Something cold and wet tickled his face. In the few minutes they’d been inside, it had started to snow.
Lana and Logan danced around, hand in hand, laughing and looking upward. The sight clutched hard at Flint’s chest.
“Come on down!” Lana called, laughter in her voice.
“Daddy! It’s snowing!” Logan shouted, and ran back toward him.
Flint walked down the steps in time to catch Logan as he hurled himself into Flint’s arms. The moment he was there he wiggled to get down, then grabbed Flint’s hand and pulled him toward the road where Lana stood, smiling.
“Look, Daddy! Miss Alvarez says it’s snow!”
Of course, they’d seen pictures of snow, had watched the weather channel when there was a blizzard in Colorado and had talked about their relatives plowing and shoveling their way out. But Logan had never seen it up close and personal.
They walked slowly down the lane together. Flint was very conscious of Lana by his side and felt the most absurd urge to put an arm around her. As if she were his woman. As if they were a family.
She’s Logan’s teacher! She’s the temporary nanny! The voices in the back of his head were hopelessly drowned out by the sight of snowflakes gathering on Lana’s dark hair and eyelashes.
She looked up at him and smiled. “Been a while since I’ve seen snow, myself.”
“Me, too.” He breathed in. Breathed out.
Logan ran back to them. “Can we build a snowman? Can we?”
Lana laughed and knelt down in front of Logan. “There’s not enough snow for that, but here’s what you can do. Try to catch snowflakes on your tongue.” She demonstrated, sticking her tongue out and looking up at the sky.
“Cool!” Logan did the same, laughing as the snowflakes struck his face.
Flint was mesmerized. He couldn’t have taken his eyes off Lana if his life depended on it.
She was, quite simply, gorgeous. Full of life. Stunning.
He was falling in love with her.
He blew out a breath and stared off into the distance, watching an edge of evening sun peek out between the clouds. When had that happened? Yeah, he liked and respected Lana a lot. And, yeah, he’d been getting more attracted.
But love?
That was going to get him in a whole heap of trouble. That was going to break his heart, and maybe Logan’s, too.
He looked upward, feeling the tiny cold tingles as the snow hit his face. Need some help here, God.
“Come on, we’d better head toward the house. We’ve got decorating to do,” Lana said, rising to her feet. She and Logan headed toward the cabin, holding hands.
Flint blew out another breath and shook his head as he slowly fell into step behind them. This was bad. He had it bad.
He didn’t want to fall in love. Didn’t want to feel the heartache. Didn’t want to take the risk.
“I don’t want to go inside!” Logan yelled as they reached the cabin. He stopped beside the road and climbed the rail fence to perch on top. “Let’s stay out here and watch it snow!”
Lana looked at Flint, signaling him with her eyes. Leaving it for him to decide.
That was a nice thing about Lana, he realized. She didn’t mind speaking up when it was called for, but she also recognized that he, not she, was Logan’s parent.
“We can stay out for a couple of minutes,” he decided, “but then we need to do a little decorating and let Miss Alvarez go on home.”
“Aw, Dad!”
He ruffled Logan’s hair, halting the protest. “Shh. Let’s enjoy this time while we have it. Make every minute count.” He wasn’t sure whether he was saying the words to Logan, to Lana, or to himself.
Chapter Ten
Wednesday afternoon, Lana swigged her diet soda and looked at Rhetta. “You ready?”
They were sitting at a small table off to the side of the teacher’s lunchroom. Over at the big table, most of the other elementary school teachers were standing up, throwing away the remains of their lunches, gathering their things.
“No, I’m not ready.” Rhetta pointed at her watch. “We still have four whole minutes!”
Lana laughed and leaned back. “Going to be a rough afternoon. Maybe we can take the first-graders into the gym for an hour, have them run off their energy.”
“Called it already.” Mrs. McKenna, a gray-haired second-grade teacher, turned around from the refrigerator and grinned. “When you’ve done the last day before Christmas break as many times as I have, you learn to think ahead. It’s reserved for the next hour and a half for the second grade.”
“Oh, great.” Rhetta sighed. “My kids are going to be bouncing off the walls.”
“Three more hours, and then, bring it on, Christmas break.” Mrs. McKenna danced a little jig as she headed for the door.
The other teachers were clearing out, too.
“You got parents lined up to help at the party?” Rhetta asked.
“One of my four is sick, but two of the other ones are experienced. It’ll be fine.”
“I’ve got five scheduled. Can’t have too much support. Who’s new for you?”
Lana wrinkled her nose. “Logan’s dad. Flint Rawlings.”
Rhetta clapped a hand over her mouth. “He’s doing the party?”
“Yeah. It’s part of his attempt to give Logan more attention.”
“How are things progressing between you two? Are you paying attention to your feelings, like I told you to?”
Lana rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Why does everyone try to match us up? I’m just Logan’s temporary nanny!” But she knew why. Knew that she, at least, had a special energy whenever Flint was around.
Last night, after the snow had started falling, she and Logan and Flint had built a fire in the cabin and spent a couple of hours decorating. Which meant that she’d stayed for dinner—this time, with Flint cooking his famous Western omelets while she and Logan strung popcorn. Classical music had played in the background, and the evergreen branches they’d brought in had let out a piney scent, and it had been sweet and warm and wonderful.
“Spill it, girl,” Rhetta ordered. “You’re looking way too dreamy for just a temporary nanny.”
Lana shook her head. “I’ve been spending a lot of time with him, between taking care of Logan and working together on the Christmas pageant, but it’s not ever going to come to anything.”
“Oh? And why’s that?”
“Because neither of us wants a relationship.”
“You’ve talked about that?” Rhetta’s voice rose to a squeak. “Don’t you know that’s the first step to having a relationship? Talking about your history and telling each other you can’t possibly get involved?”
“It’s not like that,” Lana said, waving a hand. “He’s really scarred by what Logan’s mom did, abandoning him with a little baby. And you know me. The Lord meant me to be alone, and when I tried to go against that, I had the most humiliating experience of my life.”
Rhetta shook her head. “That’s going to be a story you tell your grandkids. How you almost married the wrong man, but then you found Mr. Right. At which point, cue the romantic music, you look at your silver-haired but still gorgeous husband and smile and kiss under the mistletoe.”
A vision of Flint as an older man flashed into Lana’s mind. He’d go gray first at the temples, lending him a distinguished look. His time in the sun meant he already had tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, but they just added to the character on his handsome face, kept him from looking like a pretty boy. That would just intensify as he got older...
She looked up to see Rhetta’s amused grin. “Come on, daydreamer. I’m right and you know it. But we’d better get to those crazy kids. The bell’s about to ring, and the lunch aides will have our hides if
we’re late.”
Lana snapped her fingers. “Nature walk. Outside.”
“Brilliant. I’m so there.”
They headed toward the cafeteria, where the din of excited kids was rising from high to deafening.
“Do you think Flint Rawlings knows what he’s in for?” Rhetta asked, nodding toward the chaos ahead.
“He has no idea,” Lana said as she walked into the fray.
* * *
Flint climbed out of his truck, slammed the door and then, when he saw another mother headed toward the school with a tray in her hands, opened the truck door back up. Couldn’t forget the cupcakes. When one of the other party parents had emailed instructions, she’d assigned him to bake twenty-five cupcakes.
Which, first of all, didn’t she know that cupcake pans came in twelves? That was what Marnie Binder had asked when she’d lent him a couple of tins.
She’d offered to bake them for him, too, but he’d actually taken the afternoon off so he could do things right, and he’d decided that baking his own would make a better statement to Logan.
Only, he’d gotten in a hurry because of having to wait while the one extra cupcake baked. And the frosting had looked fine when he’d opened the can, but once spread on the warm cupcakes, it had melted into nothing.
Oh, well, they would still taste good. And he’d looked up a craft online and stopped at the discount store to buy the supplies. He was all set.
Loaded down with Tupperware containers and shopping bags, he walked toward Logan’s classroom, falling into step with another mother. The hallway reverberated with loud talking, shouts and laughter from the classrooms they passed. “Are they always this loud?” he asked the other mom.
“Wait until you get inside,” she said, flashing a smile. “And first-graders are the worst. This is my sixth child, so I should know.”
Inside Logan’s classroom, Flint saw that the chaos was, at least, organized. The children were all in their seats, although very wiggly, and Lana was leading them in a Christmas song.
“Keep going, children,” she said when she saw the parents coming in, “but let’s see who can sing the softest. Two whole verses that way!”
Gamely, the children tried to comply while Lana hurried to the door. “Whew, I’m glad you guys are here. Thank you so much for volunteering!”
“I’m used to it, that’s why I’m taking the lead.” A very blonde woman, dressed in Texas-tight jeans and high-heeled boots, whose name tag proclaimed her to be Jacqueline, stood up from the boxes she’d been kneeling over. “We’re ready to...oh, wow. What happened to your cupcakes?”
“They’ll taste good,” Flint promised, setting them down on a table by the door.
“The kids will love anything sweet,” Lana said distractedly. “Listen, if you’re sure you’ve got it under control, I’m going to turn it over to you. Addy’s aide wants to go help with her own son’s party over in Room 8, so I need to help Addy navigate the party. She doesn’t do that well with changes to her routine.”
“No problem,” said the mother Flint had walked in with, whose name was Aleesha. “Go ahead.”
Lana headed over to a girl in a wheelchair, whose arms were waving. Her moans were audible over the sound of the children’s increasingly loud singing.
Flint blinked and had to acknowledge that being a teacher was more of a challenge than he’d ever realized.
He tore his eyes away from Lana, who was comforting and distracting the child, to look at Jacqueline Blonde Boots and Aleesha. “I’m a novice at this,” he said right away, wanting to keep their expectations in line. “I have a craft ready, but otherwise, I’ll just do whatever you tell me to do.”
“I suspect you’re very competent,” the blonde woman murmured, leaning into his side in an unmistakable attempt at flirtation.
“Not competent at all.” Blatant wasn’t his thing, and he stepped away from her, which caused her to stumble a little.
She caught herself and gave him a dirty look. “Let’s start with the snacks. That’ll get their attention.”
“It will get them full of sugar,” Aleesha protested. “Should we maybe wait til the end for snacks?”
“I’m in charge of this party,” Jacqueline said, eyeing Aleesha in unmistakable challenge.
Aleesha shrugged. “That’s fine with me. You go for it.”
“Thanks, I will. Because she’s not going to be any help.” Jacqueline was looking at Lana. “She’s very young, isn’t she?”
“I think she does a real good job,” Flint defended Lana automatically.
Jacqueline sneered. “You would think so.”
Whoa, he’d rather deal with cattle or delinquent boys than room mothers any day.
“Kids,” Aleesha said, clapping her hands. “Line up to wash hands. We’re going to give you snacks first!”
The kids cheered and jostled and got into line, and Flint passed out napkins and his cupcakes while Jacqueline poured small cups of water and distributed chocolate candy. He’d heard her check with Lana about allergies, so he knew that wasn’t a problem in this class, but he still had to question the wisdom of giving the kids so many sweets. Logan, for one, would be bouncing off the walls. But then again, Flint was just a party-novice dad. What did he know?
The kids finished the food in minutes and started getting out of their chairs and talking loudly.
Flint rubbed the back of his neck, which was stiffening up. He had no idea how to proceed here, and Jacqueline had gone to the doorway to chat with another woman.
Logan started dragging Flint around, introducing him to his friends, explaining that his dad was a ranch foreman and could ride a horse. Flint fist-bumped and high-fived the kids as they walked around.
This made it all worthwhile. This was why he was here, for Logan, and he could put up with anything for...he sneaked a glance at the classroom clock...forty-five more minutes.
“All right, children,” Jacqueline said, coming back into the noisy classroom. She flicked the lights, and the kids got quiet. “Time for your craft, and Mr. Rawlings is going to take charge of that!” She sat down at the edge of the classroom and crossed her arms.
Whoa. He was on.
“Okay, everybody sit in your seats.” He knew that much. He went to the bag of stuff he’d brought and pulled out twenty packets of shoestrings. “Could you pass these out?” he asked Aleesha.
Then he broke open the first packet of marshmallow Santas. “Now, everybody watch. What you’re gonna do is make a necklace. Out of Santas. And Christmas trees, and reindeers.” He held up a couple of other packets of marshmallow treats. “Like this.” He poked the shoestring through the side of one Santa, pulled it on through, and added the next. Not much different from mending chaps. This was going great.
The kids started clamoring to do it themselves, so Flint just dumped the giant bag of marshmallow goodies on Lana’s desk and told them they could each come up and get one.
He hadn’t anticipated the stampede that followed. The packets were a little hard to get open, and one boy started crying because he’d had to take a packet of pink reindeers rather than the brown ones he’d wanted, but Aleesha smoothed that over and walked around with scissors, helping the kids open their packets.
Then one of the little girls started to cry.
She was close by Flint, so he squatted at her side. “What’s wrong? Can’t get the string through there?” he asked, holding out his hands to help with her necklace.
“I...don’t wanna...stab Santa,” she cried, putting her head down on her desk.
“I’ll stab him for you! Take that, Santa!” The boy next to her jabbed his shoestring end into his marshmallow Santa with glee.
“I can stab better than that!” shouted another boy, pulling blunt-end scissors from his desk and pummeling his marshmal
low reindeer with them.
The original crier started to wail, and the little girl behind her joined in. “I don’t want to make a hole in Rudolph, either!”
A boy on the other side of that girl waved his hand vigorously. “Miss Alvarez, they’re hurting Santa!”
Suddenly all the kids were yelling and crying and arguing. Were the marshmallow Santas real? Were the reindeer? Would Santa get mad at them for making the necklaces and stabbing him and his reindeer in the process? And if Santa’s reindeer were hurt, would Santa still come to their houses to leave presents?
Even standoffish Jacqueline was galvanized into action, wading in to try to calm things down. Dimly, Flint heard her reassuring children that they didn’t have to stab Santa, that they could make a necklace out of marshmallow trees.
But although Jacqueline’s voice, speaking to the children, was sugar-sweet, the side-eye she shot at him suggested she thought he was a Santa stabber himself. And her daughter, also pretty and blonde, wasn’t any help. “My mommy wouldn’t do a craft that was mean to Santa,” she informed everyone within earshot, several times.
Aleesha, meanwhile, was busy with a group of boys, her own son included, who’d decided it would be fun to decapitate reindeer with the scissors from their desks. Aleesha had her lips pressed tight together and was shaking in an odd way, and finally Flint realized she was trying not to laugh.
Flint wasn’t laughing, though, because Logan wasn’t. He was tugging at Flint’s arm. “Make them stop it, Dad!”
Flint felt about two inches tall.
He glanced over at Lana, but she was kneeling in front of the girl with the disability, who was sobbing. She already had her hands full.
This was a disaster. What had he been thinking, coming to volunteer in Logan’s class?
Rhetta Douglass, a teacher he knew vaguely from town, stuck her head in the classroom door. “Everything okay in here?” she asked and then stepped inside. “Whoa. We were going to join our classes for the second half of the party, but on second thought, maybe I’ll just take my kids back outside.”
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