The Wrong Man Page 10

  “Libby?”

  Startled, she turned toward the door. The school secretary stood there, a perplexed look on her face. “You have a phone call in the office. A Senator Belton.”

  Libby’s heart sank. A bad day had taken yet another downturn. She rose and headed for the office.

  “Take it in here.” The secretary nodded toward the vacant teachers’ lounge.

  Libby entered the room and closed the door. Then, dread mounting, she picked up the phone. “Hello. This is Libby Cameron.”

  “Miss Cameron,” a clipped, businesslike voice said. “Please hold for the senator.”

  Her stepfather had never called her at school before. In fact, aside from their brief conversation over the holidays, she hadn’t spoken to him since early autumn. What could be so urgent he would call during work hours?

  After several minutes, he came on the line. “Libby? Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  In the background Libby could hear the low hum of a news commentator on the senator’s office television. “I can’t be away from my class too long,” she told him.

  “I understand.” He paused, and Libby could imagine him brushing aside some paperwork or gesticulating to one of his aides. “Has a reporter contacted you?”

  “Not directly. Someone called the school to verify my employment.”

  “Let’s hope it stops there.”

  “That what stops here?”

  “Some eager young pup of a fellow, Jeremy Kantor, seems bent on becoming the next Bob Woodward. He’s doing an in-depth piece about the personal lives of some of us on the Hill.”

  Libby’s stomach plummeted. “Why would he have any interest in me?”

  “Well, such as it is, you are my only family. And as we both know, he could ask some embarrassing questions.”

  “He can ask all he wants. There’s nothing I could tell him of any interest.” Libby swallowed the bile in her throat. “Or that would in any way compromise your position.”

  “Good girl. That’s what I needed to hear.” He cleared his throat. “Well, then, that’s taken care of. Everything all right there?”

  As if he cared. “I’m fine.”

  “You need to think about a trip to D.C.”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “I could show you the sights. Introduce you around.”

  Now—now she was respectable. Too little, too late. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Just a minute, Sarah. I’m coming.” Libby rolled her eyes. Important legislative business, no doubt.

  “Sorry, Libby, gotta make a roll-call vote on the floor.”

  “No problem.”

  “Goodbye, then.”

  He was gone before she could whisper her own farewell. She hung up and moved restlessly about the room. A reporter bent on digging up dirt. She prayed his investigation of her had ended with her employment history. Her involvement in the senator’s life had come to an abrupt halt years ago. That was all she needed to say, if asked.

  The door cracked open and the secretary studied her with concern. “Libby, is everything all right? Do you need me to cover your class?”

  Libby shook her head in an effort to dispel memories too painful to revisit. “No, I’m coming right now. Thanks.”

  For the rest of the day, she lost herself in the hustle bustle of second-graders, wishing she could somehow remain in the innocent, protected world of seven-year-olds.

  TO KEEP THOUGHTS of Libby at bay, Trent kept busy inventorying gear and setting aside anything needing repair. Next week he and Chad would work on a quick remodeling of the office area, but for now their priority was getting the equipment serviced. “Looks like we need some new first-aid kits.”

  Chad glanced up from the counter where he was sorting their newly printed promotional brochures into piles. “That’s one area where we can’t scrimp. Order them.”

  Trent made a note on his legal pad, then picked up a kayak paddle to examine. “How’re we coming on hiring guides?”

  “I have a couple already lined up and interviews scheduled for Bozeman and Missoula in a couple of weeks.”

  “How soon can we expect bookings?”

  “The former owners told me they’ll start coming in around the first of April.”

  Trent made a mental calculation. He couldn’t impose on Weezer much past that. Of course he was paying her rent, but many of her longtime, repeat guests would be expecting to rent the cabin during the season. That gave him a little over two months to get squared away with a house for him and Kylie. He hated even thinking about the child-care arrangements he would have to make. Kylie needed the security of a home, not a string of baby-sitters.

  Hell. His train of thought had led him directly back to Libby, the one subject he was trying to avoid. In a way, he wished he’d never seen her home—and Kylie sitting contentedly in her rocker, a gray cat snuggled in her lap. No matter how hard he tried, he could no longer picture a future without Libby.

  Yet he’d probably blown it Saturday night. He must have seemed deranged showing up on her doorstep so late, and then practically forcing that kiss on her.

  But there was one encouraging sign. She had responded enthusiastically. At least until she drew away, perhaps shocked at her own reaction. He’d also taken heart that she couldn’t look him in the eye when he’d asked whether Doug set her on fire. Nor had she been at ease with him when he’d seen her at the Kodiak Café yesterday. If she didn’t care—at least a little—why would she seem disturbed by his presence?

  Against all odds, he hoped her behavior was a case of “the lady doth protest too much.” He would have to proceed carefully, though. No way did he want Kylie to get wind of his intentions. She was crazy about Lib and he didn’t need to get her hopes up.

  Chad slapped his arm with one of their brochures. “You gonna stare at that paddle all day?”

  “Sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”

  “Kylie or Libby?”

  Trent stowed the paddle and selected another. “Both.”

  “School going okay?”

  “We have good days and bad days. I know most of it has to do with Kylie’s missing Ashley and Billings. But she seems to be comfortable with Libby.”

  “That sounds like a good thing.” Chad’s tone was casual, yet Trent could hear the unasked question.

  “I’m cautiously optimistic.”

  “Oh?”

  Trent set the paddle on the counter. “I’ve got to get on with it. Either win her back or get her out of my system.”

  “But?”

  “I don’t want to interfere if she really loves Doug Travers.”

  “Let her figure that out, Baker. Doug’s a big boy. So are you. Somebody wins. Somebody loses. It’s that simple.”

  Simple? “Easy for you to say.”

  Chad laughed. “I’ve known you a long time, pal, and I have to say, you got it bad.”

  “Yeah, I do.” With a crooked grin, Trent picked up one of the brochures and pointed to the heading.

  “‘Adventure Specialists.’” He snorted. “Love is sure one adventure I’m no expert in.”

  “What man is?”

  “You have a point. I guess all I can do is present my case and hope it’s good enough.”

  Chad shrugged into his jacket, scooped up the packets of brochures, then headed for the door. Just before leaving, he turned back to Trent, a sympathetic expression on his face. “I have a feeling it will be. If I’m right, maybe I’ll get my partner back.”

  In his words, Trent heard understanding and friendship, but also a plea. Preoccupation with Libby was diverting his focus from the business. Sooner rather than later, he needed to bring things to a head with her. And that meant talking openly about her miscarriage—and his role in driving her away.

  WHY HAD SHE THOUGHT this was a good idea? Libby stood at the window that evening and watched Doug approach with a bag of take-out food under his arm. She could have waited until the weekend. But a sense of urgency had overcome
her desire to delay, and she’d invited him over.

  She greeted him. “Hi. I’m glad you didn’t mind such short notice.”

  Doug leaned forward to kiss her lightly. “Mind? I was delighted. If I had my way, I’d see you every night of the week.”

  He handed her the food while he took off his coat and laid it over the back of the sofa. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  Hungry? Even the delectable smells of Chinese food failed to stimulate her appetite. Her stomach was wound as tightly as any egg roll. “I suppose I could eat.”

  He followed her into the kitchen and played with Mona while she set out the plates, opened the containers and put serving spoons in each. “What exciting things happened today at school?”

  One of the traits she liked about Doug was his genuine interest in her job. Yet she didn’t know how to answer his question. Should she tell him how Kylie had opened up about her mother? About the senator’s unsettling phone call? “The usual. The flu is going around, so I had three absentees. Then I had to send two little guys to the office after they got into a scuffle on the playground.”

  Doug grinned. “Ooh. They had to face the dreaded Mrs. Travers.”

  “Believe it or not, she can be formidable.”

  “Oh, I have no doubt about that. She was a no-nonsense mother.”

  “She’s a wonderful principal, Doug. You should be very proud of her.”

  “I am.” He dished up some moo goo gai pan.

  “She’s pretty darn fond of you, you know.”

  His words immediately made Libby recall the quizzical look on Mary’s face when she had learned Trent had been Libby’s husband. Libby stared at the sweet-and-sour chicken she’d scooped onto her plate, wondering how she could manage even a single bite. How was she going to tell Doug? What could she say? “We have a great working relationship.”

  “She’d like it to be more than that,” Doug said, setting his plate down on the counter and turning to face her. “So would I.”

  There was no mistaking his meaning. His warm eyes and gentle smile were intended to be reassuring. It was all she could do not to squirm like one of her students when caught in a lie. She cleared her throat. “What would you like to drink?”

  Doug studied her as if checking to see if she had intended the change of subject. The smile slowly faded from his lips. “Water will be fine.”

  Libby set her plate on the table and busied herself with ice cubes, glasses, water and anything—anything—to avoid what had to be said.

  When she returned to the table, Doug seated her, then slid into his own chair. He didn’t touch his silverware, but rested his elbows on the table, his fingers clasped beneath his chin. “What is it, Lib?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s pretty clear I misread the agenda tonight. You define the term uptight. What gives?”

  Libby shoved her plate aside, dread mounting. “I haven’t been entirely forthcoming with you.”

  “Okay.” He drew out the word, as if slowly processing the idea.

  She couldn’t dance around the subject all night. Taking a deep breath, she spit out what she had to say. “My ex-husband is back in Whitefish.”

  He shrugged. “And that’s important because…?”

  Rather than answer him directly, she asked, “Remember the little girl who saw us kissing Saturday at Big Mountain?”

  “Your student?”

  She nodded. “Kylie Baker. She’s the daughter of my ex.”

  He frowned, puzzled. “So what’s the problem?”

  “I’m getting quite attached to her.”

  He dropped his hands to his side. “Well, that’s no surprise. You love all your kids. It’s one reason you’re a super teacher.”

  How could she consider a life without Doug? Who else encouraged her in so many ways? “That’s not all. Trent, um, my former husband, he…” She paused, choosing her words.

  “He wants you back.” Doug shook his head when she didn’t disagree. “Great. That’s just great.”

  The odor of the sweet-and-sour chicken nearly gagged her. “He hasn’t said that exactly.”

  Doug spoke with deliberate irony. “What has he said ‘exactly’?”

  “I have the sense he wants to see whether I still have feelings for him.”

  “Do you?”

  There it was. The big question. Libby ducked her head. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. In the silence, the cuckoo clock chimed seven. She waited, holding her breath, until it stopped. “He hurt me badly once.”

  “And you’re willing to let him do it again?” Doug rose from his seat and circled the table. “Not if I have anything to say about it.” He pulled her to her feet and held her by the arms, searching her face.

  Libby’s eyes filled. She had never wanted to hurt Doug. “I’m confused. I—I need some time.”

  “How much?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “I’m not going to pretend I’m happy about the situation, Lib. But I care a great deal for you. I think we could make a good life together, so if you need to figure this out once and for all, I guess that’s how it’ll have to be.”

  She couldn’t have asked for anything more from him. She almost wished he wasn’t such a fair person, that he’d give her an ultimatum. Take him or leave him. And she so desperately wanted the life he offered that she would probably take him. “You’re a good man, Doug Travers.”

  He pulled her closer, nestling her against his chest. “Damn it, I don’t want to be a good man. I want to be the man.” Then, taking her face in his hands, he kissed her deeply, possessively, as if to seal her with his brand. His lips moved persuasively, and she tried, really tried, to respond with enthusiasm. When he finished kissing her, he ran his hands over her shoulders and down her arms. “You know, I’m not hungry after all. I think I’ll be going.”

  She followed him into the living room and watched helplessly as he donned his coat. “Won’t you take some of the food home?”

  “There’s only one thing I want to take home.” The hurt in his eyes sliced through her. “You.”

  Cold air replaced warmth as he opened the door and left. Shame and regret lodged in every crevice of her body.

  You set me on fire, Lib. Does Doug do that for you?

  Sadly the answer was no.

  But surely there was more to love than fireworks.

  TRENT COULDN’T REMEMBER the last time he’d ridden on a school bus. One thing was for sure. The manufacturers hadn’t done anything to make them more comfortable since then. Nor had the decibel level of excited schoolchildren decreased. At least these kids weren’t teenagers screaming out the song about bottles of beer on the wall.

  He sat in the back of the third bus of the convoy headed for Missoula and a tour of the Native American exhibit at the university. Kylie had been inordinately delighted when she learned that he was not only one of the chaperons, but the sole father making the trip. However, she had chosen to sit with a little redheaded girl named Lacey. He supposed that was fine—it meant she was adjusting, making friends.

  Huddled beside him was a wiry little guy whose dark bangs fell into his eyes. The kid stared out the window and so far had said nothing. Brakes squealed and the bus shuddered to a stop at a railroad crossing, then with a guttural grinding of gears started up again. “Hey, fella, what’s your name?” Trent asked.

  The boy shrank away from him. “Rory,” he said in a half whisper.

  “Really? One of my favorite old-time cowboy actors was named Rory. Ever hear of him? Rory Calhoun?”

  This time the boy ventured a quick glance at Trent. “No.”

  “No? You’re missing out then. He was one cool dude. I’ll bet you could rent some of his movies at the video store.”

  No answer.

  “Do you like cowboys?”

  The kid shrugged. “I guess.”

  “I used to do a bit of rodeoing when I was younger.”

  “Did you get hurt a lot?”
At last. A spark of interest.

  “Well, not a lot. But sometimes a hard fall knocks the stuffing out of a guy. But if you like to do something, you have to expect some knocks. Same thing with mountain climbing or river rafting. But the thrill of it makes the pain not seem so bad.”

  “My mom prob’ly wouldn’t let me do something like that. ’Specially if I might get hurt. And I don’t got a dad.”

  The boy’s expression told the story. An overprotected kid crying out for a male influence in his life. His mother was undoubtedly turning him into a mama’s boy.

  “If you could do something a little bit dangerous, what would it be?”

  Rory frowned in concentration. “I’d be a para-trooper.”

  Trent laughed. “No lie? Jumping from a plane would take major guts.”

  “Lotsa soldiers do it.” To Trent’s amazement, the boy squared his shoulders. “I bet I could.”

  “You’d have to be in really good shape.”

  “How could I do that?”

  Outside, the trees were whizzing by. Trent settled more comfortably into the seat, realizing he was enjoying his conversation with young Rory. “You could start by getting yourself in condition.” The seed of an idea occurred to him. “Do you do any hiking?”

  He hung his head. “Naw. My mom thinks I’d get lost.”

  “She’s right. You can’t just set off in the woods or mountains. But I could take you out sometime after it warms up this spring.”

  Rory’s head jerked up. “You could?”

  “I’m a guide.”

  “And you’d take me?”

  “Sure. Tell you what. When we get back to the school, you introduce me to your mom, and we’ll talk about it.”

  “Wow.” Rory’s face was wreathed in a big grin.

  Trent didn’t know for sure, but he could swear the kid walked with more confidence the rest of the day.

  WEARY BUT PLEASED the field trip had been a success; Libby strolled through her bus, checking for belongings left behind. The other teachers stood outside, crossing names off the roster as each student was picked up by a parent.