Jeannie Watt - Winning the Cowboy's Heart

The next day, the Wesley staff and students discovered that hell had no fury like a principal who’d been punked.

Pete Domingo had no evidence, no suspects. All he had was a head full of possibilities, a school packed with smirking students and staff who’d heard about what had happened and had thought it funny, too.

Student after student was called down to the office to be grilled. All had returned to class looking shaken, but also vaguely satisfied. Kylie and Sadie were subjected to a longer inquisition than the other kids called from Regan’s class, but they came back unscathed. No one confessed and, at the end of the day, Pete was no closer to solving his crime than he’d been when he was sitting on the floor in front of the supply-closet door, flicking tentacles off his clothing.

The staff avoided being seen gossiping in groups. No one wanted to be accused of conspiracy and no one wanted to relight Pete’s very short fuse.

“You’ve been a good sport about this,” the librarian whispered, late in the afternoon, as she scanned Regan’s reference book. “I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble.”

“I’m fine,” Regan whispered back. “But I wish I knew who did it. I’d kind of like to shake their hands.”

The woman winked and then nodded toward a table of three geeky eighth-graders who had been thoroughly reamed out by Domingo a few days before for some petty infraction.

“You’re kidding,” Regan mouthed.

The librarian gave her an arch look and disappeared into the stacks.

A few long hours later Regan was in her kitchen making tea, peppermint tea, to help combat the stress headache she’d acquired.

A windstorm had started brewing late that afternoon and was now in full force, bending the trees and rattling the windows, and at first Regan thought the noise at the front door was a blast of wind. When she heard it again, during a lull, she realized someone was knocking.

She glanced down at her after-work wear—a tank top, sweat bottoms and fuzzy socks. Short of ignoring the door, there wasn’t much she could do about her appearance and she couldn’t exactly leave someone standing outside in a windstorm.

Or could she?

Will Bishop was out there, his shoulders hunched as the wind whipped at his clothing.

A gust caught the storm door as she pushed it open, and Will caught it just before it hit him. “Do you want to come in?” She raised her voice to be heard.

“For a minute.”

Okay. She could deal with a minute. He’d barely gotten inside when another blast hit.

“Does the wind do this a lot?”

“We get some good storms here.”

She wondered if she should ask him to sit down, offer him something to drink. Then she glanced at him and decided no. He had some reason for coming and it wasn’t social, so she’d skip the niceties.

“I’m sorry to barge in like this,” Will said, getting right to the point, “but I’d like to know… Do you think Kylie is involved in this squid thing?”

Those damned squid again . She’d had it up to here with squid—especially when they brought parents to her house.

“Have you asked her?” she asked with a touch of impatience.

“She says she’s innocent.” The for once went unspoken.

The house shook with the force of the wind. Twigs and pebbles bounced off the windows, but Regan’s attention was focused on Will and the deep concern she saw on his face. This man was worried about his daughter and she owed him an honest answer.

“I don’t know if she was involved, but my gut feeling is no. I’ve heard that it was actually some eighth-grade boys, but I’m not sure.”

Will put a hand on the back of Regan’s recliner. “Domingo harassed Kylie twice today. The second time he came on pretty strong, trying to force her to confess.” His expression became stony. “If he starts again tomorrow…Well, I wanted an independent opinion before I went in to have a, um, chat with Pete.”

“Everyone’s a suspect, including the staff.”

Will let out a breath and dropped his hand, ready to leave now that he had his answer. “Thanks. This helps.”

“Would you like some tea or something before you go?”

He’d started for the door, but now he turned back, looking surprised. Regan was a little surprised herself. Her mother had hammered manners into her, but she hadn’t realized to what degree. “Since you’re here,” she said lamely.

“I need to be getting home. Kylie’s supposed to be starting dinner and I need to make certain the vegetables don’t get burned mysteriously. But thanks. Especially after, well, everything.”

She followed him to the door. He stopped before going out. “I would have called, but you don’t seem to have a number.”

“Unlisted. I like to avoid irate parents at report card time.”

“Irate parents tend to show up on the doorstep around here.”

She smiled. “I noticed.”

Their gazes held for a second and then he smiled. And, oh, what a smile.

Regan blinked and then Will ducked his head and stepped out into the bad weather. Regan grabbed the storm door, fighting the wind to latch it shut. It shook, making an odd noise, but it held.

She settled into her chair with her lukewarm tea and unsettled thoughts, listening to the house try to blow down around her, hoping she would remember her vow to stay away from damaged men.

APOLOGIZING had been the right thing to do.

Realizing that his daughter’s teacher was attractive was a guy thing to do. But it had been a long time since Will had felt such a gut-level draw toward a woman and it perplexed him. Well, it didn’t matter, because he wasn’t going to do anything about it. Wrong time. Wrong circumstances. Probably the wrong woman.

Will propped a foot on the lower rail of the pole corral and watched his horses graze as his daughter rode bareback at the far end of the pasture. The windstorm had blown out as rapidly as it had blown in, leaving the air oddly still. Will had zillions of branches to collect around the place, but he’d start tomorrow while Kylie was at school. It was a good way to stay close to the house and the phone, in case that jerk Domingo called.

Kylie started cantering a pattern, practicing her flying lead changes and probably winning big trophies in her head. It was almost dark and a school night, but Will was glad his daughter was enjoying the things a kid should be enjoying, things he’d never gotten enough of at her age. He’d been too busy dealing with his old man. The phone rang and he jogged to the house, scooping up the receiver on the eighth ring.

“Hey.” It was Trev. And he sounded stressed.

Will made a guess as to what was coming next. “More livestock stolen?”

“No.” There was a silence, and then he said, “I saw your brother in Elko today.”

Will stilled. “Brett was in Elko?”

“Yeah. He’s working for the Friday Creek Ranch. I thought you’d want to know.”

“Thanks.” Will pressed his lips together. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. He was having a hard time thinking at all.

“I didn’t talk to him, but I thought you’d want to know,” he repeated.

“Yeah, Trev. Thanks again.”

CHAPTER THREE

THE NEXT MORNING Will drove Kylie to school in a haze. She’d missed the bus, but he’d skipped the usual lecture on responsibility and simply told her to hurry so he could get back home and start working the horses. He was fully booked and it took a good part of the day to put in his contracted time on each animal; after which he still had to clear the windfall branches and conduct a brand inspection for a horse sale.

“You okay, Dad?” Kylie asked when they reached the school. “I mean, you didn’t yell at me about the bus.”