Her Cowboy Soldier (8 page)

“Hmm. More on that in a minute.” Charla strode to the first stall and knocked hard on the door. “I know you’re in there, Summer O’Keefe. Put out that cigarette right this minute. There’s no smoking allowed in this building, and if your mother knew what you were up to she’d ground you for the rest of the year.”

The door creaked open and a red-faced girl in a purple ruffled minidress stepped out, the sound of flushing echoing behind her. For the first time, Amy became aware of the strong smell of cigarette smoke. “You won’t tell, will you, Ms. Reynolds?” Summer pleaded.

“I won’t tell unless I catch you sneaking a smoke in here again. If you have to do that, go outside in the parking lot where you won’t pollute the building.” Charla made a face and waved away the smoke.

“Thanks.” Summer fled the restroom.

Charla checked the second stall. “Okay, we’re alone. I hope you didn’t believe everything Rick told you. He’s had a burr under his saddle against Josh ever since Josh came back to town.”

“But why? No matter who the school board hired as coach, they’d have still eliminated the aide position and Rick’s wife would have been out of a job. Where is she anyway—the wife? When I asked he said she wasn’t here.”

“Probably home with their little boy. Rick never brings her to these things—he’d rather complain about her not working than actually be seen with her. As to why he hates Josh, let’s see—good-looking, single, smart war hero surrounded by loving family and friends. He’s probably everything Rick wishes he was but can’t be.”

“Are you sure you aren’t a therapist?” Amy asked.

“Amazing what you can learn about people from running a coffee shop and watching
Oprah.
” Charla took out her lipstick and retraced her lips with bright melon. “Anyway, I wouldn’t put too much weight on anything Rick says against Josh.”

“I’m not here to write about Rick or Josh. I’m supposed to be doing a story on the kids and the prom. So I’d better get out there and do it.” She took out her pen and notebook.

“No tape recorder?” Charla asked.

“It’s too noisy out there. A tape recorder is good for meetings or a formal interview, but for something like this, where I talk to a lot of people and record my impressions, a notebook is more reliable.” She headed back into the ballroom, determined to find some teens to interview about the school year’s big social event and their approaching graduation. She ought to be able to come up with some interesting angle on the night’s activities if she talked to enough people.

The first thing she saw when she stepped back into the ballroom was Josh and Zach Fremont pulling apart Chase Wilson and another student Amy didn’t recognize. Blood dripped from Chase’s nose and the other boy sported a quickly blackening eye. “What happened?” Amy asked.

“He started it.” The boy with the battered eye glared at Chase.

“You didn’t get anything you didn’t deserve,” Chase countered.

Amy looked around for Chase’s girlfriend, Heather, and found her huddled with a trio of other girls on the edge of the dance floor. “Heather, what happened?” Amy asked.

Heather glanced at the notebook in Amy’s hand and shook her head. “It was nothing. Stupid guy stuff. Not worth writing about for the paper.”

“I’m not trying to get Chase in trouble,” Amy said. “He never struck me as the fighting type.”

“He’s not.”

Amy turned to find Josh standing behind her, his expression grim. “Where’s Chase?” she asked.

“I sent him to the men’s room to clean up. Zach is with the other boy—Brian Evanston. He made some remark about Chase’s father that set the boy off.”

“What about his father?” At Josh’s frown, she put away the notebook. “I’m not asking for the paper, only because I’m concerned.”

“Chase’s father is an alcoholic,” Heather said. “Was an alcoholic? I don’t know, but he just got out of rehab last month and he’s going to AA and everything, so he’s not drinking anymore. Chase is real proud of him. Brian had no right to say the things he did. Chase had to shut him up.”

“He’ll think twice before he says anything else,” Josh said. He touched Heather’s arm. “Come on, I’ll take you to Chase.”

She went with Josh, and Charla joined Amy. “That’s the most excitement we’ve had at prom in the three years I’ve been chaperoning,” Charla said. “Are you going to put it in your story?”

“I don’t see how I can write about the prom without mentioning the fight, but I’ll leave out the boys’ names.”

“Everyone will know about it anyway, a long time before the paper comes out. That’s the beauty of the small-town gossip grapevine.”

“Makes it tougher for me to write a story everyone will want to read,” Amy said.

“If you can make a city sewer contract interesting, the small-town soap operas and teenage angst of prom should be a cinch.”

“Teen angst and small-town soap operas, huh?” Amy dug in her purse for her notebook. “Thanks, Charla. You just gave me the angle I’ve been looking for.”

“I did? Well, you’re welcome. What are you going to write about?”

“You’ll have to wait and read it in the paper.” She clicked her pen. “Now I have to get busy interviewing some students.” She felt the buzz of excitement that always thrilled her whenever she was on the trail of a good story. And this one was going to be great.

* * *

J
OSH
STOOD
BY
the refreshment table, pretending to watch students, but his attention was focused on Amy as she interviewed the promgoers. The dressed-up young men and women gathered around her, seemingly eager to talk, and she scribbled furiously in her notebook, capturing their words.

As the night progressed, she talked with most of the adults in the room, and even danced with Zach. Josh drank another cup of too-sweet punch and ignored the way his gut twisted as he watched her twirl around the room in Zach’s arms, looking far more relaxed and happy than she had with him.

“Zach should be glad looks can’t actually kill,” Charla said. She helped herself to punch. “Maybe you should have another cup. You look like you need to cool off.”

“I’m fine.” He forced his gaze away from the dance floor. “I suppose the only way you could convince Amy to be here tonight was to persuade her to write a story about the evening,” he said.

“That was Ed’s doing, not mine.” She regarded him over the rim of her cup. “This is harder for her than you might think. She feels guilty, enjoying herself while her husband is dead.”

And he felt like a heel, hearing Charla say that. “Then maybe Ed should have let her stay home.”

“Maybe. But I think it’s doing her good to be here. She’s having fun, even if she won’t admit it.”

The song ended, and Zach led Amy to the refreshment table. “Having fun?” Josh asked. He handed her a cup of punch.

“I am, thank you. And I’m getting lots of great quotes for my story.”

“You should interview Josh,” Zach said. “He’s one of the most popular teachers at the school.” He grabbed Charla’s hand. “Come on. You owe me a dance.”

That left Amy and Josh standing alone by the punch bowl. “The kids do like you.” She tilted her head, considering him. “Why is that, do you think?”

“Because I like them. And I recognize how tough it can be, standing in that space between being a kid and being an adult.”

“What do you remember about your prom?” she asked.

“I wasn’t really into the whole dating and dancing thing before that night,” he said. “I was a jock and a ranch kid—I went to rodeos and ball games, not fancy dances. But that night I decided to change my image. I rented a tux and danced every dance and showed a side of me a lot of people never knew existed. I’m not sure I knew I had it in me until that night.”

“So you used the prom to change your image?”

“I guess. I mean, I was still a ranch kid and a jock, but people saw that wasn’t all.”
Where did that answer come from?
He glanced at the punch bowl. But no—he was sure it wasn’t spiked. Something about Amy had made him tell her something he had never told anyone—something he hadn’t even thought about in years. “What about your prom?” he asked. “What was it like?” She’d probably had half a dozen guys wanting to be her date, and had been the center of attention. Or else, she’d stayed home as some kind of protest—too cool for the common scene.

“I never went to a prom. I took correspondence courses my last two years of high school.”

“You’ve had an unusual life,” he said. “Do you regret missing out on so much?”

“Some. I want Chloe to know those things. And I want her to have adventures, too.”

“Hard to find a balance.”

She nodded. “Brent thought we should do like my parents and travel with the baby. But I didn’t want that. The thought of being in some country without adequate medical care with an infant or toddler terrified me. I think Brent resented that. He felt we were holding him back. That’s why he joined the army.”

“He ran away from his responsibilities.”

“Why did you join the army, then?”

“I wasn’t getting along with my dad. I needed a change.” Mitch might have said that Josh was running away from
his
responsibilities on the ranch.

“Was it worth it?” she asked.

“I needed to grow up. Maybe I needed to learn I wasn’t always right.”

“Did things get better with your dad?”

“Different. Not always better. We’re still figuring that out.”

She laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“Just that I think we spend our whole lives trying to figure out those relationships with the people we care about the most. My mother and grandmother are like oil and water, and yet they clearly love each other.”

“Do you think you would have figured things out with Brent, if he’d lived?”

He had no right to ask the question, and he thought she wouldn’t answer it. But after a moment, she said. “I hope so. I like to think we would have, but I’ll never know. That’s a hard thing about death—you never get to find out how life would have turned out.” She shouldered her purse. “I’d better get back to work. Thanks for answering my questions.”

She left as a quartet of girls and their dates descended on the punch bowl. Josh moved aside to give them room, and lost sight of Amy in the crowd. The sadness of her last words tore at him. He wished he could replace her regrets with good memories and hope for the future, but he supposed only time could do that. Time, and finding whatever it was she was looking for. Whatever they were all looking for.

CHAPTER SIX

In a world full of high-tech wonders and modern shortcuts, the prom stands out as a retreat to old-fashioned tradition. On the verge of graduating to the “real-world” pressures of college and careers, these senior students travel back in time to a society of formal clothing and corsages.

For some, the events of this night are a fun interlude before the renewed stress of graduation. For others, the decisions they make will be life-changing: a boy defends his family’s honor with his fists. A girl dances with the young man who will be her life partner. A student casts off the role of class jock for a more serious place in society.

In the swirl of music and lights, surrounded by friends old and new, members of the senior class of Hartland High are changed by this night, in ways large and small. Cinderella had her royal ball; these students have the prom to aid their transformation from children to adults.

C
HARLA
FINISHED
READING
and laid aside the latest issue of the
Hartland Herald.

Amy shifted from foot to foot, her stomach in knots. “What do you think?” she blurted.

“I think it’s beautiful. Probably the best thing the paper’s ever published.”

Relief made Amy’s knees weak. She braced one hand against the front counter. “Thanks. I worked really hard on it. All Ed would tell me was that it was different, but he’d print it.”

“He won’t tell you it’s brilliant, because then he’d have to pay you more,” Charla said.

The sleigh bells on the door of the coffee shop jangled and both women turned to see Josh enter. He was backlit by the sun, so Amy couldn’t read his expression, but she recognized the broad shoulders and athletic bearing.

“Do you even know how to tell the truth?” he demanded. “Or is lying part of the curriculum in journalism school?”

All the breath rushed out of Amy. She stared as he crossed the space between them and loomed over her, his eyes blazing. “You had to use the kids to further your career—even after you promised me you wouldn’t write about them.”

“Now wait just a minute!” She drew herself up as tall as possible, which brought her eyes level with his chin. “I didn’t use any names in my article without permission from the people I interviewed.”

He snatched the paper from the counter and stabbed a finger at her article. “‘A boy defends his family’s honor with his fists.’ You don’t think everyone reading this will know who that is?”

“If they already know, what does it matter if I write about it?”

“There’s a difference between gossip and having it confirmed in black-and-white.” He raked a hand through his already-mussed hair. His cheeks were flushed and his breathing was labored. The strong emotion on behalf of the kids impressed her, even if it was misguided.

“Have you talked to Chase?” she asked. “Is he upset?” She felt a stab of guilt. The young man had trouble enough; she’d thought her words were sufficiently vague not to cause him more.

“Of course he’s upset. And what about Larissa Hughes and Mike Braden?”

“Who’s Larissa Hughes and Mike Braden?” Amy turned a questioning look to Charla, who shrugged.

“They eloped after the prom. Their parents are devastated.” Josh picked up the paper and read again. “A girl dances with the young man who will be her life partner.”

“I don’t know anything about anyone eloping,” Amy said. “I wrote that because Sandra Ogleby told me she met her husband, Bart, at their prom. They married four years later.”

“I didn’t even know about Larissa and Mike, and I know everything,” Charla said.

Josh glared at Charla and she backed away. “I’ll just leave you two alone,” she said, and slipped into the back room.

Amy turned to Josh again. “You’re blowing this all out of proportion,” she said. “If you actually read the article all the way through, you’ll see that I was very careful not to name names or give details. The article is about the prom as a tradition and rite of passage. I have quotes in there from the mayor and the police chief and some of the chaperones and other people in town about their proms. Clay Westerburg got into a fight at his prom, too—did you know that? That line in my article might have been referring to him.”

He pressed his lips together and stared at the paper on the counter between them.

“Admit it,” she said. “You’ve let the one article I wrote about you color your opinion of everything else. You don’t like me, so you don’t like my work.”

His eyes met hers and the intensity of his gaze stole her breath. “I never said I didn’t like you. I don’t like what you do.”

It would be so easy to lose sight of the real issue here, under the heat of that gaze. But she wouldn’t let some petty physical attraction—a simple biological response of a woman to a man—get in the way of standing up for herself. It had taken her so long to learn to put herself first, she couldn’t lose sight of that now. “My writing is part of me,” she said. “When you insult it, you insult me. How would you feel if I said you were a lousy teacher or an awful coach?”

“You did say I was a lousy coach.”

So much for thinking he had any sort of tender feelings for her. His only concern was his own grudge. “I did not. I questioned your qualifications—I never questioned your methods or your record.”

He looked away, saying nothing.

“Oh, now you’re doing that man thing, where you get all silent and refuse to answer me. Because, of course, I don’t deserve an answer. Brent used to try that, too, and it made me furious.”

“I am not your husband.”

“Thank goodness for that.”

“Children, your shouting is scaring away customers.” Charla emerged from the back room and regarded them with the attitude of a scolding playground monitor.

“I’ve said all I have to say.” Without another look in her direction, Josh turned and stalked away.

Amy stared after him. Her heart pounded and she was breathing hard, as if she’d just raced up a flight of stairs.

“You two just bring out the best in each other, don’t you?” Charla said.

“I don’t know why I let him get to me.” She hugged her arms across her chest.

“But you do let him get to you. I find that interesting.” Charla gave her a knowing smile.

It was Amy’s turn to end a conversation by turning away, but Charla’s words gnawed at her. Why should she care so much what Josh thought of her and her work? Why did his opinion matter more than anyone else’s?

And why, when she was with him, did she feel more alive than she had since before Brent died?

* * *

F
ROM
THE
COFFEE
shop, Josh headed to the baseball fields for the next to last game of the season against the Paonia Eagles. He needed to focus on baseball and the kids, and forget about Amy. Forget the way her eyes blazed and forget the soft flush of pink that rose in her cheeks as she defended herself against his accusations.

Guilt over his angry words edged out some of his initial rage. Was she right—had his confused emotions over the woman colored his view of her work?

Would anyone but him recognize the line about the class jock as referring to him? Almost certainly not. But why had she taken the words he’d revealed in confidence—as a friend to a friend—and used them in her article?

Was it because she didn’t see him as a friend, only as another interview subject? Was that the real reason for his hurt and anger?

Cody Ellinghaus, the kid who usually covered the games for the paper, had assumed his regular seat next to the dugout. “Guess you’re over your mono,” Josh said.

“Yeah.” Cody pushed his mop of blond hair out of his eyes. “The guys keep giving me a hard time, calling it the kissing disease. I never even kissed anybody to get it.”

“Maybe next time.”

“I hope there isn’t a next time. Mr. Burridge really liked the stories Ms. Marshall wrote while I was gone. He said it was like something you’d read in a big-city magazine. I was afraid he was going to fire me and have her write all the school stuff.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re back covering the games,” Josh said.

“Me, too. Hope the Wildcats win tonight.”

But Cody’s wish didn’t come true. Maybe they were tired from the long season, or maybe, with graduation so close, the players’ thoughts were on plans for the summer and beyond. “Get your heads in the game, guys,” Josh called after the shortstop missed a routine ground ball.

The Wildcats ended up losing, six to nothing. “Hit the showers,” Josh said. “You all don’t need me to tell you how lousy you played tonight. You’ve got one more game to redeem yourselves before the season ends.”

Josh retired to the dugout, ostensibly to make notes about the game, but the boys weren’t the only ones distracted today. He couldn’t get Amy off his mind.

The whole time they’d been arguing, he’d been so aware of her—the curve of her cheek, the soft, floral scent of her. His physical response to her distracted him, even as her words aggravated him all the more. Why did she, more than anyone he’d met in a long while, get to him so badly? He’d spent months ignoring the criticism of Rick and others like him—but she’d written one story about him in a small-time weekly newspaper and it stuck like gravel in his shoe.

Chase loped toward him and veered over to descend the steps into the dugout. “Can I talk to you a minute, Coach?”

“Sure, Chase. What’s up?” Josh set aside his clipboard.

Chase picked up a baseball and began kneading it, like an oversize worry bead. “I’m thinking of joining the military after graduation,” he blurted.

Josh couldn’t hide his surprise at this revelation. “I thought you were going to play ball at Western State,” he said

“Yeah...but Western State is so close. Not even half an hour away. I think I’d like to get farther away for a while.”

Been there, done that,
Josh thought. Though his decision to leave had come after college, he’d seen the military as an escape from the strife with his father, too. “Is this about the story in the paper—the one about the prom?”

“No.” A hint of a smile tugged at the boy’s face. “Actually, that was kind of cool. It made me sound like a hero or something.”

So maybe he’d been wrong when he’d told Amy she’d upset the boy. Obviously, Josh didn’t know the kid as well as he’d thought. “What’s happened to make you want to leave?” he asked.

Chase set down the ball, any hint of mirth gone from his face. “Dad’s been drinking again. It’s been...bad.” His eyes met Josh’s and the pain there made the older man ache. “I just think it might be good to step away for a while. And the military would give me money for college later. So what do you think? If you had it to do over, would you go into the army again?” His gaze fell to the hook. “Except for losing your hand. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to do that again.”

“That kind of thing is always a possibility if you’re called upon to fight,” Josh said. “You have to accept that.”

“Well, yeah.” Chase scuffed his cleats against the concrete floor of the dugout. “But do you think the military is a good idea for someone like me?”

“The military can be a great career. And the service needs smart young men like you, but think hard about why you’re doing this. Sure, you can leave your problems behind for a while, but they’ll still be there when you get back.” The army hadn’t improved his relationship with his father any. Most of the time it was as if he’d never left; he was still trying to prove himself to his dad.

“I guess I’ll have to think about it some more,” Chase said. “Can I talk to you again, if I have questions?

“Anytime.” Though he couldn’t tell the boy what he wanted to hear—that he could go away to an exciting adventure in the military and come home to a world where everyone respected him and looked up to him and were on their best behavior. Chase’s dad might sober up for good, and he might not—it was out of Chase’s hands, but the boy probably wasn’t ready to accept that yet. The only thing the military could change was him, and it might not be for the better.

Chase climbed the steps up to the field, and Josh slumped against the back of the dugout. He opened and closed the hook on his hand, watching the mechanical movement as if it was something that wasn’t really a part of him. He’d lost more than his hand in Iraq. He’d lost the ability to trust others. These days he was always second-guessing people’s opinions of him—his dad, the school board, even Amy. He might wear an outer bravado of not caring what other people thought, but the wary looks and negative words wounded him as much as any bullet.

* * *

A
MY
ARRIVED
AT
the high school early on the morning of the science bee to find ten students—four girls and six boys—along with two moms and Josh, milling around the two vans that would take them all to Durango for the day’s events. She recognized some of the students from the prom: Chase Wilson and Heather Prentice, a boy everyone referred to as Mouse, and a few others whose names she couldn’t recall.

“You can ride in the lead van with me,” Josh said, coming up behind her as she snapped off a photo of the kids clustered around the vans.

“To what do I owe this honor?” she asked.

“I want to keep an eye on you.”

“I’ll bet he’d like to keep more than an eye on her,” a tall, black-haired boy with bangs falling into his eyes said.

“What was that, Brian?” Josh asked.

“Nothing, Coach.”

“Brian, you’re riding with me.” One of the mothers ushered the dark-haired boy away.

Amy followed Josh to the other van. “I can interview you while you’re driving,” she said, as she settled into the seat across from him. “Whose van is this?”

“The school’s. They use it for supply runs and short trips like this.” He looked over his shoulder at the assembled students. The two moms had the rest of the kids settled in the other van. “Everybody got their seat belt on?”

Assured that they were all belted in, he started the van and pulled onto the highway.

“So the school board’s okay with you using the van for this trip,” Amy said. The school board meeting had left her with the impression that the school wouldn’t contribute any resources to the effort.