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With his everyday shortcomings, it was little wonder the poor kid had been dropping hints for the past few months. Mark was not oblivious to the fact that his daughter yearned for a mother figure. Thank God for Dee, Jessica’s older sister. How would he have survived the past two years without his sister-in-law’s help?
If the store closed, would Vicki have to move away from her aunt and uncle? The knot of dread which had recently taken up residence in his chest tightened. She’s already lost too much. No little girl should have to grow up without a mother. How could he possibly take her away from her friends and family in Braeden, North Carolina, the only home she’d ever known?
He tried to shake off the omnipresent worry. Extra stress wouldn’t change the outcome of today’s meeting. Besides, he’d been working quite a few extra hours lately, and Vicki deserved the benefit of his full attention.
“You know I love you, right, Bug?”
“Love you, too.”
“We make a good team, you and me.”
“Teams can be lots of people,” she said. “Like when Coach B splits us up to play kickball at school. Two isn’t very many.”
Her words sliced through him, her delicate suggestion that, much as he loved her, he wasn’t enough.
Mark chose his response carefully. “Two might not sound like very many, but when you think about it, we have plenty of other people who love us. Aunt Dee, Uncle Frank and Bobby, Mrs. Norris, Lucy at the store, Cade…”
Cade Montgomery had become Mark’s best friend since Jess died—because the sometime white-water-rafting guide, sometime carpenter was single. It was so much less awkward to hang out with Cade than all the married couples Mark and Jessica had known. Cade was about as confirmed a bachelor as a man could get, but he was surprisingly good with Vicki. He’d even promised to come to her ballet recital.
Of course, he’d later asked Mark if any of the little ballerinas had hot single moms.
Mark sighed. “Honey, is this about wanting a mom?”
“Will I ever have one?”
He knew the answer she wanted to hear, but the few dates he’d had in the past two years had left him cold. And even if he had more interest in the idea, he would put it on the back burner right now while he tried to sort out his job situation. Providing a stable home and financial security for his daughter were his priority.
“Someday, maybe.” It was the best he could offer her without being dishonest.
“Are you shy?” she asked. “We talked about shy at school, like when you don’t know how to make a new friend or are nervous to sing in music class. If you feel shy with girls, I can help!”
He grinned at that, imagining his six-year-old coaching him through first-date nerves. “You can, huh? Well, that’s very nice of you, but it will have to wait until later. Right now, you need to get ready for school. We’re already running late.”
“Okay.” She sat up, patting him on the shoulder. “But don’t worry, Daddy. I have a plan. A good one.”
Oh, boy. Part of him was amused and curious, wanting to ask his inventive daughter for details. On the other hand, he’d rather not encourage her Mommy Quest. It had wrecked him when he opened the letter to Santa she’d given Mark to mail—the one she’d insisted on writing all by herself. Mark had tried throughout November and December to get her to tell him what she wanted for Christmas, but she’d coyly refused to answer. Anxious to make sure “Santa” met her request, he’d finally seen it spelled out in green crayon. As a result, he’d over-compensated in the toys he’d bought her. She’d seemed delighted with them on Christmas morning, but after a week had passed, she’d turned pensive again.
Maybe if they didn’t discuss her “plan” to overcome his supposed shyness with the ladies, she’d eventually forget about it. Yet even as he wanted to cling to that hope, he knew better. Vicki had inherited her mother’s curly locks and big brown eyes—but she had Mark’s stubborn streak.
THE STORE MARK RAN WAS called Up A Creek, a tongue-in-cheek name for a place that sold sporting goods and equipment for outdoor recreation. Right now, however, up a creek seemed entirely apt for his situation. This breakfast felt too much like a last meal.
Across the table, Bennett Coleridge, owner of the dozen or so Up A Creek locations, looked sympathetic as he picked up the syrup pitcher. “Understand, if I do close the store, there are still opportunities in the company for you. We have other sites. The one in South Carolina is closest, although if you wanted a complete change, our two stores in Colorado stay busy all year round.”
And busy meant profitable.
When Up A Creek had first opened in Braeden, North Carolina, there had been a campground just outside of town and a popular lodge half an hour beyond that which offered hiking and kayaking excursions. Both had unfortunately closed in the past couple of years. Now it seemed as if the store Mark managed might be next to succumb to tough economic times.
Bennett had mentioned the possibility of Colorado if the Hathaways “wanted a complete change.” But Vicki had been born here, had spent her entire life in the same house. For her, anything outside Braeden limits would be an overwhelming change. Mark knew that his personal life—or lack thereof—disappointed his daughter. How could he tell her that he was a failure professionally, too? That she’d have to move away from her school and her friends?
He swallowed hard, determined to sound calm. Businessmen like Bennett were swayed by numbers, not desperation. “I know the store’s profits have dipped.” Around here, some folks were working two jobs to make ends meet, sacrificing their free time for recreation; others had been laid off, without the funds to maintain a hobby.
“But I have some ideas that might help turn things around,” Mark said. He sounded passably convincing.
Bennett raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”
“Well, a few months ago I spoke to Principal Ridenour about sponsoring a booth at the elementary school’s spring Fitness Fair. It’s an all-day event local coaches and doctors started last year to educate parents on the risks of childhood obesity. In addition to the information, they provide stations that demonstrate fun ways the kids can keep in shape. It’s a perfect platform for us. I can do a small-scale climbing wall, remind parents about the importance of bike helmets and staying hydrated, give out promotional coupons for items that will pull them into the store.
“Speaking as a dad,” he continued, “parents are more willing to spend on their kids during lean times than on themselves. Especially if it means keeping the kids healthier.”
Belatedly, Mark recalled that Principal Ridenour had retired over the holidays. He should really get in touch with the man’s replacement.
“I’m all for this fitness fair thing,” Bennett said, “but increased sales in canteens and junior knee pads aren’t—”
“Also, I recently read a business article,” Mark said quickly, “about how people who used to travel to luxury resorts or other countries are looking for less expensive domestic vacations. Let’s face it, not many of us can afford to go to Aspen or Vail. People who live right here or in neighboring states, however, might be able to indulge in a day at Sugar Mountain more easily than they realized. There are several ski resorts within a hundred-mile radius of Braeden, but the newest one, Hawk Summit, is only a forty-minute drive. Their projected grand opening last year got delayed twice due to construction and when they finally did open for the season, unusual weather conditions hurt their bottom line. They’re in their second season now and I’d guess they’re struggling.”
Bennett set his fork down with a reproachful sigh. “So you think a fledgling ski resort that’s in danger of going under itself is somehow going to save a store that’s going under?”
Mark felt his jaw tightening and forced himself to relax. “I think we can help each other, yes. And because they are, as you say, ‘fledgling,’ they have a bigger incentive to participate in some of the cross-promotional discount ideas I have. Bennett, I know I can turn the store around. I just need time, and—”
“Until the end of April,” the other man interrupted, his tone final. “My wife and I are coming to the area for her high school’s twentieth reunion. You and I will look at the numbers that week to determine whether or not there’s been significant improvement over last spring. If not…”
Mark wouldn’t let the reprieve go to waste. For the next three months, he would bust his butt and try everything he could think of to make Up A Creek a success. He owed it to his employees, who needed their paychecks, and his boss, who was giving him this chance. But most of all, he owed it to his daughter.
SHAY MORGAN PULLED HER CAR into the slot marked Reserved For Principal. Just a few weeks ago, seeing those words had filled her with enthusiasm and pride. While she was still proud that she’d been appointed the interim principal to finish out the year, well…it had been a long week. But today was Friday, which meant she’d soon have forty-eight hours to recharge, minus the stress of a family dinner Sunday evening.
Maybe the roads will be too icy for me to make the drive.
What she wanted to do was hole up in the cozy warmth of her house with a good book, free from pointed looks from a staff and faculty who were testing her authority, free from “helpful advice” from well-meaning parents who had limited knowledge of the county policies Shay was required to follow and free from the quiet disapproval of the school secretary, Roberta Cree.
Roberta had been at Woodside Elementary since it first opened its doors in 1987 and had outlasted all four previous principals, including Shay’s immediate predecessor, the Esteemed Jonathan Ridenour Who Could Do No Wrong. The corridor that led from the main reception area to Shay’s private office was lined with gold-framed portraits of the prior principals. She swore their eyes followed her whenever she passed. And the principals of yesteryear probably shook their heads at her when no one was looking.
All in all, her first month at Woodside hadn’t gone as smoothly as expected. Even though years had passed since she’d first voiced her ambition to become a principal, she could too clearly hear her father’s words in her head. You don’t need those administrative headaches, sweetie. Why not stay a teacher, with only your classroom to worry about and summers off to focus on your own kids?
Not that Shay had any kids. Or a husband. Or even a steady boyfriend.
She was currently between relationships, which seemed to worry her parents. After climbing out of the car, she shut her door—resisting the juvenile urge to slam it. Her brother, Bastien the M.D., didn’t have a girlfriend. He practically lived at the hospital, and both parents applauded his lofty career goals as building a solid foundation for the future. When Bastien had declared he wanted to go to medical school, their father had never once suggested he settle for being a school nurse and take the summers off! So why the heck couldn’t Shay get the same support for her professional aspirations? After all, it was a lifetime of listening to her mother—a retired elementary school teacher—that had inspired Shay in the first place. Mrs. Morgan and her teaching colleagues had been full of great ideas but lacked the power to implement them. Shay had decided early that she wanted to work her way up the scholastic ladder so that she could one day help teachers.
But so far, it was slow going at Woodside—an elementary school too small to have an assistant principal who might have been an ally in easing the transition. Maybe some of the faculty felt that warming to Shay too quickly would be disloyal to Esteemed Principal Ridenour. Everyone had been shocked by his heart attack in November and sorry to see him leave the school when he took early retirement midyear. Perhaps Shay’s eagerness to tackle her new position after the winter break had come across as unseemly, as if she were seizing on someone else’s misfortune.
I will win these people over, she promised herself. After all, she was pretty darn likable. She was also truly passionate about providing a wonderful environment and the best education possible for the students of the small elementary school. In theory, her advocacy for their well-being gave her common ground with everyone else who set foot inside the door.
Like, for instance, the PTA president.
Shay sighed when she saw that exact woman pacing outside the school’s front office, talking in low, tense tones with two other mothers. Shay recognized one of them as Carolyn Moon. The mom of a first grader, a third grader and fourth-grade twins, Carolyn seemed to spend as much time on school property as Shay did. Shay couldn’t remember off the top of her head who the third woman was, but she looked just as unhappy as her companions. Thankfully, the trio kept their voices diplomatically soft—the students making their way to class before the first bell rang seemed oblivious to whatever the problem was.
If Shay were shorter, she might have given in to the temptation to blend in with a few of the fifth graders and slip past the mothers lying in wait. The PTA president, Nancy, was a sweet woman who truly cared about the student body, but she was a very anxious “the sky is falling” sort. She seemed perpetually worried that the school teetered on the brink of disaster and that, as president, she would be at the helm of the ship when it sank. It didn’t help to have a second-in-command like Carolyn Moon, who complained about everything, upsetting Nancy’s already-nervous disposition. Shay had learned quickly that finding Carolyn waiting for her outside the office was never a good way to start the day.
I can handle this. I am the principal, and I got this job because I am good at what I do. Shay pasted a wide, welcoming smile on her face and vowed that while she certainly encouraged dialogue from concerned parents, she was not going to let herself be ambushed before she’d even had a chance to pour a cup of coffee.
“Good morning, ladies,” she said as they descended on her, all talking at once.
“Ms. Morgan,” Carolyn began, “do you have any idea—”
Nancy cleared her throat and gave a surreptitious shake of her head. “Principal Morgan, we’re sure you have a very full day, but—”
“I would be happy to find a few minutes in the schedule to chat with you,” Shay assured them, “but right now, I need to prepare for the morning announcements. If the three of you want to wait, I’ll be back as soon as I can. If you have somewhere else you need to be, please email me with anything you need to discuss. Or see Roberta about setting up an appointment.”
“This should be addressed immediately!” Carolyn insisted. “A person can’t just spam—”
“We’ll wait,” Nancy said firmly, shooting another look at her fellow PTA board member. Carolyn, this year’s vice president, was clearly champing at the bit for her chance to be commander in chief, figuratively speaking.
Although Carolyn seemed like the type who might not realize it was figurative.
Shay agreed to return as soon as she could, then allowed herself to get caught up in the swell of children sent to the front office with various “please excuse Diane’s absence yesterday” and “please allow Johnny to ride home on the bus with his friend” notes that had to be filed. The thirty minutes between when the front doors first opened to students and when morning announcements began were always hectic for the administrative staff.
Today, the usual cacophony of voices was dominated by two boys, each claiming that a pair of mittens in the office Lost and Found belonged to him. One boy was wailing that his mother had sworn he’d never see his Nintendo DS again if he lost another article of winter clothing this year. Roberta was trying to arbitrate the dispute. The five-foot-tall secretary had hair exactly like steel wool and she owned a sweater set in every color invented.
“You boys are much too loud,” Shay said in quiet counterpoint to their shouting. “It’s disrespectful to Mrs. Cree and to everyone else in the office.”
Roberta looked up, including Shay in the pursed-lip censure she’d bestowed on the arguing boys. “I can handle this if you’d prefer to go check your email.”
No doubt whatever those mothers outside the office were flustered about would be explained by the contents of Shay’s in-box. Bypassing the coffeemaker, Shay left the boys in Roberta’s custody and made a beeline for her office. Once inside she shut her door and entered her password, braced for the worst.
Whatever she’d been expecting, it certainly hadn’t been a plea from a student, soliciting dates for her father. Apparently, an email had gone out to the hundred and fifty or so families on the PTA mailing list. At least eleven parents had forwarded Shay a copy. The letter appeared to have come from Dee Riggs, the chairperson in charge of both the school’s autumn and spring book fairs. But the subject line of the email stated, From Victoria Hathaway. It seemed that Victoria was trying to boost her father’s love life in hopes of eventually getting a new mother.
Did Dee Riggs even realize yet that her email account had been hijacked in this manner? Given the number of parents who had already contacted Shay, surely someone had emailed Dee or planned to call her. Shay would talk to the woman today. First, however, she needed to have a few words with Victoria Hathaway’s father and sole guardian.
Shay leaned forward and pressed the intercom button on her phone. “Roberta? I need you to get me—”
“He’s already on his way.”
Chapter Two
Most days, Mark’s employer was in Colorado, oblivious to Mark’s daily schedule. So why, the one day when Bennett was in town and wanted to see for himself how things were at the store, did Mark get a call from Woodside that would delay opening this morning? Did that qualify as irony or just lousy luck? Mark wasn’t even sure why he’d been asked to come up to the school.
“Is Vicki sick?” he’d asked as soon as the woman on the phone said she was calling from Woodside.
“No, sir. We don’t need you to pick up your daughter. Principal Morgan just needs to speak with you.”
The new principal, Shay Morgan. Mark had received the same cheerful letter of introduction as the other Woodside parents, but he’d never met Shay face-to-face. Maybe this wasn’t such bad luck after all. He’d been meaning to talk to her anyway about the Fitness Fair.
Before he disconnected the call he asked, more as a parental reflex than an actual concern, “Vicki’s not in trouble, is she?” His daughter had been eerily well behaved since his wife died. Aside from her growing exasperation that Mark showed no signs of remarrying, she rarely fussed or challenged any of the rules. Rosycheeked Mrs. Norris said she was a dream to babysit for: “So quiet you hardly know she’s in the house.”
Instead of promptly assuring him that Vicki hadn’t broken any rules, the secretary said primly, “You’ll have to take that up with the principal.” Then she hung up, leaving him perplexed for the duration of his fifteen-minute drive.
As it had in the past, walking through the school’s front doors gave him a twinge, reminding him of how much it had stung, after Jess’s death, to bring Vicki here on her very first day of kindergarten without her mother there to see it or help her get ready. Mark didn’t often find himself on campus, except for periodic performances or the August orientation held each year so that students could meet their teachers for the first time. On those occasions, he was usually part of a noisy crowd. This morning, the front hallway was quiet. The only person he passed was a woman who appeared to be signing in her tardy son. Recognizing her as someone who’d shopped at the store before, Mark offered a small finger wave. Inexplicably, the woman smothered a giggle and glanced away sharply.
Oookay. Dismissing her strange behavior, Mark turned in to the main office. The school secretary, Roberta Cree, stood at the copy machine, feeding paper into the tray. Even though he’d seen Roberta before, he was struck anew by how short she was. Over the phone, she was much taller.
The secretary dipped her chin by way of greeting. “Mr. Hathaway. I’ll let the principal know y—”
“Mr. Hathaway?” A blonde poked out of the office behind the front counter. “Mark Hathaway? I’m Shay Morgan.”
Wow. Mark didn’t recall any school principals looking like that during his childhood. Was she unusually young for a principal, or had his perspective of age simply adjusted now that he himself was an adult? Even without the added height of her black boots, she would be tall for a woman, and she was noticeably curvy beneath a soft aqua sweater that matched her eyes.
Unfortunately, those blue-green eyes were narrowing at him in displeasure.
Had he been caught ogling? It had been so long since he’d ogled that he really wasn’t sure.
“I didn’t mean to stare,” he defended himself. “You’re just not what I expected. I guess I’m so used to seeing Principal Ridenour come out of that office, and you’re, uh…not him.” Physically, it was hard to imagine how she could be any more unlike the stout, balding former principal.
“So I’ve been told,” she said with a tight smile.
She ushered him into her office and shut the door, indicating one of the padded chairs that sat around a small round table. “Thank you for coming up to the school so quickly. It had been my intention to discuss this on the ph—” She broke off, frowned and started over. “I’m glad you’re here, Mr. Hathaway. We need to talk about Vicki. Are you, by any chance, aware of an email that your daughter sent?”
“My daughter? That’s impossible. Aside from the fact that she obviously doesn’t have an email account, she never uses my computer without close supervision.”
Shay—Principal Morgan—settled into one of the other chairs. She crossed her legs, displayed to flattering effect beneath her black skirt and thin hose. It caught him by surprise that he even noticed. Over the years, many women had come into the store, some of them athletic and, he supposed, quite pretty. But he’d have better luck describing what any one of them had purchased than what she looked like. Feeling off balance, it took him a moment to focus on what the principal was saying.
“A number of parents forwarded me this.” She pushed a sheet of paper toward him.
Curious, he picked it up and glanced at the subject heading. From Victoria Hathaway?
“This is my sister-in-law’s email address. Vicki…” He trailed off, recalling how pleased he and Dee had been that Vicki and Bobby were getting along so well. During the past two family dinners, the kids had shut themselves in the study with no discernible bickering or tattling. Which should have been enough to make you suspicious, dummy. “Vicki has a cousin who must have helped her. She wouldn’t know how to send an email by herself.”
“Bobby Riggs, Dee’s son?” Shay nodded. “Earlier this week, I presented him with a trophy from the council-level science fair. Clearly a smart boy. It makes sense that Vicki would have dictated her letter—the punctuation and spelling are far above the normal first-grade level.”
With growing trepidation, Mark began to read.
My name is Victoria Hathaway. People call me Vicki. I am six years old and in the first grade at Woodside Elementary school. I am the only girl in my class who doesn’t have a mommy.
Mark’s heart stuttered. He’d known Vicki was growing more resentful of her single parent status, but seeing her unhappiness articulated like that on the paper in front of him… He was shocked that, instead of trying to talk to him more about it, she’d decided to share it with the population of Woodside! What had Bobby been thinking to help her with this?
My daddy is Mark Hathaway. He is a good man, but a not so good cook. My mom went to heaven. He needs a new wife, but he never ever goes on dates.
Was it possible to keep one’s face from turning red through sheer force of will? He kept his gaze locked on the humiliating paper in his hand and away from the lovely blonde who watched him silently.
I think my dad is shy. Can you help us? It will be Valentine’s Day soon, and he is very lonely. If you are a lady who is not too old and don’t already have a husband, maybe you could be Daddy’s valentine. Please let him know if you would like him. He is gone at the store a lot, but he is fun when he is home. It would also be good if you have a dog. I really want one. But not as much as I want a mom.
Thank you,
Victoria Kathryn Hathaway
Mark was mortified. And aching for his daughter. And fully prepared to ground both her and her cousin for the rest of their natural lives. Well, she had tried to warn him that morning. Don’t worry, Daddy, I have a plan. He was flooded with reactions, from grudging admiration of his daughter’s problem-solving ingenuity—hell, maybe she could help brainstorm ideas on how to save the store—to renewed anger that his wife had been taken from them so young.
He heard his own rusty chuckle. In his struggle to formulate a response, he’d unconsciously chosen laughter. “Maybe I could just get her a puppy?”
“I’m not sure making jokes is the best way to handle this,” the principal countered gently. “Your daughter obviously—”
