The Rancher and the Girl Next Door

“I didn’t give you all that much information.”

“I just want enough to understand where my kids are coming from, and I didn’t want to ask Bertie. I think the ones who are ranch kids for real probably have different references and values than the imports.” She refilled their glasses without asking. “In one of my college classes, the prof said that home visits were a must in order to understand your students, but…I think in a community like this, visits might be seen as nosiness unless the families invited me.”

“You’re right,” Brett agreed.

“So, I decided to rely on hearsay.”

“Then you should hit the post office and the mercantile.”

“You gave me what I need.” She leaned back in her chair, studying him in that steady way of hers. Her lips curved slightly. She had a really nice mouth. “So, tell me again, Brett. Why is it that we can’t socialize?”

Brett felt his own mouth tighten.

Claire shrugged. “Hey. You’re the one who laid down the rules. I was just wondering why.”

And then he saw that he’d probably made a major tactical error. He’d already figured out from their first few encounters—and from the fact that she’d taken a teaching assignment in Barlow Ridge—that Claire was a woman who loved a challenge. And that was exactly what he’d given her. Stupid move.

“I didn’t say we couldn’t socialize. I said I wasn’t much on socializing.”

“You seemed to do okay at the wedding, except with me.”

“Claire.”

She raised her eyebrows, making her green eyes even wider beneath her pearly lavender eye shadow. He frowned, annoyed at the way she shook his concentration. “We can socialize, but it has to be on a certain…level.” She tilted her head inquiringly, but Brett had a suspicion that she knew exactly what he was referring to. “You were coming on to me at the wedding.”

“A little,” she agreed, totally missing his point.

“We can’t…I mean, we’re practically related, and I don’t want to create a situation.”

“Wow.” Claire took a careful sip of wine, her expression maddeningly calm. “You certainly extrapolate things out, don’t you? That’s almost like jumping from a simple hello into marriage.”

“No. It’s not.” He didn’t like the way she made him feel foolish for a perfectly logical statement of fact.

“Well, I think you’re dodging stones that haven’t even been thrown.”

“I like to err on the side of caution.”

“That’s not what I hear,” she said softly. “Rumor has it you were a wild guy back in the day.”

“Where’d you hear that?” he asked in an equally quiet tone.

“Around.”

“Regan?” Damn, he hoped not. He didn’t want Claire to know his story. But she and Regan were sisters.

“No. Actually, a couple of women were discussing you in the bar when I went in for a sandwich yesterday. You were a rodeo star, according to them.”

“Yeah. I was.”

Too close for comfort. Those rodeo days had ended up being the dark point of his life, and he wasn’t going to discuss them. Period.

Brett slid the cork back into the bottle. Rudeness and tactlessness seemed to be his best strategies. He pushed the bottle across the table toward her. “I was kind of in the middle of something when you came.”

She nudged it back toward him before she stood. “You keep it.”

“You’ll probably need it more than me.” He picked up the wine and pressed it into her hands.

“Thanks for the help, Brett. See you around.” A few seconds later, the screen door banged shut behind her. Brett watched her walk down the path for a moment, admiring the subtle swing of her hips beneath the swirly skirt in spite of himself.

Claire Flynn was not going to be good for his peace of mind.

CHAPTER THREE

CLAIRE GAVE HERSELF a good talking to as she walked home across the bristly hay field. Once upon a time she’d berated Regan for dating the wrong kind of man—which was truly a case of the pot calling the kettle black, since Claire also tended to pursue guys for the wrong reasons.

She liked to attain the unattainable.

It was a bad habit, and one she was trying to break herself of. Being attracted to Brett Bishop was not a step in the right direction, since she suspected her interest in him was sparked solely by his corresponding lack of interest in her.

But she couldn’t get around the fact that there was something about him that made her want to know more. Like, why the barriers? With her, with his brother, and with his niece, Kylie.

There was probably a simple explanation.

Claire wondered how long it was going to take her to figure it out.

ON MONDAY MORNING Claire started her school day by handing out progress reports listing the students’ grades in each subject.

“What are these?” Dylan asked with a sneer. Claire was going to start working on his attitude just as soon as she’d made some headway with Ashley.

“Those are your grades for your first week of school. I’d like you to show them to your parents, have them sign the bottom and then bring them back by Wednesday at the latest.” The grades were, for the most part, dismal in math and English. Primarily because few of the students were doing their homework.

Dylan frowned. Elena Moreno’s mouth was actually hanging open. Only Rudy and Jesse seemed satisfied with what was on the paper. Rudy had all A’s. Jesse had straight C’s, and apparently that was good enough for him. He was an earnest kid who tried hard, but it was especially obvious he had some holes in his education. His records had yet to arrive from his previous school, and Claire had no idea what his background was.

“Are you going to do this every week?” Ashley asked with disbelief.

“Every Monday. This way there will be no nasty surprises at the end of the quarter. Everyone will know their grades, and your parents will be aware of your progress.”

“But making us bring them back signed shows you don’t trust us.”

“You do know that trust is earned, don’t you? I doubt we’ll do the parent signatures all year, but I want to start out that way, until everyone is aware of what to expect.”

“What’re you going to do if we don’t bring them back by Wednesday?” Dylan asked in his most obnoxious tone.

“I’ll phone or e-mail your parents. Now, please get out your math homework.”

Dylan blew out a disgusted breath and made a show of shoving the grade paper into his pocket in a big wad. The other kids tucked their slips away less dramatically, some in notebooks, some in pockets, and started digging for their math books.

“My mom is going to kill me,” Toni murmured to Ashley later, as the class left for morning break.