“No, ma’am,” she said, passing the hoop to Allison, who scrutinized it with care, even turning it over to look at the back. She had no idea that her eyes gleamed with pride and pleasure. “Oh, Cilla, you’re doing a wonderful job. And the underneath is just as well done as the top.”
She smoothed a gentle hand over the table scarf and smiled. “According to my mama, that was one of the things that makes handwork exceptional. The back should be as pretty as the front.”
Colt wasn’t sure he’d ever seen his daughter smile so widely. She looked proud enough to pop. For just a second he thought she might fling her arms around Allison’s neck and give her a hug. In that moment his own pride swelled within him, along with it a rush of gratitude for the woman who’d made it all possible.
“I haven’t seen you in a few days,” he told her, as if it were all her doing instead of his. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.”
Her answer was short and to the point.
“What brings you our way, then?”
Idiot! he chided himself. It sounded as if he didn’t want her there, and nothing could be further from the truth.
She pulled two envelopes from her skirt pocket. “In today’s mail I received replies to the letters I sent to my professors, and I wanted to talk to you as a family so I can try to answer any questions you may have.”
“I’ll get him.” Colt started to rise, only to stop when she placed her hand on his arm. The heat of her fingers sent a jolt of awareness through him. His gaze flew to hers. The reciprocal warmth that flamed in her eyes was proof that she shared his reaction. But there was more than awareness. There was vulnerability. Indecision. A question for which he had no answer. He was as confused as she looked. One thing was certain, though. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to kiss her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, snatching her hand away.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” he assured her. He heard the huskiness in his voice. Did she? He fought the urge to rub the place that still tingled from her touch.
“Ace said I did real good!” Brady cried as he raced toward them. “He’s coming back tomorrow evening.”
The sound of his eager voice shattered the intensity of the moment. Colt stood and shook his friend’s hand. Flicking a considering look from Colt to Allison and back, Ace said his goodbyes to them all, and they watched him slip silently into the gathering woodland shadows.
“What are you doing here, Miss Grainger?” Brady asked, never one to dither.
“I wanted to let you know that I’ve received replies from my professors.”
Brady looked almost fearful, Colt thought. He needed to make sure his reactions to whatever Allie told them were positive. As if sensing the tension binding them, she gave them all an encouraging smile.
“First, they both mention something that has been recognized as—” Colt could almost see the wheels turning as she tried to phrase the problem “—making learning hard for a certain number of people.” She looked at him. “It’s called ‘dyslexia,’ and while I can’t say with any certainty at this point that this is Brady’s problem, he seems to fit the standards that define it.”
“Dyslexia?” Colt echoed. It sounded horrible.
Allison nodded.
“What is it?” Brady asked.
“It’s a condition detailed by Dr. Pringle Morgan. The simplest way to describe it is that for some unknown reason, letters look switched around to some people. For example, a person with dyslexia might see ‘I am’ as ‘aim.’”
She shrugged as if lost for words. “It’s like a mix-up between the eye and the brain and vice versa. The way things are...processed, for lack of a better word. It makes reading and comprehension difficult, which in turn makes other subjects that require reading hard, as well. It can also affect spelling and mathematics.”
Brady seemed to be processing what she’d said. Colt wondered if he looked as flabbergasted as he felt. “What causes it?”
“No one knows, but it is certainly no one’s fault.” She directed her next comments to Brady. “Some people are just born with it. The important thing, Brady, is to understand that it has nothing to do with how smart a person is.
“There does seem to be some variation in severity of the problem, from mild to acute. Brady has some difficulty with spelling, but I haven’t noticed any overly troubling problems with his arithmetic skills, so at this point I’m guessing that he is only mildly affected. However,” she added, “today is the first time I’ve ever heard of the condition, so I’m far from knowledgeable.”
“Is there anything that can be done for him?” Colt asked.
She smiled. “The good news is that it seems we’re on the right track without knowing it. He needs to be read to and should work on his reading. Of course, he’ll need more time to accomplish his assignments than some of the children, but I don’t foresee that as a major hurdle.
“I’ll try to figure out what letter combinations trouble him most, though I don’t even know if some arrangements might be more troublesome than others. I’m afraid a lot of what we do will be trial and error, but we’ll just keep working on it.”
“And it’s okay if you don’t ever read as well or as fast as some of the other kids, Brady,” Cilla said. “It’s like what Miss Grainger said about me and the piano. Even if I’m never as good as Mrs. Carson. The main thing is that you’re learning other lessons, too, like not giving up and pushing yourself further than you think you can go. And you’ll be able to read about things that interest you and that’s all that matters, isn’t that right, Miss Grainger?”
Colt saw Allison blink fast to hold back the tears that filled her eyes at hearing Cilla repeat the lesson she’d just heard. Any doubt that she truly cared about his children was laid to rest.
It was gratifying that Cilla had been listening and even more satisfying that she was using her newfound lesson to give her brother a pep talk. Colt didn’t know if the changes in the kids had come about because of him laying down the law about their behavior, or if Allison’s caring had worked some sort of miracle. Whichever it was, he was grateful.
“Good point, Cilla,” Colt said as Allison nodded.
She smiled at Brady. “We’re doing something else right, too, by finding things you like to do and can learn to do well, like your bow-and-arrow shooting and learning to play the harmonica.”
Brady turned to him. “I forgot to tell you, Pa, but Mr. Jessup says I’m doing good with the harmonica, too. He says I’ll be ready to play with the other guys by the time we have the harvest festival.”
Though Colt thought Brady might be stretching it a bit, since he’d had only two or three lessons, the pride on his face was something to behold. Colt felt a sudden surge of love so poignant he wasn’t certain when he’d last experienced it. “I’m sure you will be.”
“Does anyone have any more questions?” Allison asked. When no one spoke, she said, “I’d best be going, then.”
“I’ll walk with you,” Colt said, reluctant to see her go despite his determination to keep her at arm’s length. Before he realized what he was doing, he offered her his hand.
She looked from his hand to his face, decidedly uncomfortable. “That won’t be necessary.”
“I insist. It’ll be dark soon.”
They both knew she would reach her little house long before darkness fell. They both also knew she was too much of a lady to protest any further. He thought he heard a little breath escape her, but she placed her hand in his, and he drew her to her feet.
Her hand was small and warm and soft. When he held it a second or two longer than propriety permitted, Allison tugged it free with a sharp look from beneath her eyelashes.
“I’ll be back in a little bit. You two start the dishes, please.”
“Sure, Pa,”
Brady said.
“Thanks.” Colt stepped back for Allie to precede him. Instead of offering her his arm, he chose to keep a couple of feet between them. They’d gone no more than a step or two when he surprised himself by saying, “Do you need anything for your ice cream?”
“As it turns out, I won’t be taking ice cream. I’ll be taking apple pie instead.” Her chin was high; her voice was cool.
“No peach ice cream? Why?”
“It seems that in my eagerness to contribute I forgot one small thing.”
“What’s that?”
“That I am a single woman with no husband to bring and crush the ice or help haul the freezer to Jackson’s Grove.”
The mental image of the pint-size redhead toting a block of ice in a tow sack and using the flat side of an ax to crush it into smaller pieces brought a reluctant smile to his lips. “I’d be glad to help.”
“No, thank you,” she told him in her prissy schoolteacher voice.
Before he could stop himself, Colt took her shoulders in his hands and propelled her gently against the side of the house. Her palms were flat against his chest, as if to keep him back.
“What got your bloomers in a twist?” he asked, narrowing his gaze in question.
Allison’s eyes widened and her lips parted in shock at hearing the socially objectionable word bandied about with such ease. “My...my what?” she all but screeched.
“You heard me.” She was angry. So was he, though he wasn’t sure who he was mad at—or why.
“Indeed I did! How dare you speak to me with such disrespect!” she told him in a low, furious tone. “I’m doing everything I can to help you with your children, and it seems you’re determined to drive me mad. One minute you’re friendly and cooperative—the next you ignore me for days! And how dare you question the way I’m behaving when you’ve made no move to—”
“Why, Miss Grainger,” he said in a silky voice. “I do believe you’re trying to tell me you’ve missed me.”
Her eyes widened. “I...I most certainly have no—”
“You talk too much,” he interrupted. With that, he pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that was born of irritation, frustration and maybe just a little bit of curiosity.
He didn’t know what he expected, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t for his heart rate to double or for her to struggle in his arms. Women usually didn’t do that. But then, he’d never kissed an unwilling woman, and he’d never known a woman like Allison.
Just when he was about to release her, she sagged against him, all resistance gone. In response to her surrender, he slanted his mouth for a deeper kiss and tightened his arms around her. At that moment he knew it was Allie he’d been kissing in his dream.
Despite the pleasure spiraling through him, his addled brain registered a couple of things. Her hands were fisted between them, her fingers tangled in his shirt. She was kissing him back. With unexpected enthusiasm. A soft sound, something that might have been a whimper, escaped her, bringing Colt to his senses.
Good grief! What was he doing?
It was a bit of a surprise to realize that he didn’t want to stop kissing her, but he knew he should, for more reasons than he could comprehend at the moment. Sliding his hands to her shoulders, he put an arm’s length between them and stared down into her flushed face. Her eyes were wide with disbelief, and her pretty mouth looked as he’d imagined it would after being thoroughly kissed.
“Why did you do that?” she asked in a quavering whisper.
His wide shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It seemed like a good way to shut you up.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Do you ever take anything seriously?” she choked out and, with a little shove, she pushed him aside and headed toward the road.
“Allie, wait!” he said, his long legs soon overtaking her. He clamped a hand onto her shoulder to stop her headlong escape.
“Let me go, Colt,” she said, struggling against his hold.
“I wanted to.”
“Wanted to what?” she muttered, trying to pry his hand from her shoulder.
“I wanted to kiss you.”
She stilled beneath his touch, her gaze clinging to his, disbelief warring with a question in her eyes. “Why, Colt? Why me? Why now? I’m so beautiful and exciting you couldn’t help yourself?” she taunted. “Or are you working your way through all the available women in town and my turn came up?”
The offhand question was so near the truth that Colt felt a surge of panic. He couldn’t tell her that after a lot of waffling, he’d decided to use the time he spent with her and the kids as a sort of testing ground to see if they were compatible without actually courting her. That was certain disaster!
There were other reasons behind the kiss. He could tell her that her lips had tempted him with their softness ever since the day of their big confrontation. Or maybe because he was curious as to whether she ever shook free of her prim persona or had buried all her feminine dreams with the man she’d loved and lost, just as he’d buried his relationship with God with Patrice. If so, what a pair they made. What a shame.
He chose the course closest to the truth and promised the fewest repercussions. “Curiosity, maybe.”
“Curiosity?”
He nodded. “I’m learning that you’re much more than you choose to let people see. Maybe I wanted to see what else is hiding behind that wall you put up between you and the world.”
He released her and, reaching out a single finger, lifted a wayward wisp of hair from her flushed cheek and tucked it behind her ear.
Allie sucked in a sharp breath. “L-like what?”
“You’re not nearly as self-possessed as you’d like everyone to think, which your outburst in my office proved.”
“Everyone has a breaking point,” she told him, the fire of her defiance burning the moisture from her eyes. “Actually, I found my outburst quite liberating.”
He regarded her intently. “Good.”
“Good?”
“Mmm-hmm. Holding things in is bad, Doc Rachel says. And you’re insecure.”
He noted her surprise and realized she thought she’d kept that hidden. “But I can’t imagine why,” he added. “You’re a very talented person, and you’re smart and kind and caring and good at what you do.”
“Ah, yes,” she said dramatically. “Saint Allison, living right here in Wolf Creek.”
He smiled a lopsided smile. “And you have a wicked sense of humor...when you let it out.”
He could tell his comment had caught her off guard. She plunged her hands into the pockets of her skirt and snapped, “Whatever your reasons, I suggest that we put the...um, unfortunate incident behind us. It would make things far too awkward when we spend time with the children.”
Uncertain whether to laugh or go nurse his bruised ego, Colt stepped back, putting another foot between them. “You certainly have a way of putting a man in his place.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever had a woman call a kiss an ‘unfortunate incident.’ I must admit that it smarts a bit, Miss Grainger. Still, I suppose you’re right. As usual.”
“Don’t be patronizing,” she said, but the animosity had left her voice and she looked as bewildered as he felt.
“I didn’t mean to be. I’m just saying that you may be right, but all I can promise is that I’ll try.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning I don’t know about you, but I’ll be a long time forgetting that kiss.”
He turned and walked toward the woods, leaving her to walk home alone, certain in his heart that he’d spoken the truth. His last image of Allison was her mouth hanging open in surprise. Let her sleep on that.
* * *
“How do you feel about what M
iss Grainger said about why you can’t read?” Cilla asked Brady as they washed and dried the dishes.
“I’m glad I’m not a dummy like Bethany.”
“Don’t call her that!”
“You do.”
“Maybe I did, but it was wrong. Bethany was just born different, the way you were.”
“I’m nothing like Bethany!” Brady cried, flinging the dish towel down.
“Of course you’re not exactly like her,” Cilla told him, trying to get her thoughts together.
“I’ve just been thinking a lot about Mr. Gentry’s scripture about judging people and how it goes right along with what Pa always says about not judging a book by its cover. They’re both the same thing, really.”
“Yeah. So?”
“So that’s what I did with Bethany, and it’s what the kids at school do to you when you make mistakes in reading. They’re judging you by that one thing and not the other things that make you Brady Garrett.”
“What do you mean?”
“That there’s a lot more to you than how well you read.”
“Why are you so nicey-nice all of a sudden?” Brady asked, stacking another dry plate on the shelf.
“I guess Pa laying down the law the day I stomped on Miss Grainger’s glasses got me to thinking about things. And I’ve been thinking about Ma a lot, too.” She gave Brady a sad little smile. “Sometimes I really miss her. I’m sorry you never knew her, but do you know what I remember the most?”
Brady shook his head.
“She was always kind, and she smiled and laughed a lot like Miss Grainger does, and I don’t think she’d be happy with the way we’ve been acting.”
“I wish I’d known her,” Brady said. He lifted his gaze to his sister’s. “Is it my fault she died, Cilla?”
“Of course not!” she said. “Things like that just happen sometimes, and no one knows why. Just like Bethany’s problem and your dyslexia. It’s no one’s fault.”
“I’m glad about that.”
Cilla smiled at him and handed him another plate to dry.
“Another thing. I can see that Pa’s really bothered by the way we’ve been acting. I don’t want him to lose his job and move us somewhere else, and I don’t think you do, either.”
Wolf Creek Father (Wolf Creek, Arkansas Book 3) Page 13
