Beth Cornelison - P.I. Daddy's Personal Mission

“No, sir. I’m not.” She purposefully infused her tone with calm and concern, enough to capture the agitated father’s attention. She had to be sure he heard and understood the importance of her next statement. “But earlier today, when I warned Patrick that I would have to call you if he didn’t behave, his response was, ‘Go ahead. Call my dad. He won’t care. He’s too busy to care about what I do.’”

Peter Walsh jerked back as if slapped, his expression stunned. “That’s…crazy! He knows I care about him. He knows I love him! More than anything in this world.”

“Maybe up here he knows that.” She tapped her head. “But kids need to see that love and affection in action to reaffirm what you say. He needs to see you express interest in his schoolwork, in his friends, in his life to really believe it here.” She moved her hand to her heart.

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he shifted his glowering gaze to a bulletin board on the far wall. “The last few months have been…especially difficult for my family, Ms. Navarre. I’ve tried to protect Patrick from most of the fallout, shield him from the worst of it, but…” He heaved a sigh and left his sentence unfinished.

“I read the newspaper. I know about your father’s murder, and I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

His eyes snapped to hers. Pain shadowed his gaze, and her heart went out to him. She’d seen a similar sadness in Patrick’s eyes too many times since the school year had started. “The reason I called you here is not because Patrick was acting out. I can handle disciplining students when it is called for.”

Chagrin flickered across his face, and he shifted his weight.

“I called because I’m worried about Patrick. I think the recent events in your family have upset him, and he doesn’t feel he can talk to you about it. He feels alone because he thinks you’re too busy for him. He’s confused and scared.”

Worry lined Peter Walsh’s face. “He said that?”

“His withdrawal said that. His grades said that. His misbehavior today said that. I’ve been a teacher for six years. I’ve seen this before. He just needs reassurance from you that his world is safe, that you care, that he is your priority. Mr. Walsh, more than discipline, what Patrick needs is his father.”

Peter squared his shoulders, a bit of his temper returning. Obviously, he took her last comment as an indictment. “I’ll talk to him tonight. You won’t have problems with his behavior again.”

Lisa’s heart sank. Had he heard her at all?

Peter Walsh, his square jaw tight and his back stiff, turned to stalk out of the conference room.

“Mr. Walsh, I—”

But he was gone. All six feet plus of seething testosterone and brooding eyes. Lisa inhaled deeply, hoping to calm her frazzled nerves, but instead drew in the enticing scents of leather and pine that Peter Walsh left in his wake.

She had no business thinking of her student’s father in the terms that filtered through her head—sexy, virile—but with a man like Peter Walsh, how could she not?

Lisa dropped into a chair and raked fingers through her raven hair. She needed to collect herself before she returned to her class.

But five minutes later, as she headed back to her room, her mind was still full of Peter Walsh and his smoldering dark eyes.

Patrick tossed his backpack on the floor of Peter’s truck and gave his father a forlorn glance as he climbed onto the seat. “So I guess I’m in big trouble, huh?”

Peter shrugged. “Depends on what you call big trouble. I understand you gave your teacher a good bit of grief today. You were loud and disruptive in class. You know better than that, sport.”

“Am I grounded?”

“Do you think you should be grounded?”

Patrick hesitated, got a scheming glint in his eyes. “No? I think I’ve learned my lesson, and we can skip the punishment?” He lifted hopeful dark eyes to his father.

“Seriously? I think I hear a question mark in your answer. You know I can’t just let this slide. What if I’d been working a big case out of town when I got called to the school? Huh?”

Patrick scowled. “You’re always working big cases out of town. Why can’t you have a regular job like everyone else?”

Peter’s chest tightened. He’d heard Patrick complain about his work hours before, but in light of his teacher’s concerns, Peter took his son’s comments more seriously this time. “Patrick, you know I’d spend more time with you if I could. There’s nothing in the world more important to me than you are, but I have to earn a living and pay our bills. My job demands that I be gone a lot. I can’t change that.”

But even as he said as much, a niggling voice in his head argued the point. He could rearrange his schedule or be more selective in the cases he took on so that he could have more time at home with Patrick. Even if the more lucrative cases took him out of town, couldn’t they tighten their monetary belts a bit in order for him to be more attentive to his son’s needs?

He glanced over at Patrick’s long face, slumped shoulders. Guilt pricked Peter.

“Tell you what—I’ll make a special effort to cut back on my hours and do more stuff with you—”

Immediately, Patrick’s eyes brightened, and he snapped an eager gaze up to his father’s.

“If—”

Patrick rolled his eyes and groaned. “I knew there was a catch.”

Peter shot his son a stern glance. “Don’t interrupt. You have to promise me you’ll work hard at bringing your grades up. Mrs. Navarre said your work has been slipping.”

“Ms. Navarre, Dad. She’s not married.”

Peter quirked an eyebrow, mentally flashing to when he’d been corrected by the woman herself on the pronunciation of her name. He worked to school his expression and hide his intrigue with this new tidbit of information. He’d been too worked up, too worried about Patrick during his altercation with the attractive brunette to look for a ring. But even as upset as he’d been, he hadn’t missed Ms. Navarre’s shapely curves or model-worthy face.

Hell, he couldn’t blame Patrick for being distracted and having faltering grades with a teacher as hot as Lisa Navarre. Any male over the age of nine would be distracted by Patrick’s teacher.

Peter squeezed the steering wheel and cleared his throat. “Ms. Navarre also said that you were talking back to her, being rude.” Peter cast a disapproving look to his son. “Burping.”

Patrick chuckled. “Yeah, it was a good one, too, Dad. Really low and loud and—”

“Patrick,” Peter said, a warning clear in his tone. “It was rude and inappropriate.”

“But Da-ad—”

Peter raised a hand, anticipating the coming argument. “I know that we sometimes goof around at home and do stuff like that, but…there’s a time and a place for that kind of behavior and school is not the time or place.”

God, when had he started sounding like his father? No. Not his father. More like his mother. Egad. That was scary. Peter cringed internally.

But Mark Walsh had never been interested in teaching his son wrong and right. He’d been too busy cheating on his wife. Acid burned in Peter’s belly at the memory, and he swore to himself, again, that he’d be a better father to Patrick than Mark Walsh had been to him.

Mr. Walsh, more than discipline, what Patrick needs is his father.

“Patrick, I think the thing I find most disturbing about what happened at school today is that you sassed your teacher. I didn’t raise you to disrespect adults and especially not a lady.”

“That’s no lady, that’s my teacher,” Patrick said in a deep voice, mimicking the comedian they’d watched on television together the past weekend.