Carrie Alexander - A Family Christmas

She gave a grudging hitch of one shoulder. “I draw a little.”

“Can I see?”

She shook her head.

“Why not?” He wondered what she drew. Figures, perhaps. She might be using his team as unknowing models. That was all right, he supposed. If potentially creepy.

“My drawings are none of your business.”

“As long as you don’t bother my team.”

Her eyes darkened. Color stained her cheeks. “Are you accusing me?”

“No. Warning you, maybe.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong!”

“I realize that. I didn’t mean to insinuate—” He made a conciliatory gesture, stepping toward her.

She backed away one step. “Yes, you did mean to insinuate.”

Caught. He moved forward again. “Maybe so. But I’m sorry if that seemed insulting—”

“It was.” Another step back.

If his arms had been around her, they’d have been dancing.

He tried again. “Look, all I wanted was to be sure that your interest in my team wasn’t—uhh—”

Her eyes shot sparks. “Wasn’t what?”

“Improper.”

She snorted. “Obviously you have no idea who I am. Do I look like a proper lady?” She glanced down to indicate her flannel shirt, bleached, frayed jeans and chunky sandals with worn-down soles.

Her toenails weren’t painted. But they were clean. Small enough to appear delicate. Almost…provocative.

What she was, Evan thought as he quickly returned his gaze to her hard face, was a curious character. He knew very little about her, but she appeared to be a solitary soul who existed on the fringes of Alouette society. If she had friends—or boyfriends—it wasn’t in public. In private might be another matter. Some men smirked at the mention of her name. Evan wouldn’t normally jump to conclusions based on town gossip, but with her surly, unapproachable personality she gave no other evidence to go on.

“You know what I mean,” he said.

Her chin lifted. “Uh-huh. Well, you have nothing to worry about. I’ve never spoken to any of your players unless they’ve come into the Buck Stop to try and cadge a beer.” Her gaze darted over the ragged clutch of boys jogging around the track. “I couldn’t care less about them.”

“Then why are you here?” And why did she come to every basketball game and sit at the top of the bleachers, tucked into a little knot with her arms hugging her knees and her eyes fixed on the court, rarely speaking to the other fans, never letting out a cheer that he’d noticed?

“No reason,” she said.

“Fine.”

“Then stay off my back.” She frowned. “And I’ll…” The edge in her voice softened as she moved farther away. “I’ll cause no trouble.”

He was within his rights to tell her to stay off school property altogether, but he didn’t think that was necessary. It wouldn’t surprise him if she ran off like a wild creature of the woods and never came around again.

What did surprise him was that he cared. Just a bit.

Good reason to back off. He didn’t need complications in his life just now. Already to his credit was one mistaken marriage that had lasted only because he’d hung on until he was exhausted, various friends and students whose problems had become his own, and especially his own troubled daughter who needed more than he had to give.

Enough, already.

Wild Rose Robbin was one paradox that he would leave on her own without trying to solve. She could, after all, take care of herself. Right?

“You’re welcome to attend any of our games,” he said as she strode away.

She flipped a hand in token acknowledgment, but didn’t bother to reply. Or say goodbye.

Evan returned his attention to the straggling runners. The woman had no social graces, but for once that wasn’t his problem.

AFTER THE HUMILIATING INCIDENT with the coach, Rose had every intention of staying away. She couldn’t blame the guy for calling her on the frequent appearances. Had to look weird, her hanging around basketball practice like a groupie.

She tried to stop. Her life became work, eat, work, sleep. Mornings were spent on paperwork and upkeep at the rental cabins her mother owned—Maxine’s Cottages, thirty bucks per night—afternoons and evenings at the Buck Stop. When Rose couldn’t bear to wash another sheet or sell another pack of cigarettes, she escaped to the woods with her sketchbook and watercolors for a few stolen hours.

The days continued warm, clear and bright—Indian summer. Rose knew she should be enjoying every drop of sunshine before the long winter came. Too often autumn rains shortened the season.

She managed to keep away for a week. After all, for most of the summer she’d had only glimpses of Danny—at the car wash, biking along Vine Street, hanging with his friends at the Berry Dairy ice-cream stand. She told herself that she should be able to wait another month for the basketball season to begin, when she could watch him to her heart’s content. No one but the coach would notice her at the games.

Except Danny’s adoptive parents—who had far more reason than the coach to be suspicious of her motives.

The thought of them asking her to keep away from their son sent a shiver through Rose. She had made no demands. No self-serving explanations, or attempts to meet Danny. No contact at all, even when they’d reluctantly approached her. She only wanted to see him from a distance now and then and know that he was happy.

Rose despised the skulking, but she was used to it. She’d been raised to skulk. Her father, Black Jack Robbin, had been a dominant personality with a loud voice and a mean streak. Her two rowdy older brothers and shrill, fractious mother had taken the household noise level even higher, making Rose the silent, forgotten one of the family. Until she’d grown up, fallen in love and all the troubles had begun….

Escape, Rose thought as she worked her way through the trees that ringed the school field. She’d done it once before. But in the end it hadn’t worked. She’d never stopped remembering. And now she was back home, freed of her father but just as stuck with her mother. The one light in her life was being able to see Danny—

“What are you doing?” said a small voice.

Rose let go of the branch she’d been bending out of the way so she could scan the track. It snapped back, into her face, swatting her in the eye.

“Ouch.” She pressed the heel of her palm against her stinging eyeball.

The small blond child who’d startled Rose came closer to stare up at her. “Say zipperzap.”

“What?”

The girl smiled slightly. “Saying ‘zipperzap’ makes it stop hurting.”

Oh, I want to stop hurting. Tears were leaking down her cheek. She rubbed at her eye.

“I say it all the time,” the girl encouraged.

“Does it work?”

Her face puckered doubtfully.

Rose blurted, “Zipperzap.”

“Better?”

“Yeah.” She blinked the tears away. “It worked.”

“Princess Ella Umbrella Pumpkinella Fantabuzella says zipperzap to make her wishes come true.”

Rose didn’t get children. “Uh. Sure.”

The girl came closer, stepping off the mown field into the underbrush. “It’s a very good story. You should read it.”

“Maybe I will.”

“The liberry has all the Princess Ella books.” The girl stared. “You go to the liberry?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I saw you there. But I’m not allowed to talk to strangers.” The girl came closer, though she stayed on the other side of the sapling that had struck Rose. She was thin and pale and seemed very delicate, almost weightless. An unzipped pink windbreaker flapped on her small body and her pants had cartoon characters on them. She wore frilled anklets under her pink jelly sandals. Clean, tidy and quiet. Not much like the boisterous kids who came tearing into the Buck Stop, the only type of youngsters Rose usually encountered. Families didn’t stay at Maxine’s Cottages.