Hidden Hills (3 page)

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“This is getting old.” Jake took a deep breath before starting up the flight of granite steps in front of the stately old building. It had taken some juggling, but he'd managed to shift things to make the three o'clock meeting.

He'd made more trips to the principal's office since his boys had started school than in all the years he'd gone there himself. Not only had the building remained the same, but so had the lady in charge, and he knew from experience she didn't like to be kept waiting. He glanced at his watch before opening the door — ten minutes early. That should make her happy.

Bruce sat alone in the outer office, his chin buried deep in his collar and a worried frown marring his lovable face. Jake eased down beside him, placing a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder just as he'd done years ago, for the kid's mom when she'd sat in this spot.

The bell rang, dismissing school for the day, and children of all ages came pouring into the tiny room, shoving their way to the single phone on the desk. Jake felt he would drown in the noisy pint-sized whirl of humanity.

He caught a back-sided glimpse of a woman with long auburn hair leaving the room just as his name was called. She was tall, like the cashier at the grocery store, and dodged backpacks with the grace of a dancer. It might have been her, or maybe the woman from the Pizza Plate? After thinking about it a moment, he dismissed the idea. Those little girls weren't old enough to cause trouble.

“Mr. Weatherman,” repeated the secretary. “Mrs. Ruff is waiting.”

Jake held Bruce's shoulder as they worked their way through the throng of kids. He glanced down at the boy when they reached the closed door. Something wasn't right. For a kid in trouble, Bruce was suddenly showing a remarkable lack of fear.

“You're late, Weatherman!”

“No way,” he replied, face to face with the woman who'd terrified him as a kid. “I had trouble getting through the delinquent pen.”

Referring to the outer office by its old name would have gotten a chuckle from most people, but not this woman. The situation called for charm and tact, but Jake was fresh out of both. He forced a smile.

“How's it going?”

“Could be worse,” she said, tossing her glasses on the desk while getting right to the point. “Let's have a seat and hash out Bruce's latest problem.”

The woman sounded tired, but so was he, and there was a load of paperwork waiting in his truck to be dealt with tonight. “Bruce says he's been accused of hitting another student in the hall.”

Instead of answering him, she pinned Bruce with a cold stare. “Is that what happened?”

“I was just getting a drink of water.”

“But you admit you were in the hall,” she continued.

“Like I just said, I was…”

“Did you hit Brandon Hunter in the eye?

“Why would I hit him? He's bigger than me.”

“He's got a point there,” Jake commented for the record.

“True,” she conceded, looking at Jake for the first time. “But Brandon has a black eye, and he swears Bruce gave it to him.”

Jake knew the Hunter kid. The only way Bruce could have reached his eye was if he'd stood in a chair. “Anyone else in the hall when the fight supposedly happened?”

“Only one girl, and she claims she didn't see anything.”

“Maybe she was too far away.” Jake said it as a reminder. The water fountain could be seen from anywhere in the hall. “If she didn't see anything, maybe it's because nothing happened.”

The principal rocked back and forth slowly, fingertips pressed together so tight her hands were shaking. “I see your point.”

It appeared as if thirty years of dealing with kids was taking its toll on her nervous system. He could have been more sympathetic to her case had he not been where his son was now.

Long lashes framed the blue eyes gazing up at him as if to say, “It's not always me,” and he was inclined to agree with the boy. It boiled down to one kid's word against another, and he was beginning to wonder why he was here.

“Anything else?”

She scribbled a few words on a notepad before looking at Bruce again. “There was a frog in the salad bar at lunch on Friday. Would you know anything about it?”

“I don't eat salads.”

She chucked her pen. “I didn't think so.”

Jake rose from his chair. They'd wasted enough time. As far as he was concerned, the meeting was over. “Are there any other problems I should know about?”

“Not firsthand, but his teacher has sent a couple of notes home you've not responded to.”

He nodded. They'd finally reached the heart of the matter. “Son, you want to tell me about those notes?”

Bruce squirmed. “Wasn't nothing important.”

“I'll be the judge of that,” he said, then turned to the principal. “I'd like to talk with his teacher if she's available.”

“Ordinarily you would have to make an appointment,” she said, clearly satisfied justice was finally being served on the boy. “But in your case, she's been waiting for you.”

Jake's meeting with Bruce's teacher was more to the point. The boy had missed homework assignments, disrupted the class, and last but not least, had generally poked his nose where it didn't belong.

“Son, you're lucky you weren't expelled,” he said, after they'd reached the truck.

“Aw, Dad—”

“Don't ‘aw, Dad' me.” He flipped the radio off as fast as Bruce had turned it on. “You're grounded.”

“But—”

“And who was the girl in the hall?”

“Her name's Becky. She's just a little kid.”

“What's her last name?”

Bruce shrugged. “I don't know. She just started this year.”

“She pretty?”

“Aw, Dad. She's just a baby!”

“Babies don't go to school.”

“You know what I mean. She's not big.”

Jake let it slide. The boy was in enough trouble without looking for more.

Arriving home, the first thing he noticed was the open windows in the house next door and an old hatchback in the drive. The place had come alive.

“Look, Dad!” Bruce cried, coming out of his sulk and seatbelt at the same time. “The sign's gone!”

Jake glanced back, but his view was blocked. He thought of red curls as he pulled around to his back door.

“I guess Maggie was right about the house.” He tried to imagine what life would be like raising girls instead of boys. Chances were he wouldn't have spent the last hour in the principal's office because of a black eye.

Bruce bounced around. “You mean the girl from Saturday night?”

The kid's excitement warmed his lonesome heart, and he felt a renewed pride in the boys. Okay, so maybe they were a handful. He wouldn't have it any other way.

“She said it's her new home.”

“Awesome!” Bruce hit the ground running and never looked back.

Jake wasn't as enthused, gathering his invoices. He glanced up and saw Maggie waving from an upstairs window with Andy and Jeremy making faces behind her back. Smiling at the threesome, he thought about introducing himself to the girl's mother, but the weight of the folder in his hand reminded him that he was wasting time. Returning the wave, he went inside alone to get started.

It had been one of those days when he wished he could punch a time clock instead of worrying about making payroll and competing with the larger stores. He liked staying behind the scenes leaving Sara, his mother-in-law, to deal with customer complaints. Unfortunately, she'd been on a four-day buying trip in Atlanta, so he'd had no choice but to smooth the ruffled feathers himself. High maintenance women were a pain in the neck.

He'd grown up on the farm in the shadow of his older brothers. Their parents had believed if they wanted to be happy, they should each follow their own dreams. His included degrees in business management, marketing, and Betty Barlow — the girl next door.

It seemed he and his brothers spent much of their childhood rescuing her from angry cows, swollen creeks, and the occasional bully. When ninth grade rolled around, Betty, the tree climbing tomboy with a passion for trouble, warped into a fashion-conscious girly-girl. A year later she stole his heart and never gave it back.

The week after he'd left home for the university, she'd opened a little consignment shop in their hometown of Reader, Alabama. By the time he'd finished college, Betty's Hole in the Wall had gone from consignment to first-quality women's wear.

Instead of moving to Birmingham or Atlanta like most of his friends, he'd come home to Reader and married Betty. The next eleven years had been the happiest of his life, with his world revolving around Betty and his boys. Together they grew the business to include children's apparel and changed the name to Bett's, because she'd thought it sounded more sophisticated.

He'd thought seriously about selling out after Betty died, but it had been her dream, so he kept the store and poured himself into making it grow. Now they were in the process of opening a men's shop in the new Four Corners Mall near the Interstate. It had been a risky gamble with the slow economy, but it kept the lonely nights from driving him insane.