Crane (4 page)

Cautious smiles began to brighten young faces
, their head bobbing in silently agreement.

“I’m
sorry, but this matter is of dire importance and requires an audible agreement,” Ichabod stated in an adopted façade of superior indignation.

A chorused holler of “Yes!”
followed by a highly contagious case of giggles, echoed off the walls.

“Very good!” Ichabod clapped a hand to the floor, then pushed himself up to stand. “Now, I do believe it
is time for you to head outside for your afternoon game of Kick the Can. Watch out for Thomas,” he called after the children who were already scampering out the door. “He kicks like a mule!”

As the door banged shut, leaving
empty silence in its wake, Ichabod dipped down to pick up the book that had caused the ruckus.

“
You calmed the children with such ease. I wonder if you could work that same magic on the entire town,” a soft voice said from the doorway.

Ichabod
spun with a start, his hand immediately beginning to shake. His breath caught. He’d captured a few glimpses of the vision before him as she made her way across town, but never so near. The angels themselves would’ve envied her beauty. The color cascading down her back in thick waves, reminded Ichabod of freshly bloomed daffodils glistening in the sun. Lips, as succulent as ripe strawberries dipped in cream, parted to grace him with a smile bright enough to light the rest of his days.

Worried he was staring, Ichabod busied himself tidying his already neat desk.
“I am afraid my methods are less effective on those jaded by age and life lessons.”

She crossed the room without hesitating,
or waiting for invitation. “I think you doubt yourself, sir. A kind heart is a treasure, or to use your own words, a resource. Its value cannot be measured.”

Ichabod clasped his hands behind his back before she could see his flaring tremor. “I thank you for your kind
ness. Was there something that brought you to our school house? Can I help you in some way?”

He immediately regretted his choice of word
s, fearing she would misconstrue them as him finding her presence bothersome. Yet, before he had a chance to clarify his meaning, she pulled forward the basket that hung from her arm.

“When the nerves hit me, I bake. After
the nightmare of yesterday, I found myself in the kitchen surrounded by three dozen apple fritters.” She pulled back a corner of their cloth cover, allowing the wonderful aroma of cinnamon-apple to waft out. “I worried the children might be having difficulties as well, and thought perhaps bellies full of treats might distract them, at least for a short while.”

Beauty and kindness was a potent siren song that made this vixen even more enchanting. “I will surely pass them along. And on behalf of my students, I thank you for your kindness, Miss …” Ichabod trailed off in hopes that she would fill a name he could fix to this mesmerizing vision
.

“Where are my manners
?” Her hand fluttered to her mouth, a rosy blush filling her cheeks. “I’m Katrina,” she bowed her head and dipped in a slight curtsy, “Katrina Van Tassel.”

Icy prickles replaced the blood pumping through Ichabod’s veins. Here he was making small talk with this woman who had lost a family member
mere hours ago. This was the moment he needed to extend his condolences, yet he couldn’t seem to force them past his suddenly constricted throat. She was the daughter of Baltus
Van Tassell,
the same man that had publicly proclaimed him the lowest form of scoundrel. He wanted to ask her how she was fairing, explain there was a misunderstanding, utter some words that would allow her to leave here not thinking him a complete charlatan. Unfortunately, no such magical phrasing jumped to mind.

“And you, sir, what
is your name?” Sweet words, spoken by an angel, who would surely cast him to Hell as soon as he responded. “Or shall I just call you Schoolmaster?”

Ichabod’s arm
gave a violent jerk as he pried his mouth open to answer with all the enthusiasm of a death march.

Before one syllable could leave his parted lips
, the door flew open, allowing Mary Ellen to barrel inside. “Mr. Crane! Cecilia fell from the swing! She’s bleeding terribly! Come quick!”

Katrina yanked the cloth from the fritters and handed it to Ichabod as he
quickly rounded his desk. “Here, use this to stop the bleeding. Oh, wait!” she called a second before he stepped foot outside. “You are Ichabod Crane?”

He paused only a moment, to glance back and watch the dis
dain he was sure would spread across her lovely face, casting him down to a slithering reptile coiled under a rock. “I am.”

“It
is a pleasure to meet you, Ichabod.” The warmth of her smile made his heart flutter, filling him with the comfort of … home.

5

Ireland

“I brought you a fern!”

Ireland glanced up from the file folders that covered her desk and smiled at the new arrival beaming from the doorway. “That’s a lesser known form of greeting, however, in this particular office, completely acceptable.”

“Sorry, I probably should’ve started with ‘I’m Amber, your administrative assistant’.” Amber crinkled her pert nose in a no-handed attempt to fix her silver-framed glasses. Her fluffy brown curls were barely contained by the hair-tie at the nape of her neck.

Ireland’s leather chair squeaked as she rose to her feet and extended her hands to accept her gift. “Standard salutations are overused. You get points for originality.
” Directing an apologetic cringe at the fern, she added, “A living thing in my office? That’s quite the commitment. I’m going to have to demand joint custody and supervised visitation to keep this thing alive.”

“Oh, I can totally help with that! I read this fascinating article about the benefits of talking to plants, and since I’m usually talking anyway
, I might as well direct it at our fern-baby.” As Amber crossed the room, Ireland noticed slightly askew glasses weren’t the only thing working against her. Her white blouse, with yellow polka-dots, was only tucked in on one side, and she appeared to be wearing two different shoes. “Sorry if it seems an odd gift, but I left the house in a rush. My mother always taught me that a little token of welcome can create deep roots of friendships, and that is exactly what I wanted to do! So, I stopped at the florist … and panicked. It was either this or an orchid and they are
insanely
temperamental!”

“You did your mother proud. Question, did she ever mention casting
the occasional glance downward?” Ireland set the fern down on the corner of her desk, brushing the potting soil from her hands before subtly pointing at Amber’s mismatched footwear.

Confusion furrowed Amber’s brow as she followed Ireland’s
gaze. “Huh. Well that’s an unfortunate first impression to make with your new boss.”

“
Okay, first, please don’t call me your boss. We’re the same age, and this is my first real ‘grown-up’ job. You use words like boss and I’m bound to freak out and rush off to have something pierced. Second, I saw nothing but a pretty fern. Any claims of odd footwear are simply speculation.” With a playful wink, Ireland settled back into her chair. “In other, non-foliage related matters, Principal Edwards mentioned a few of our seniors needed recommendation letters written for scholarship programs. Do you happen to know where those files are?”

“Absolutely,” Amber bubbled
, and began flipping through the mess of papers scattered on the desk between them. Her fingers flicked over the files with a speed that bordered on manic until she settled on a stack, which she pulled out and presented to Ireland. “Here they are! Organized with color tabs by the specific requirements needed for each, that way you can just go down the list and knock them out quick and easy. The key to the color tab is right here on top.”

Ireland
sucked air through her teeth, both impressed and terrified by her assistant’s efficiency. “Fantastic. Could you please pull each students’ file so I know who—“

“
—they are and what their academic record looks like?” Amber finished for her. “On the filing cabinet behind you.”

A knock rattled the office door before Ireland could
accuse Amber of being some sort of voodoo mind-reader or an android—but she was convinced the girl was one or the other.

“Your first office visit!” Amber’s shoulder
s raised with her high-pitched squeal of delight.

Ireland stared for a beat, her glance fl
icking around the narrow office as she tried to figure how she would maneuver to the door around Amber, who seemed to be firmly planted. Unless she learned to crawl across the ceiling Spidey-style in the next five seconds, it wasn’t going to happen. With no other choice, she leaned in toward Amber to whisper, “One of us should get the door.”

“Oh! Allow me!” Amber gushed
. Turning on the heel of her brown shoe, she led with the black one to take the stride and a half to the door.

Opening
it a crack, she peeked out, then glanced back over her shoulder to whisper in a soft but urgent tone, “It’s Principal Edwards and a student.”

“You
can let them in,” Ireland whispered back.

The door squeaked o
n its hinges as Amber pulled it open and took a meek step into the background.

“Miss Crane, do you have a second?” Principal Edwards asked with a
painfully forced smile.

“Absolutely.” Ireland
wet her lips anxiously as her gaze darted from the principal to the student and back again.

Amber
snuck out, and quietly shut the door behind her. Principal Naomi Edwards folded her hands in front of her, her voluptuous figure putting strain on the buttons of her eggplant-colored blazer. Beside her stood a cute, golden-haired teen whose arrogant swagger and cocky leer made him look like a stand-in on a
CW
show.

“Miss Crane, this is Mason
Van Brunt. It seems he couldn’t get through the first day of school without being sent down to see me.” The principal’s full lips pursed while she cast a disapproving glance at the disinterested teen. “Which makes a consecutive four for four of his high school career. This time he sexually harassed our fifty-year-old PE teacher, who also happens to be a Tai Kwon Do instructor.” Out of the corner of her mouth, she muttered, “You’re lucky she didn’t kick your teeth out the back of your head.”

Snorting
his amusement, Mason tipped his head to peer up at her from under one hitched brow. “What can I say, I appreciate a well-maintained G.I.L.F.”

Principal Edward’s forehead puckered in c
onfusion. “A gilf?”

“Grandma I’d like to—“

“And that’s enough out of Mason!” Ireland rocketed out of her chair, cutting off the teen’s off-color comment.

“
Anyway
,” the principal continued, shooting Ireland an exasperated eye roll, “Mr. Van Brunt’s parents have been notified, and they are on their way to collect him.” She handed his file off to Ireland, then stabbed one French manicured finger at the chair, gesturing for him to sit. “Until they arrive, I thought you two could get acquainted, maybe even figure out what demons lurk in him that make him act a fool at any given moment.”

Mason didn’t argue, but flopped down in the chair. Principal Edwards gave Ireland a quick nod and mouthed the words “good luck” before pulling the office door shut behind her.

Ireland suppressed a nervous gulp. Sure, she’d taken the necessary classes, had done all the specialized training, and on paper was more than qualified for this job. However, this wasn’t a case study she would be graded on. This was the real deal. Stalling for time, Ireland leaned back in her chair and cracked open Mason’s file. She didn’t have to read long to get to the disturbing parts. “Ya know, it’s hard to pick which offense in here is the most disturbing, but … I think I’m going to go with sexually assaulting the statue of the school mascot. That one has to be my favorite.”

“What can I say
…” He shrugged with what he probably thought was a flirty grin. Truth be known, it landed closer to stroke victim. “My charms are an acquired taste.”

“Yeah, the ‘charms’ of guys like you are normally remedied with topical creams.”
The words were out before Ireland could even attempt to filter them. She kept the file up high so he couldn’t see her aghast shock at her own statement.

L
eaning forward, he tried to force a smolder. “What was that, sweetness?”

Ireland pressed her lips together in a firm line and calmly laid his file on her desk.
The flaring of her nostrils was the only indication of the storm that raged within. One simple little pet name, that was all it took to make her pulse pound through her veins, feeding into the white hot rage that made her want to grab him by the hair and smash his face into the corner of her desk. Rational thought tried to weigh in, whispering that this innocent youth had no way to know that her asshat ex used to call her that. Ireland held firm to that reminder as she took a cleansing breath and leaned forward with her elbows on her desk. “I get this little act of yours, believe me I do. Before your voice changed, and your balls dropped, the girls didn’t really notice you. Did they, Mason?”

His brown eyes widened in shock
, a rosy glow filling his cheeks. “I … I don’t know what you’re—”

Ireland held up one finger to stop him. “Oh, I’m not done. I’m guessing you were probably picked on, too. Bullied, and downright made to feel like a nothing. Am I right?”

“What’s the matter with you, lady?” He slumped back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. Mr. Swagger seemed to have run out of leers.

“Then,” Ireland knew she was toeing the line
of effective guidance counselor, but couldn’t seem to stop her rolling rant, “puberty hit and you went and got yourself a makeover. Worked out, started tanning, discovered some random sport you actually have a knack for. Heck, maybe you even had one of those fun music montages like in the movies. End result? A whole new Mason. You could’ve had your meathead happily ever after ... but no. You’re so afraid of fading into the background again that you have to go out of your way to stay in the spotlight and make sure no one
ever
forgets you again. I’d ask if I’m right, but those white lines around your clenched lips tell me all I need to know.”

“You bitch,” Mason growled through his teeth.

“I have been called much, much worse. So, here’s what we’re going to do. You and I will meet here a couple times a week. We’re going to start planning for your life after high school, make goals for when you’re no longer surrounded by kids that know about the time you got a stiffy in P.E.—”

“
How do you know about that
?” Mason raged, his face blooming a deep tomato red.

Ireland held up both hands in surrender as she bit down
hard on the inside of her cheek. “I didn’t, I swear. It’s just a random thing I threw out there because it happens to a lot of guys your age.”

Mason exhaled, fading back to dull pink.

“We just need to work together, to get you looking at the bigger picture of your future and passed the BS of high school. Along the way if we can get you to graduation, and maybe have a few days thrown in there where you can get by without being a total d-bag, that’ll just be an added bonus!” Feeling pretty damned good about herself, Ireland offered him a warm smile as a proverbial olive branch. She had gotten her point across in a way, which she felt, spoke his language. Maybe she could be that cool school counselor that all the kids come to love.

Mason
let his chin fall to his chest, and rubbed one hand over the back of his neck. “Wow, you just have it all figured out, don’t you?”

Ireland noticed a hint of amusement in his tone. For reasons she couldn’t yet explain
, it reminded her of a ticking time bomb.

“
See, you’re new here and really don’t
get
how things work just yet. So, let me enlighten you.” The smug golden boy leaned in, glaring daggers across the desk. “Why don’t you go out back and take a look at the sign by the brand, spanking new football field. The fancy little plaque you’ll find has four little words on it,” he counted them off on his fingers, “Donated … by … Charles … Van Brunt. Then, maybe sashay your fine ass down the hall and take a gander at the new auditorium with its state of the art light and sound systems. And, wouldn’t you know it, you’ll find a matching plaque there. My dad practically
owns
Sleepy Hollow. You wanna know why I’ve gotten away with everything I have
without
getting expelled? It’s because no one
dares
cross my father. In simple terms: You. Can’t. Touch. Me.” Leaning back in his chair, he laced his fingers behind his head. “But if you still want to have regular meetings where we sit here, braiding each other’s hair, and writing in our dream journals, that’s fine by me. Just do me a favor and wear a low-cut top, at least make it worth my while.”