by Cindi Madsen
At least it’s only temporary.
Chapter Six
“This is Señor Fluffypants. He’s a black-and-white Holland Lop, and he’s three years old.” Jemma hefted the chubby bunny out of his wire kennel and invited the students to come closer. They asked questions about his floppy ears, and she explained that lop breeds have that type of ears, and how way back in the day, they made this breed by combining a couple of others.
“Does he eat carrots, like Bugs Bunny?” Brody asked.
“Good question. He eats some alfalfa-based pellets to make sure he gets all his vitamins, but he also gets carrots for treats sometimes. I bet your parents talk to you about getting your vitamins, don’t they?”
Several of them nodded.
“My grandpa grows alfalfa,” Chase added proudly.
It was nice that so many of the kids had been around a variety of animals, because they all seemed to know how to carefully pet her bunny, and while Señor Fluffypants had grown accustomed to noisy classrooms, he was always calmer when the students were calm as well.
After making sure everyone had gotten a turn to pet the bunny, Jemma instructed her students to have a seat.
Bailey gave Señor Fluffypants’s head one last pat as she whispered, “We have lots of animals on the ranch, but no tame bunnies. Just the wild ones that are scared of people. I really like your bunny—he’s super-duper fluffy and cute.”
“Thank you. By the way, you were right about the muffin. It was delicious.” Affection wove through Jemma as they shared a moment, and then it was time to launch into the math portion of their lesson, which wasn’t nearly as well-received as the bunny had been.
But a few minutes in, the kids settled down and got into the groove of things.
By the end of her second day, Jemma decided she could mark it off as a total success.
Right as she was getting ready to give herself a big red check, Camilla came in. She gave her a smile that was more of a grimace. “So, um, don’t freak out, but I forgot to tell you that the third-graders do a Valentine’s Day play.”
Despite the instructions, Jemma’s lungs constricted. She’d never done a play before, not anything bigger than minor skits in her classroom. “Wait. I’m in charge of it?”
Camilla stepped farther into the room, bringing her thumbnail up between her teeth. “You and the music teacher. The third grade puts it on every year, and most of the town comes. I totally blanked until Mrs. Hembolt asked me about it. We usually start prepping for it as soon as everyone returns from Christmas break.”
“Is there a script?” Jemma wasn’t sure she had the skills to make up a play from scratch. Everyone underestimated how much work productions like that were, but she’d helped Randa out with last year’s fifth grade production, and by the end, the staff and students were exhausted. It was a huge undertaking that required volunteers and a lot of extra hours.
“Mrs. Hembolt’s gathered several, and we have a handful in the library we can choose from. Do you have time for a quick meeting with her? I’ll stick around to help you pick as well if you’d like me to.”
“Yes, please.” So maybe she’d been thrown a curveball, but at least she was part of a solid team.
Thirty minutes and ten scripts later, they’d picked a cute, funny play called “Cupid Goes Crazy.” It was mostly about kindness and friendship and loving people even if they were different from you. Seeing the script and picturing her students in the roles, the audience grinning up at them, took the edge off her panic and left her cautiously excited.
Mrs. Hembolt clapped her hands and bounced in her chair. The woman had thick glasses that made her eyes look abnormally large and a halo of curly white hair. She’d also burst into song twice as they’d been sorting through plays. “This is going to be absolutely adorable! I can’t wait to dive in.”
As they were packing up, Camilla turned to Jemma. “Before I forget, I keep meaning to talk to you about something…”
Jemma’s stomach bottomed out. Was the principal unhappy with her job performance? Had she received parental complaints? Surely there wasn’t another play or event. Too many of Jemma’s plates were spinning out of control already.
“Several of the other teachers and I take a country dance aerobics class,” Camilla continued, “and we’re always looking for people to join.” She wrapped her arm around Mrs. Hembolt’s shoulders. “Aren’t we, Dorothy?”
Dorothy nodded so fast her glasses slid down her nose. “Oh, it’s good fun. You simply must come!”
“You simply must.” A hint of mischief danced in the curve of the smile Camilla aimed at her. Jemma was beginning to think the principal’s side hustle was talking people into things. “Every Thursday night, so show up at the dance hall tomorrow a few minutes before six.”
The panic Jemma had barely ridded herself of seized her once again as the two women stared at her. Country dancing? Seriously? Not only was she more of an alt- and rock-and-roll girl, she also had iffy coordination, became self-conscious in the spotlight, and only danced in the privacy of her own house.
Now she was almost wishing the conversation was about her work performance. “Sounds…intriguing, but I don’t know how to country dance.”
“That’s why you go to a class where you can learn, silly,” Camilla said. “We go for fun and for exercise, to get to know one another outside of the classroom, and to support each other and the new dance instructor. All perks of living in a tight-knit community.”
Perks? Jemma considered reading alone in the quiet of the cottage a perk. She also didn’t want her coworkers to get to know her while she was flailing about, making a fool of herself.
Her apprehension must’ve been written on her face, because Camilla dropped the arm she had around Mrs. Hembolt and gently squeezed Jemma’s shoulder. “Come on. At least give it the ol’ elementary-school try.”
“Don’t you mean college try?” Good job, Jemma. Correct your boss, who’s just reaching out and doing her best to include you and make you feel welcome.
Camilla’s smile widened. “No, I mean elementary school. Kids are more open to trying new things.”
Open. Trying new things.
In other words, this fit in with her goals and was included in the adventure she was supposed to be having.
Which is how she found herself battling her inner coward, forcing herself to step out of her comfort zone, and saying yes.
The rumble of an engine had Wyatt perking up his ears. For one illogical moment, he thought maybe it was his new neighbor dropping by, but as the sound grew louder, he heard the deep growl of a diesel pickup truck.
He grabbed his coat and slung it on as he pushed through the front door. Of course it’s the person I called. Why on earth would it would be Jemma Monroe?
Maybe the real question was why did she keep popping into his brain? How did it even have room for anything that didn’t include work?
It was just because he regretted being so short with her that day she’d gotten stuck. So not how you were supposed to treat your neighbor or your kid’s teacher.
Yep, that’s the only reason. It definitely wasn’t that retort she’d made about drinking his coffee black to prove he was tough as nails, or how she’d made that joke calling her frou-frou drink self-care.
And that’s more than enough thinking about that.
Wyatt zipped up his wool-lined coat as he rushed over to where Dempsey Lyons had parked, right in front of the used-to-be-red barn.
“Sorry it took me so long to get out here,” Dempsey said while climbing out of his truck, big black medical bag in hand. He had on blue scrubs, which meant he’d rushed over as soon as his clinic had closed for the day.
The only vet in a town full of a lot of pets and livestock, Dempsey was busy from first thing in the morning to early evening and, in some emergency cases, late at night. Since Wyatt un
derstood that all too well, he hated to call up his friend and add to his long list of work, but when it came to his horse, he’d rather be safe than sorry.
The hinges creaked a bit as Wyatt opened the heavy wooden side door to the barn. “I just appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule.”
“Anytime. I’m serious, man.” Dempsey stepped inside, blinking against the bright lights and then clapping Wyatt on the shoulder. “Truth be told, it’s good to see you. It’s been way too long.”
“It has,” he agreed. A lifetime ago they’d played ball together, both football and basketball, although Dempsey had shone on the field as quarterback, whereas Wyatt had been more at home on the court.
Around most people, Wyatt often stood back, stayed quiet, and observed. But he and Dempsey had known each other forever. He was also the guy who’d shown up after his marriage had fallen apart and had helped him sort out the pieces. He’d seen him at his best and worst, and an odd sort of relief flowed through him at the idea of not having to watch everything he did or said.
Not having to worry it’d somehow get back to his daughter.
“Since we’re clearly never going to catch up on work anytime soon,” Dempsey said, “we should schedule time to hang anyway.”
“Are you saying this doesn’t count as a quality hangout?” Wyatt joked as he led his friend to the stall where his bay mare, Zora, rested on her side. She stood at their approach, her right front leg lifted a couple of inches off the ground.
Wyatt ran his hand down her neck to keep her as calm as possible. “As I mentioned over the phone, she stepped in a hole and rolled a bit.” He jerked his chin at the leg she wasn’t putting her weight on. “By the time I walked her back to the barn, it looked swollen. I don’t think it’s broken, but wanted to make sure that it wasn’t, or that something else wasn’t going on.”
Dempsey let the horse sniff him and began soothingly talking to Zora while Wyatt gripped the bridle. She was used to people and hadn’t needed to be restrained before, but he wanted to be ready, just in case.
After another minute or so of the two of them calmly talking to and rubbing down the horse, Dempsey bent to check out the leg. “How’s Bailey Rae these days?”
“As big a handful as ever, but just as sweet as the day is long.”
“She’s getting so big,” Dempsey said. “What is she now? Six? Seven?”
“Eight. Almost nine.”
His friend looked up at him like he expected Wyatt was pulling his leg. “Seriously? It’s been that long since I held that squeaky pink baby burrito in my arms?”
The image of their younger selves hit him, how Dempsey had held Bailey Rae like a football he’d wanted to protect and hand off at the same time. Over the years, he’d gotten used to being around her and kids in general, and last summer he’d attempted to teach her to throw the perfect spiral pass. She mostly humored the guy she referred to as Uncle Dempsey, because the girl couldn’t care less about sports and didn’t have a competitive bone in her body.
Wyatt leaned a hip against the post nearest him. “Yeah, hate to break it to you, but we’re getting old.”
Dark strands of hair fell in Dempsey’s face, and he raked them back into place. “Speak for yourself.” He gently ran his hand down the horse’s leg as he glanced at Wyatt. “Pretty soon, you’re going to have to deal with things like dating and driving.”
“Hey, now,” Wyatt said, fake sternness in his voice. “Don’t go tryin’ to give me gray hairs just so I’ll look older.”
They shared a laugh, and Wyatt scuffed his boot on the hay covered floor. “Since we’re asking the tough questions tonight, are you and that woman from Colorado Springs still going strong?”
Dempsey shook his head. “Nah. I’m too busy for a relationship, especially one with almost two hours’ distance between us. Despite the fact that she only works part time, she didn’t want to have to drive here where—” he made air quotes, “—there’s nothing to even do.”
A tight band formed around Wyatt’s chest as that comment hit too close to home. Not just because of his ex-wife, Andrea, but because he was thinking of Jemma again, and how she was a city girl through and through.
Dempsey reached into his bag and started digging. “It’s a minor sprain, the tendon bowing just the tiniest bit. Still, the better we secure it and the less she moves it, the quicker it’ll heal.”
His friend pulled out a couple of hot-pink…braces? “Fetlock boot. All I’ve got on me is pink.”
“I’m sure Bailey Rae will be thrilled,” Wyatt said with a chuckle. “The only thing I care about is that Zora is able to feel better and heal.” He patted her side. She’d been with him through a lot and was the horse he counted on most. While he tried to play it cool, he constantly worried about all of his animals. But especially this one.
“I’ll put one on her other leg as well, since she’ll start putting more weight on that side and we don’t want her to end up straining it. The boot will keep her leg stable, but she’ll need to stay in her stall for a while. I’ll administer a painkiller and an anti-inflammatory and give you both to use over the next few days, but she should be back to normal in a few weeks to a month.”
Once Dempsey had put on the boots and given the horse the medication, he backed out of the stall and closed the door. He wiped his hands on his scrubs and dug his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll set it in my calendar to come check on her in two weeks.”
“You don’t have to do that. I can bring her in or just shoot you a picture so you don’t have to drive out here after a long hard day.”
“I know, but I’m gonna, and I might as well drag you out for a drink afterward.” He turned the phone screen toward Wyatt to show it’d been inputted in his calendar. “It’s high time someone reminded you how to kick back and have a little fun.”
“I’m afraid I’m a lost cause on that front.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Besides, you can’t keep shutting out the townsfolk who’ve been here for you since forever. Or by the time you get those gray hairs, you’ll be the bitter old man everyone’s afraid of.”
Dempsey punched his arm in a joking way, but Wyatt could tell he wasn’t completely kidding. Perhaps he’d done a better job hermitting than he’d originally thought. For a while it was because he hadn’t wanted to talk about his divorce and had been completely overwhelmed at being in charge of everything, including his then six-year-old daughter, and then it sort of became habit.
But as his friend pointed out, his being busy wasn’t ever going to change.
He just wasn’t sure he’d be able to change from the harsher, loner guy he’d become, either.
Chapter Seven
There’d been several times Jemma had wondered how she’d gotten herself into situations, but this one took the cake.
Mmm. I wish they had cake. I haven’t had cake in forever.
Of course, if she was going to eat that—or keep eating muffins and drinking sugary drinks of joy from Havenly Brew—exercise was important.
As she stood near the back of the dance hall on Thursday afternoon, she wasn’t sure this kind of exercise was for her. There was country music playing lightly in the background and women of all ages surrounded her, chatting and stretching.
Dorothy Hembolt, the music teacher who was helping with the Valentine’s Day play, was up front, wearing a red gingham skirt that must’ve been from the square-dancing glory days she’d mentioned as they were choosing a play.
She had to be in her sixties, and yet she was down on the ground stretching, legs spread wide, her white bloomers matching the lace on her flared skirt.
April was also up near the front, wearing worn boots and a large blingy buckle, and a few other women had cowboy hats on. Mrs. Russell, the fifth-grade teacher with the escapee snake, and Mrs. Glynn, the first-grade teacher, waved at her from their positions in
the middle row.
While Jemma was enjoying getting to know her fellow teachers, she was still going to stay in the back of the spacious room, where fewer people could bear witness to her dance moves. Or more like dance blunders. She’d been told that a lot of town events were held in the wooden-floored hall, and she glanced around, thinking surely there was a back exit she could sneak out of without anyone noticing.
Camilla walked over and bumped her shoulder into Jemma’s. “Wipe that skeptical, scared look off your face. This class is a blast, and the teacher is awesome. Essie’s originally from Puerto Rico but moved to the States when she was in high school. She danced professionally for about a decade. Fortunately, she found her way to Haven Lake about six months ago, and we’re lucky to have her.
“Since we want to keep her here and help her build the dance studio she’s been talking about—which would bring in more people from the other tiny towns surrounding us and be great for the local businesses—everyone’s vowed to make sure her dance and aerobic classes are well attended.”
Jemma nodded, because what else could she do? “I’m not saying I don’t want to take an aerobics class, but country dancing? That’s like learning to walk all over again. Maybe I should wait till the jazz class, because check it out…” She flared her fingers and wiggled them in the air. “Jazz hands!”
“That just means you’ve already got jazz down,” Camilla said with a laugh. “Which means—” she did a lasso type move over her head as she took on a twang that sent Jemma’s trepidation from a seven to a ten, “—country dancin’!”
Jemma felt the blood drain from her face, and her internal organs were going into full-blown freak-out mode.
“You know how important the arts are, yet schools are forever cutting them,” Camilla continued.
Another reason Jemma wanted to go into administration, although she knew keeping and retaining more arts would be a never-ending fight.
“Besides—”Camilla smacked her hips—“these were meant for the Jarabe Tapatío and not so much for line dancing, but you don’t see me complaining.”
