If it was that dangerous, and not overblown, induced anxiety on my part, would people really live out here all the time?
Doubt it.
Plus, we’re on the east side of Wyoming. I’m pretty sure there are fewer predators here.
Pretty sure.
Kind of.
He hands Junie the bag of food. “Not poisoned. I promise. That’d be more trouble than it’s worth.”
“My mom is not dating,” she repeats.
“I don’t date students’ parents.”
She studies him in the gathering darkness. I shoo them both, and when I go to shut the barn doors, Flint helps.
Good thing.
My arms are starting to feel like limp rubber bands.
And I swear he notices when the doorframe shifts. At least, that’s what I assume his sigh means. She’s right. This is a liability hazard.
If he doesn’t pick up on that, though, I seriously need him not bringing kids out here.
“C’mon,” he says.
We follow him.
And I leave a good twenty feet between us too.
And I’m ogling his ass the entire way.
I have problems.
So many, many problems.
Chapter 9
Flint
The first few weeks of school pass pretty quickly, with everything settling into a normal routine.
The days, anyway.
There are classes with my kids figuring out how far they can push their limits. Soccer practice with June Spencer as our equipment manager, slowly finding where she fits and making friends. Convincing Kory to let me bring a couple of teenagers out to help with the calving to distract them on particularly rough days while I keep working on my principal to get approval for liability insurance so I can take kids back to Wit’s End, where I know there are more fences down and where I can take Parsnip anytime. Grading. Parent-teacher conferences.
Everything I need to keep me happy and busy at work.
And then there are the calls from other friends around town to help replace a microwave or stop in to check on their dogs while they’re out of town filling up what’s left of my free time.
But my nights?
Every time I climb into bed and close my eyes, I see Maisey Spencer swinging a sledgehammer. Sashaying into my classroom in that blue dress. Setting her jaw and talking about finding a purpose. Her eyes lighting up when she smiles at a new friend when she drops June off. The way she run-trots when she’s dashing across the parking lot to drop off the water bottle June forgot at home, then dashes right back to her car before any of the kids notice her.
How she comes to every game to support June in her role as our equipment manager. How she sits on her hands at every game like she’s afraid if she makes any noise at all, she’ll mortify her daughter.
We’ve nodded or said hi in passing—which happens more than I want it to, but I rent the house at the end of her driveway, and she’s now the PTA president’s right-hand woman at the school. It can’t be helped.
There’s been no more mention of what she’s doing with the ranch.
Not from her, anyway.
Aunt Opal loves the idea of her putting a couple of small homes out there for wayward souls once she gets the rest of the ranch updated and renovated.
So do half my coworkers at the school.
Brad at the hardware store.
Johnny, the local painter.
Annabelle, the local electrician.
Kory, who’s excited at the idea of supplying more beef to the hobby ranch turned practically unused land next door.
Everyone.
Everyone.
I’m still holding out to see what winter brings before I get excited about the possibility of more newcomers.
Turns out I have some curmudgeon in me.
Never thought I did until I met Maisey Spencer.
If I could get her out of my head, maybe I’d be happy about what she’s planning too.
But I can’t.
And tonight, it appears I can’t avoid her in person.
“Your mom’s not answering?” I ask June for the seventh time.
We’re hanging out at the soccer field after an evening home game on a Wednesday night. June’s the only student left. Her mother, who’s never missed a game before, is nowhere in sight.
“I need a car,” she grumbles.
“You have your license?”
She shoots me a look that could mean My mom won’t let me get it, or it could mean I’m secretly afraid to drive, and I don’t want to tell you, so I’m going to let you think this look means that my mom won’t let me get it.
See the latter option more often than you might think. Good 10 percent of any given junior and senior class these days voluntarily don’t have their licenses.
She lifts her phone to her ear one more time, and this time, I shake my head. “I’m going where you’re going. C’mon. I’ll give you a lift.”
She squints at me, her lips pursing exactly like her mother’s. “I’m not supposed to get in a car with a grown man all by myself. I shouldn’t even be here with you right now all by myself.”
I stare at her.
She stares right back.
And that’s how I end up driving June home with my aunt riding shotgun.
“How’s school, Junie?” Opal asks. She’s changed her hair again, and now it’s purple. Sometimes I think my students go easy on me because they think I have such a cool aunt.
“Fine. And it’s June. Please.”
“June. Got it. Parents are the worst at keeping nicknames too long, aren’t they? I still—”
“No, you don’t,” I interrupt.
“—call Flint Snuggybottoms.”
She smiles at me.
June snickers.
I shake my head, but I’m not pissed.
While Opal did indeed call me Snuggybottoms one time after I moved in with her when I was in high school, she only brings it up when she’s around kids who need to know I’m not scary and they can count on me.
“My mom named me Juniper,” June says. “I told her if she keeps calling me Junie, I’m telling my friends I want them to call me Nip. It’s so much better than Per, you know?”
“That would be something,” Opal says. “But not original. Flint, what year was it that you had that girl named Virginia in your class? The one who wanted everyone to call her Vag?”
June’s eyes bug out.
“Two years ago,” I reply mildly.
“And then the boy who wanted everyone to call him Peenie?”
Now she’s making shit up. “I’m not allowed to discuss that.”
Opal turns to look at June. “Sorry, sweetheart. The school put a hard limit on nicknames after that. But I hear kids these days are changing their names to whatever they want so long as it’s not a word that seems likely to make someone uncomfortable. What would you name yourself if you weren’t a Juniper?”
June’s mouth opens, then shuts. She frowns before turning to stare out the window at the scraggly landscape around us.
One good thing about taking June home?
We’ll get there about the time the sun sets over the bluffs, and there are clouds on the horizon tonight.
Should be gorgeous.
And while I have a decent view at the gatehouse, the view from Tony’s old house is unbeatable.
“You’re making friends, June?” Opal asks.