the children forgot she had a life outside school, one she didn’t share with them. “I guess I forgot.” She looked at Natalie. “So do you know each other?”

  “We met yesterday. Mom had to pick up a part for Dad, but it was the wrong one so we came back today. Kevin was showing me his baby sister. She is so cute. Want to see?”

  “Sure.” Amanda let the children lead her along a row of appliances. She stole a glance at Blake, who was still talking to Natalie’s mother. Their eyes met and held for the briefest of seconds.

  “See?” Natalie was saying. “I love how she can stand up while she’s holding on to the edge. And look at her clothes. She’s so cute!”

  Amanda had to agree that the bright pink outfit really set off the child’s brown hair and dark eyes. She also wore pink socks and soft-looking, brown leather shoes. The only thing missing was a bow for her hair.

  Kevin was equally well dressed. His dark blue cargo jeans looked so new they were still stiff, and his navy, waffle-woven shirt had obviously not seen many washings. He wore the black boots of the night before, and his longish blond hair had, at least at some point during the day, been combed.

  Both children looked well cared for and happy. Amanda felt like an idiot.

  “I’m all finished.” Natalie’s mother approached them. “Oh, hello, Amanda,” she said, her dark eyes widening with surprise. “How are you?”

  “Very well. And yourself, Shelly?” Amanda didn’t know Shelly Michaels well, but she loved her daughters.

  Blake had followed Shelly over and was staring at Amanda with a sour expression on his good-looking face. He wore the same blue button-down shirt of the day before—the company uniform—but this time his jeans were black to match his boots. She noticed that today he was clean-shaven.

  “You look really great,” she added to Shelly. It was true. Shelly Michaels had one of the most classically beautiful faces she had ever seen.

  “Thank you, my dear,” Shelly said, smiling widely. “You are so sweet. I could always lose a few pounds, but I am feeling well.” She paused for a breath and went on. “Amanda, it’s good I ran into you here. I’ve been wanting to talk to you, and there never seems to be time at church.” She glanced at Blake. “Amanda’s in our ward, you see. Anyway, Amanda, I just wanted to let you know what a wonderful year Natalie’s having at school. Last year all she did was complain, but this year . . . Oh, you’ve really made the difference. Thank you so much! And my Sharon feels the same way about Young Women’s. You’re really a gifted teacher.”

  Amanda blushed at the unexpected praise, especially since it was given in front of Blake. “Thank you. I love teaching them both. They’re wonderful girls.”

  Shelly’s face beamed. “I appreciate your saying so. Well,” she hefted a brown bag containing her purchases, “I’d better get this home if I want to use my dryer tonight. Come on, Natalie.”

  Amanda watched them leave. She felt Blake’s eyes on her but only when Shelly and Natalie left the shop did she meet his eyes. “So you know Shelly Michaels,” she said, for lack of anything better to say.

  “Actually, my brother knows them. Used to be in his ward. They come in often.”

  “Always breaking things, huh?” She chuckled, feeling very stupid. “Natalie’s that way, too. She’s broken three of our insect cages in the past two weeks alone.”

  He smiled, and the formerly sour expression disappeared. “So, did your oven stop working?”

  “Oh, no,” she said quickly. His smile was doing funny things to her heart, and she decided she much preferred his sour look. “Not at all.”

  He raised both eyebrows. “Your washer quit?”

  “No. It’s fine.”

  “Dryer? Microwave? Toaster?”

  “No. All working. At least they were the last time I checked.”

  He tilted his head back and stared down at her. “So what isn’t working? Are you going to make me name all your appliances?”

  Amanda felt her stomach tingle. He was right, this was ridiculous. “I just came to see, uh, if Kevin would like this.” She pulled the sticker book from her purse and waved it between them. “He was so interested in my books last night.”

  Blake studied her, his dark eyes intense and accusing. “You’re checking up on me, aren’t you?”

  “No, of course not. Everyone makes mistakes.” Amanda bit her lip. “Besides, I didn’t come just for the book.”

  “Oh?”

  She had to think of something fast! If she wanted to be of any use to the children, she couldn’t anger him further. “Uh,” she began. Could she say she just wanted to know how long it would be until she might have to replace the oven part again? No, for that she would have called. Unless she was in the neighborhood—and what would she be in the neighborhood for? She never really visited this part of town. “I—oh, my stove . . .”

  “Yes?” His fists clenched at his side and his stance was rigid, like a tiger ready to pounce. She should have known better than to try to stretch the truth. Not only was it against her religion, but her face always gave her away.

  “It beeps,” she said.

  He looked confused. “Beeps? You mean the timer?”

  “Yeah, exactly.” She raised the hand that still held the sticker book, motioning in his general direction. “Sometimes during the night, the timer goes off for no reason at all. Scared me to death the first time it happened. Thought it was th
e fire alarm. It’s gone off about five times in the last three months.”

  “It happened again last night?”

  “No, but it will. It always does. There’s no telling when. So since we’ve established a relationship—a working relationship . . .” She groaned mentally at her awkwardness and completely lost her train of thought. “What I mean is, since you repair stoves, I thought you might know what I could do about the timer. Maybe buy a part to fix it, or something.” Did her words even make sense, or was she just babbling?

  “And you just happened to have that sticker book lying around?”

  What was he grilling her for? Was it a crime to offer the child a book? “Yes. I’m a teacher, remember? I was headed this way anyway,” she added for good measure, “on my way shopping.” There, he couldn’t disprove that. Shopping could lead her anywhere. In fact, maybe she would stop by Macey’s afterwards so her conscience would feel better. “So you think you might have a part to stop the beeping?”

  To her relief, his fists unclenched and his body relaxed. “You’d need a screwdriver to get off the back,” he said doubtfully.

  “I have a screwdriver—I have a whole set.” Never mind that they were the pink ones Mitch had given her for a present a few years back. All the pieces were still pristine in the box, except for the smallest one that she had used to put batteries in an electronic memory game she had bought for her students. That one was lying in her desk at the school. “I know how to use them, too.”

  He studied her. “I’m sure you do. But it’s really hard to say what might be wrong without testing it. Could be a simple loose wire, or the whole thing might need to be rewired.” He grinned at her. “That would take more than a screwdriver. So do you want me to come and look at it?”

  She sighed. “Not this month. Unless I want to go without food. I bought too many books last month. I was hoping I could just slap a part on—a cheap part—and, voilà, be done with it. Anyway, I can live with it for a while. Never know, it might not even happen again for a few weeks. Here, take this book.” She shoved it into his hands.