Hannah Alexander - Double Blind

Canaan. Gentle, always laughing, smaller than the other boys his age when he was growing up. He’d been called pip-squeak, although Sheila had never called him that, of course. She had known how deeply that taunt had wounded him, but he’d never let on to anyone else how much it had hurt.

Sheila parked the Jeep by a split log railing at the first rock garden with a spindly olive tree in the middle, barely big enough to cast a shadow, much less provide shade. She turned off the motor and sat for a full minute, studying the landscape.

Occasional breezes whipped the sunbaked sand into vague, ghostly forms that darted between the buildings. If not for the sign beside the road, and the view of Twin Mesas from where she sat, she might have decided that her map had been misleading.

The thought barely developed, though, before three little boys shot out of the door of the building in front of her. Giggling and talking, they glanced her way, then ran toward the playground in the center of the circle of buildings.

Sheila released the steering wheel. Well, it looked like a school, anyway.

She shoved open the door of the Jeep and got out. She glanced at the boys, now climbing the wrong side of a slide.

The door they had exited swung open again, and a man strode out, a handsome man, Navajo. He didn’t look quite fifty. His black hair, close-cropped, grew thick enough to look good so short. Though not much taller than Sheila’s five foot five, his powerfully built body gave him the appearance of height. Doc Cottonwood.

He glanced at Sheila briefly, looked away, then jerked to a stop and stared at her. She stared back, attempting to moisten her suddenly dry mouth.

He walked toward her.

She suddenly felt like a schoolgirl again, with a huge crush on her favorite teacher.

He stopped before he reached the Jeep; his dark, inquisitive eyes searched her face, penetrating her protective exterior like a drill through soft wood.

“Sheila.”

She caught her breath.

A smile lifted the corners of his lips. “Little Sheila.”

“Hello, Doc.”

With a sudden burst of laughter, he sprang toward her, arms outstretched. She managed a weak smile just before he grabbed her up in a bear hug and swung her around.

“Been expecting you!” he exclaimed as her feet touched ground again. “Took you long enough. Canaan’s been talking about you coming for days. You two will have a lot to catch up on.”

She couldn’t keep from staring at him. He was still here after all these years, as handsome as she remembered. His dark brows and strong, bulldog chin still gave him that iron-stern expression with which he’d controlled even the most rebellious boys in gym class.

She dragged her gaze from his and gestured around at the buildings. “It’s all changed.”

He grinned, a brief flash of white teeth against red-brown skin. “Good thing,” he said, his attention never leaving her face. “Those old buildings nearly crumbled around us before Johnny made the right decision. He should’ve taken down all the shacks along the back road, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. How about me? Have I changed?”

Sheila stood back to get a good look at his strong, still-young physique, which showed well in a pair of gray shorts and a snug red knit shirt. For her benefit, he even flexed a couple of muscles.

She grinned. “Not at all.” Gone was her schoolgirl crush, of course, but his charisma couldn’t be denied.

“Neither have you.” He leaned forward and chucked her under the chin.

Some things never changed.

She held out her dirty hands, motioning at her smudged white T-shirt and scruffy jeans. “Is there a place where I can clean up before meeting anyone else? I had a blowout a few minutes ago, and—”

He held up his hand. “Never fear, your apartment is ready for you. Give me the damaged tire and I’ll have it repaired in our auto shop on campus.”

Without another word, Doc got into the passenger side of the Jeep and gestured to Sheila. “Come on, I’ll show you where you’re staying.”

Sheila hesitated. She’d been instructed to report to Canaan York at the principal’s office as soon as she arrived.

“Canaan had to leave for a couple of hours,” Doc said, reading her expression—something he’d always done well. “One of the kids decided she wanted her mommy, and he had to go drag her back.”

Sheila glanced at him. There was that sharp way of speaking that Doc sometimes had that could hurt a sensitive child. As a track coach, he inspired either great loyalty or fearful respect. Either way, it got the job done. Even Sheila had won a race as a child, and had discovered, while in training, that Doc Cottonwood reserved his sharpest words for his favorite students.

She followed Doc’s instructions and drove the Jeep across the school grounds to the far side of the open courtyard.

When they reached the two-story building that Doc said housed the staff, he led the way to one of the ground-floor apartments. He opened the door and held it for her to enter.

“It’s small but efficient,” he said. “One bedroom, one bath, but count yourself lucky. A lot of the teachers have to share a bathroom.”

The interior smelled of the dry wind of the surrounding plain, flavored by sunbaked cedars and piñons. The walls were the color of kiln-dried clay.

“April Hunt just finished cleaning the place,” Doc said. “She cleans the offices and some of the apartments and classrooms for money that she blows on clothes on the mall trip once a month.”

Sheila turned to him. “April? Was she related to—”

“Tad and Wendy, yep. Their daughter.” He sobered, heavy brows lowering as he shook his head. “They had three kids, Steve, Jamey and April. Awful tragedy.”

Sheila nodded, feeling again the shock of the news. “Tad and Wendy were friends of mine when I lived here.”

The dark gaze snapped back to her. “Probably brought back memories for you.”

She spread her hands. How was she supposed to answer him? “The Hunt children are staying at the school?”

He gave his customary, curt single nod. “They’re still reeling from the blow, of course. Their clan would take them in, but the kids want to be here. So they’ll be staying at least until school is out. They’re living in one of the small old cottages at the edge of the campus.”

“Wasn’t it one of those cottages where Tad and Wendy died?” Sheila asked.

Doc nodded. “Johnny didn’t tear down all the buildings when he rebuilt the place. Unfortunately, it was one of the old shacks that burned.”

“What caused the fire?” Sheila asked. “I gathered Johnny didn’t know.”

“No idea yet.” He waved his hand around the living room. “What do you think? The apartments were the latest addition, built last summer.”

Sheila took the hint and allowed him to change the subject. She walked across a slate floor and reached out and touched the soft, plush love seat upholstered in shades of terra-cotta. The kitchen, separated from the living room by a breakfast bar, continued the desert decor.

“It’s beautiful,” she said. “It looks as if Johnny called in a professional decorator.”

Doc cleared his throat. “That would be me.”

She looked at him in surprise. “No way.”

His eyes glinted with pride. “Cheap labor.”

“You did this?” She shook her head as she admired the taste and style, took in the modern kitchen appliances. “I’d never have dreamed it.”

“You didn’t know your tough old track coach had a touch of the artist in him, did you?” He walked into the kitchen and opened the window over the sink. “Since I stayed on through the summer last year, I had to do something to earn my keep between sessions with the track team.”