“Regan, what are you doing?” Tanya asked as she walked into the teachers’ lounge several hours later.
“Watching Pete’s car.”
“Do I want to know why?”
Regan turned back to the copy machine, which was happily churning out ninth-grade history work sheets.
“I’m trying to avoid trouble not of my own making.”
“I knew I didn’t want to know.” Tanya, a one-woman cleaning machine, went to the sink and started rinsing and drying coffee cups. “So why were you late this morning?”
“The wind blew a branch down on my fence and I had to get it off.”
“It couldn’t wait?”
“I needed to call the fence man, if it was damaged. He’s kind of a slow worker and I want to get Toffee home this weekend.”
“Was there that much damage?”
“Yes. I can’t tighten the stretched wire myself, so I called him. He’s going to try to get out there before the weekend.” She tightened one corner of her mouth. “Emphasis on try.”
Tanya gave her a sympathetic look just as Karlene, the girls’ PE teacher, came in and flopped down in a chair, blowing a few of her short brown curls off her forehead. “Ever have the feeling that you wanted to kill your boss?”
“Shh.” Tanya said. Pauline Johnson walked into the room just then, her high heels clicking on the tiles with metronomelike precision, the hem of her skirt hitting exactly midknee and her pale hair carefully lacquered into a French twist. She gave her colleagues a professional smile and went to check her mail. After sorting it, she marched over to the copy machine.
“Do you have many more?” she asked, indicating the masters Regan held in her hand.
“Two more sets.”
“We really need to have a schedule for this machine.”
“We pretty much have one,” Tanya pointed out. “We’re supposed to use it during our prep periods.”
“I’m talking about before and after school.” She gave a sniff as Regan positioned another master copy in the machine. “I’ll talk to Pete about this. I think it’s important.”
Regan stubbornly went on with her copying, in spite of Pauline’s impatient gaze boring into her back. Every school seemed to have a Pauline on its staff and Regan had plenty of practice dealing with them—her last school had had no fewer than three. One Pauline was no problem at all.
WILL DIDN’T GET ANY SLEEP that afternoon, though he’d promised himself he would. The day was simply too jam-packed. He put in an hour on each of the horses he was starting and he got the biggest branches piled up and ready to burn, the smaller ones left for Kylie to stack after school. Then Will got his inspection book out and headed to the Taylor ranch.
The Taylors had sold yet another overpriced horse, this time to a first-time horse buyer from Elko. The buyer seemed pleased as punch to pay double what the animal probably was worth. Will silently documented his inspection, noting the horse’s brand, sex, age, color and markings. He handed the book to Todd Taylor to sign, then peeled off the copies.
At least the animal was well trained, so the new owner wasn’t buying trouble. Todd paid the inspection fee, grumbling about the recent increase, which amounted to about one fifth of a percent of the purchase price. Will felt bad for him. Especially when he watched Mrs. Taylor drive up in her gleaming new SUV, waving as she eased the big machine into a three-car garage.
“So, how does Kylie like her teachers?” Todd asked after the garage door had closed.
“So far, so good.”
“Great.” Todd smiled. He continued to smile until Will gritted his teeth and asked the question he knew Todd wanted him to ask. “How’s Zach doing in football?”
Todd launched into a ten-minute spiel. Will nodded. A lot. And then finally managed to sidestep his way to his truck and reach for the door handle.
“Oh, you probably have to be going. Well, anyway, be sure to go to the game next Friday. Zach will be starting and I think you’ll see what I’ve been talking about.”
Will gave a noncommittal nod and got into his truck.
On the way home he took the loop, even though it added a couple miles to the trip, passing by Regan Flynn’s house to see what havoc the windstorm had wrought, wondering if she had a hole in her roof or other major damage that had caused her to be late that morning.
He didn’t see much wind damage—just a few scattered branches—and then he wondered just what the hell he was doing driving by her house in the first place.
Looking at the wind damage. Right.
He was curious about Regan Flynn.
Shit. As if he didn’t have enough trouble without adding to it in a way he’d promised himself he wouldn’t—at least not while Kylie was still living at home.
REGAN LIKED WORKING in Madison’s arena, even if it was a little pricey. It was well kept and in addition to the large covered arena there were several paneled work areas outside. Today she chose to work inside, since the wind was starting to blow again. She’d managed to drag the big branch off the drive before she left and was hoping there wouldn’t be another branch in its place by the time she got home.
“That’s quite an improvement,” Madison called almost an hour later, after Regan finished her last training pass of the day.
Regan eased Toffee to a halt and dismounted as Madison walked toward her, carrying a sheaf of papers in one hand and a cell phone in the other.
“He’s coming along,” Regan agreed, rubbing the gelding’s forehead. She’d spent a good forty-five minutes working him over both ground poles and a series of foot-high jumps, talking to him with her hands and her body and teaching him to yield to her cues.
“He likes the work,” Madison commented. “You used to show jump, didn’t you?”
“How’d you know?”
“After watching you ride a few times, I figured you had to have been in competition somewhere, so I Googled you.”
“I see.” Regan wasn’t sure that she liked being Googled.
“Do you have any plans to compete again?”
Regan smiled as she slipped the reins over Toffee’s head. He pushed her with his nose, nearly knocking her off balance. It was getting to be a habit. She put her hand on his nose and firmly pushed his head away before turning her attention back to Madison.
“Those days are long gone. I just want to ride for my own pleasure.” She started leading the horse toward the gate as she spoke, fighting to keep him from crowding her space. “Kind of a sanity saver, you know?” she said through gritted teeth, wishing Madison wasn’t there to witness the power struggle. When she was on Toffee’s back, there was no question as to who was in control. On the ground, he had both the height and the weight advantage, and he used them. He was very disrespectful.
“You might consider teaching a jumping class,” Madison said, eyeing the horse as she opened the gate for Regan, but saying nothing about the obvious. “People would be interested and I like to offer a variety of classes here at the arena.”