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Two areas in which Mom felt her own life had suffered.
Beth’s oldest sister, Linda, hadn’t met either criteria: no college, no nice young man. Middle sister, Susan, had started college, but dropped out to get married and Mom didn’t really approve of her husband’s profession as a police officer.
Not a safe career.
Her mother’s dreams settled like a yoke across Beth’s shoulders. Attending teachers college hadn’t been a choice, it had been an order. To save money, Beth had managed to graduate in three years instead of four. And right now, her mother was championing the new youth minister at their church. Being a youth minister wasn’t a well-paying job, but Nathan Fisher was also a physical therapist.
Beth set most of the class to cleaning up their seat area. Then, row by row, she called them by her desk where the mailboxes were. With the exception of Matt, all did her bidding.
He’d been even more lethargic than usual today. No doubt she could blame some of it on his uncle Joel and a late-night call from the hospital. Quite a lot for a five-year-old to handle.
No tiny bits of paper were on the floor by his desk. He’d barely started his cutting project. As for crayons, he had only used three—a brown, a black and a red—and they were stored in his crayon box. The upside-down book was already placed neatly in his desk. His lunch box, she knew, contained a peanut butter sandwich with three small bite marks.
That was all she could convince him to eat.
“Come on, Matt. You have a few papers to take home.”
He shrugged. This wasn’t what Mandy would have wanted.
Which was why Beth had headed to Solitaire Farm last night. She’d been mad, and although she wasn’t one to act on impulse, when Jared hadn’t shown up for his parent-teacher conference time, she’d taken it personally.
So at seven-thirty, after she’d finally gotten her classroom back in order and prepped for the following day, she’d headed for Solitaire Farm and Matt McCreedy’s father.
After a long day on the farm, Jared hadn’t been in the mood to hear what she had to say. He’d promised to reschedule. Thanked her for caring enough to make a home visit. Then, politely walked her to her car.
She and Linda had been his late wife’s best friends. Mandy had been in Linda’s class, but had always identified with the youngest Armstrong, treating her as a favorite kid sister and then an adult best friend. For nine years, Solitaire Farm had been a second home. That Mandy’s sons were suffering broke Beth’s heart.
“Matt, I need you to get your backpack.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
Beth swallowed. Joel was standing in her classroom doorway and didn’t look like he’d been in an automobile accident at all.
She blurted the first words that came to mind. “What are you doing here?”
He grinned, and eight years of maturity completely deserted her in one heart-melting moment—taking her right back to her schoolgirl crush.
“I’m feeling much better,” he said. “Just a mild concussion. Thanks for asking. I’m lucky you were around to help. As for what I’m doing here, I needed to get my truck in for service. Without it, I either walk or hitch rides. I told Billy I’d meet him here at three.”
“Here, as in my classroom?” The words came out more accusing than she meant them to be. But she didn’t need any more questions from fellow teachers, not about Joel. And she certainly didn’t need her mother to come marching down the hallway, all pursed lips and disapproving. Plus, she was a bit concerned about the look on Matt’s face. The boy was staring at his uncle half in awe and half in terror.
“I also need to return this.” He pulled her cell phone from his back jeans pocket.
“Miss Armstrong, Mitzi put trash on my floor,” came a small, accusing voice.
Sure enough, little Mitzi, instead of walking all the way to the classroom trash can, had dumped her paper, her broken crayons and her half-eaten chicken finger by another student’s desk.
A third student added to the fray, “Teacher, I gotta go …”
Joel smiled and laid the phone on a bookcase by the door. “I’ll let you get back to work. Maybe you’ll let me take you out for dinner some night as a proper thank-you.”
“I don’t think so,” Beth said, giving Mitzi a look that sent her scurrying to clean up her mess again. She tried the same look on Joel, but it only made his grin widen before he left her classroom.
What really amazed Beth was how easily he waltzed into and out of the elementary school, without the tiniest hint of guilt. Now, her mother would do more than just walk by Beth’s door with her lips pursed. Now, the other teachers and some of the parents wouldn’t start with the polite, “So, I hear you were up late last night?”
Their questions would be more concrete.
Because Joel McCreedy wasn’t just a prodigal son, he was really a prodigal thief.
Chapter Two
“You’ve got some nerve.”
The softly spoken words came from a source Joel knew well and one who stood blocking the school exit. Patsy Armstrong. She hadn’t changed much in the last eight years. She looked like her two older daughters, tall, brunette, with a sturdy bearing that aged well.
Beth didn’t look, or act, much like her mother.
Maybe that’s why he hadn’t recognized Beth right away last night? That, plus the fact she’d been four years behind him. He’d been in her oldest sister’s graduating class.
“Hello, Mrs. Armstrong. I wondered if you were still working here.”
Actually, he hadn’t wondered. Until just this minute, she’d existed in the “out of sight, out of mind” realm of life. Joel was much too busy worrying about how Jared would react to forced hospitality. Jared’s initial response—yesterday evening—had been the same as Mrs. Armstrong’s.
You’ve got some nerve.
“I most certainly do still work here.” Mrs. Armstrong wasn’t finished. “I believe in an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay.”
Implying Joel didn’t. She definitely wasn’t one who would consider bull riding a profession, and it wouldn’t matter how many purses Joel won or who his sponsor was. Bull riding didn’t come with benefits like unemployment, a 401(k) or retirement. Not really.
The final bell rang. Joel could hear classroom doors opening and the excited clamor of student freedom, but Mrs. Armstrong wasn’t finished. She just got louder. “Did you stop by the office and get a guest pass?”
“My nephews attend here.”
“Your name is not listed on their student cards. You’ll still need to sign in at the office. There just might be a problem.”
A problem? The McCreedys had been attending this school since Joel’s grandfather. Joel had not only studied here, but even when he was in high school, he’d helped out at the elementary school during the Rodeo Club events. The problem was Mrs. Armstrong.
“You going to send me to detention?” Joel knew the words would only make things worse, but he couldn’t control his tongue.
She opened her mouth and narrowed her eyes. Joel just knew he didn’t want to find out what she was thinking, so he did the first thing he could think of.
“I was here to return Beth’s cell phone. Wish I’d thought to take down her number before I gave it back.” He winked and moved around her toward the front door. Before exiting, he looked back. Mrs. Armstrong had closed her mouth but now had turned an interesting purplish color. Behind her, he could see Beth, two lines of students in her control.
Best place to be, safest place to be, thought Joel, would be the parking lot and inside his stepfather’s minivan. He pushed open the school door and almost ran Billy down.
Joel recognized many of the adults, parents now, starting to gather in front of the school. His name floated on the air and a few scattered greetings sounded.
Nothing like what he had expected. What was wrong with Roanoke? Eight years wasn’t that long.
“I thought I’d pick you up at the hospital,” Billy said. Careful not to jar the small boy whose hand he was holding, Billy took Joel by the arm and drew him close so his words couldn’t be heard by others. “Mind telling me what brought you to the school?”
“The hospital released me at noon and I took the truck to Tiny’s garage. I had some papers to gather up and found Beth Armstrong’s cell phone on the floorboard of my truck. Boy, she’s really grown up to be—” Joel began.
“Mr. Staples,” Patsy said, “I’m glad you’re here. I need a minute.”
Joel clearly and somewhat comically interpreted the look Billy shot him as, Look, you’ve gotten me in trouble, too.
Billy switched Caleb’s hand to Joel’s and then tossed him a set of keys. “Keep an eye on Caleb. Ryan and Matt will be out in a moment. Get them in the car and have them wait. I’ll just be a minute.”
Before Joel could protest, the chubby three-year-old tugged his fingers, looked up and said, “Let’s go, Unca.”
Unca?
At least Caleb was able to go with the flow. At Billy’s nod, Beth released Matt, who walked toward Joel as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. Ryan, old enough to make his own exit, left his teacher and joined them. He didn’t look too pleased about Joel’s presence, either.
Not even twenty-four hours in town and Joel had managed to annoy everyone except Caleb. Joel figured he’d just broken a record, but knew there’d be no applause.
Ryan led the way to a minivan parked toward the back of the parking lot. To get to the car, Joel had to walk by people he’d once called friends. Most looked surprised. Some taken aback. Once his nephews—all little replicas of Jared—had stowed backpacks and secured their seat belts, Joel took his place on the passenger side.
With his truck needing repairs, Joel couldn’t leave. With Joel himself needing repairs, Jared couldn’t turn him away. Add to that the fact he had just enough money to get to the next town, some twenty miles away—well, no matter how you looked at it, storm clouds were gathering.
“So,” came the beginning of a conversation from the backseat, “why did you take the money?” Oh, yes, Ryan was definitely his older brother’s clone. Arms crossed, wasting no time, eyes accusing, Ryan wanted answers.
“What?”
“Some of my friends say you’re a thief, that you stole money before you left town. Is that why you never came back? Is that why we don’t know you? Why are you back now?”
Joel’s experience with kids was almost nonexistent. He was pretty sure, though, that Ryan was a bit more mature—and cynical—than most eight-year-olds. Even so, Joel doubted that Ryan would understand that half of Solitaire Farm had, at one time, belonged to Joel, and that as a young, stupid kid, he’d wanted his share right then, in cash.
“I didn’t steal any money. I took what was mine.”
Ryan made a psst sound as Billy opened the driver’s side door and slid behind the wheel. Wow. Joel was curious to know what Beth’s mother had wanted to say, and why—as the school secretary—she had a right to say anything. Instead, he looked at the little men in the backseat and shelved his questions. Billy, looking a little annoyed, took advantage of the lull.
“What did the doctor say?”
“The doctor said the accident did not make things worse and that I feel better than I deserve after hitting that fence last night. He recommended a good physical therapist.”
“You hit that fence really good.” Ryan suddenly forgot his annoyance and sounded impressed. “Trey says it will cost a pretty penny.”
“Trey?”
“Max McClanahan III,” Billy explained.
The McCreedys’ nearest neighbors were the McClanahans. Joel had spent his childhood chasing after Maxwell McClanahan II, who must be married and a dad now, with a son also named Max. One who was about Ryan’s age. Joel suddenly felt a little humbled by all he didn’t know.
“Joel never does anything halfway,” Billy said before turning to face Joel. “I’m looking forward,” he said glumly, “to hearing what’s really wrong with you and what made you come back now.”
“You have to go to a therapist because you hit a fence?” Ryan questioned. “I hit fences all the time. You do walk funny. Is that because you hit the fence?”
“Joel doesn’t walk funny,” Billy said.
“Just slow and careful,” Joel agreed.
“Mommy couldn’t walk at all,” Matt finally added to the conversation, “right before she died.”
“Okay,” Billy said quickly, “who wants ice cream?”
To Joel’s way of thinking, it was the perfect time to change the topic of conversation. Matt’s comment was a bit too deep for an errant uncle to elaborate on. Looked like it was way too deep for a grandfather to deal with, too.
“Dad’s not with us,” Matt pointed out.
Ryan wasn’t about to let that interfere with the possibility of getting ice cream. “We can take him something.”
“It will melt.”
Billy, who’d mastered the art of keeping kids happy during his forty-year stint as the principal, said, “He’ll be eating plenty of ice cream tomorrow during Caleb’s party.”
“I’m three,” Caleb chattered. “’Morrow.”
Matt sat back, satisfied that his father wasn’t being left out.
Joel had to admire him. He was the gatekeeper of the brothers. Ryan, it looked like, was the mouth. Caleb was the comic relief.
Jared didn’t know how lucky he was.
Watching the boys sit forward on their hands, anticipating an ice cream stop, triggered some memories. Of course, back then, Jared had been the gatekeeper. Joel had been the comic relief. The one who had jumped over the gate, landed on his head and got all the attention.
They shared mouth duty.
Or tried to share.
Sometimes it had felt like the farm—make that the town of Roanoke—wasn’t big enough for two McCreedy boys.
Since his release from the hospital Joel had caught glimpses of his hometown and the people who made it special. In many ways, it was just another small town with its inhabitants going about their day, doing their jobs, taking care of their families and making memories. Since leaving eight years ago, Joel had been in towns a bit smaller and cities a lot bigger. He’d never stayed long enough to know who owned the auto repair shop, or even who was the fastest grocery store cashier, or which little old lady at church gave the best hugs, or what flavor ice cream was ordered the most at the ice cream parlor.
All three boys wanted chocolate. Billy chose vanilla.
Joel joined the boys and had chocolate, minus the cone. They ate inside the Ice Cream Shack because, according to Matt, “We can’t drip in the car. Grandpa likes to keep his van clean.”
“Caleb drips,” Ryan agreed.
“I yike ice cream.” Caleb nodded vigorously and lived up to Ryan’s accusation. In just a matter of seconds, his ice cream cone was gone, but there was enough ice cream smeared on his face and on the floor to make another one. Ryan had just a bit on the side of his cheek. Joel took his last spoonful and looked over at Billy and Matt. Billy was making headway, but Matt was so careful not to drip or make any kind of mess that he almost had a full cone.
Then Matt stopped licking altogether. His eyes were glued on the front window and toward the parking lot.
Ryan gloated. “It’s your teacher, and you have ice cream on your nose.”
He didn’t, but Matt believed him and rubbed his sleeve across his clean face.
