Montana Skies (You, Me and the Kids) (Harlequin Superromance, No 1395) (2 page)

Did they think she hadn't tried that? “Individuality—”

“Is important. Absolutely,” the principal confirmed, evidently sensing the beginning of her parental defense. “But right now and in this small community, Skylar's individuality is a little
too
different. It's frightening to some. Especially after all the news reports of school shootings resulting from teenagers thought to be outsiders.”

Rissa stood, her hands clenched into fists. “You've
profiled
her.”

“We've done no such thing,” the principal argued. “I'm simply relaying to you the thoughts of other parents. Parents who have seen Skylar this past week and are concerned. They've voiced their apprehension to me, and after observing Skylar with the other students, well, it appears the children are projecting the same attitudes in regard to her appearance.”

“Mrs. Mathews, losing a loved one is difficult on anyone,” Mrs. Kline interjected softly. “We understand that, and her last counselor documented Skylar's changes in behavior and personal appearance very well, enabling us to grasp the enormity of what Skylar underwent with the accident and loss of her father. But I'm sure you are aware not everyone retreats behind a mask, and the fact that Skylar has changed so
drastically
in the course of a single year…it only adds to our concern.” She glanced at her husband quickly before focusing on Rissa again. “There are professionals who might be better equipped to help your daughter.”

“She's seen them.” Three-hundred-dollar-an-hour shrinks who knew what they were talking about. Didn't they? “I was told to leave her alone and let her express herself how she wants. To
wait
until she's ready to talk about what happened. She simply needs more time.”

“I don't doubt that's true, and a good idea in theory, Mrs. Mathews, but the reality is we must stand firm. Skylar's behavior cannot be allowed to continue. Violence is unacceptable in our school, and we won't allow Skylar to upset our student body—or harm them.”

 

J
ONAS HAD WATCHED
Rissa Mathews pull onto the highway before he'd walked back to the cruiser and climbed inside. Driving home, his mind remained preoccupied with the beautiful blonde and the information her social security number had revealed.

He didn't need the computer to tell him that New York City was big and bustling with too many people. Too much everything. Crime, poverty, wealth and everything in between. Everything North Star wasn't.

Topping twenty-plus miles over the limit and not carrying her license, he'd had no intention of letting her off with a warning. But the look in her eyes, her expression when she'd told him about the last ticket she'd received, had gotten to him. Who wouldn't have done the same in that situation?

You'll probably find out later she lied.

If that were the case, so be it. But until then, he'd give her the benefit of the doubt and keep an eye on her for future speed violations. Her record showed she hadn't received any drug-related citations, and the standard check for alcohol and drugs turned up nothing. She was clean. Just speeding. Which is why he'd listened to his instincts and let her go. People deserved a break every now and again, and he'd given Rissa Mathews one. Just one. Nothing wrong with that.

Jonas stepped inside his house only to come up short when confronted with Caroline's thunderous expression. His daughter stalked toward him from the kitchen.

“What's wrong?” he asked, the car already parked in the driveway when he'd pulled in giving him a good indication.

“I'm
not
going.” Her mouth flattened into a mulish line.

Jonas glanced over her head to the kitchen beyond before shutting the door behind him. “What is it this time?”

“
Ballet
. It's boring! Dad, please don't make me go.”

“Your grandma likes taking you to new places. You've never been to a ballet before. Maybe you'd enjoy it.”

He watched her cross her arms over her flat chest, then did a double take when he suddenly realized she wasn't so flat anymore. When had that happened?

“You'll go, too?”

“We'll talk about it later.”

“Uh-huh. That's what I figured.”

Jonas ignored Caroline's put-out tone and listened to the sounds of his ex-mother-in-law's weekly visit. The dishwasher was running in the kitchen, the washer and dryer were on in the hall, and the sweeper sat out in the living room.

He frowned. “Did you tell her we'd—”

“Yeah. Do you think she thinks we did anything right?” Caroline rolled her eyes. “The dishes had a film on them,” she informed him sourly, “the clothes are too wrinkled and she saw a speck of dust on the floor.” She shook her head. “Like, how hard is it to clean? It's not calculus.”

Jonas took his hat off and hung it on the peg by the door. “I'll talk to her. Anything happen at school today?”

“No.”

It was the same answer he'd received every day for a while now. The same look. What happened to the little girl who used to burst into the house talking ninety miles a minute?

“There you are. Caroline, why didn't you tell me your father was home?”

His daughter made a face her grandmother couldn't see, and headed down the hall toward her room.

“Dinner's in—”

“I know!”

Marilyn shook her head at Caroline's response. “Jonas, really, you need to take her in hand. She's rude.”

“Trust me, you don't know rude until you've seen and dealt with some of the kids out there.”

“Still, there's no time to waste. She's getting to an age where…”

Jonas tuned out while he sorted through the mail lying on the entry table. Sweepstakes, credit card application, credit card bill, electric bill, mortgage. Marilyn droned on, and he kept flipping. Water bill, eBay flyer—

An acrid scent reached him and he paused, sniffing. “Is something burning?”

Marilyn stopped midrant. “The bread!”

Grimacing, Jonas followed her into the kitchen, and winced when he spotted the smoky haze filling the air.

Marilyn grabbed a pot holder and yanked open the oven door. Smoke billowed out. “I told her to watch the bread. One little thing she could've done to help me, but did she? Now it's ruined.
Ruined!
”

As though waiting for the climactic moment, the fire alarm went off at the height of her cry, and Jonas waved one of the flyers beneath it to clear the smoke.

Caroline reappeared in the doorway. “Grandma, I'm sorry! I forgot the bread.”

“How could you forget? It was one little thing!”

The alarm sputtered, squawking twice more before ending. Jonas tossed the paper aside, opened the patio door and motioned his daughter to his side.

“It's okay, Marilyn. It's not ruined, see? A little black on the bottom. We'll peel it off, and eat the middle and top.”

“Like we always do, right, Dad?”

He chuckled, wondering if they'd hold the record for the most burnt ready-made biscuits if it were ever added up. “Right.”

Marilyn wasn't amused. “It took me all day to make this bread. To prepare it and for it to rise, and—
look
how unappreciative you are!”

“Grandma, I'm sorry I forgot.” Caroline battled back tears until her face brightened. “I know! Maybe we can get you a breadmaker for Christmas.”

“A
what?
” Marilyn's self-pitying expression turned to one of horror.

Jonas squeezed Caroline's shoulder and locked his jaw to keep from laughing—and arguing. Every week the same scene played out in one form or another. If not because of burnt bread, then for spilling something after Marilyn had finished cleaning or not eating themselves sick to prove they wouldn't starve. There was
always
something.

“We're very appreciative,” Jonas murmured, feeling guilty at his thoughts. Since Lea left, Marilyn tried hard to help out. And he was grateful. He just hated feeling like Marilyn's generosity was an anvil held over his head, a reminder that he'd done wrong by not being exciting enough for her daughter to hang around.

“Grandma, we love you.”

“Yeah,” he added when Caroline nudged him. “What would we do without you?”

His mother-in-law's eyes filled with tears and she held open her arms. Glancing at him quickly, Caroline stepped forward into her embrace.

“I love you, too, Caroline. I'm just in a mood today since your grandpa's business trip was extended. All's
forgiven. And I'm so looking forward to our evening out, aren't you? I knew the ballet would make a wonderful birthday gift. Of course, I'd rather it be us, but I understand if you'd like to bring one of your little friends along.”

“Wellll—”

“That's very generous of you, Marilyn. I'm sure Caro would love to invite someone.”

Marilyn smoothed her hands over Caroline's unruly red hair and smiled. “This is going to be so much fun! We'll have to hurry, though. There are only two months left to find an appropriate dress, but I know the perfect color—
pink!
”

“S
TAY HERE
.”

“Why can't I come in? I'm thirsty.”

Rissa ground her teeth together. Her daughter acted four instead of fourteen. “Skylar, I
need
this job. Seth and Grace are being very gracious by letting us stay in the old cabin in exchange for housekeeping help, but we have no expendable income until your father's life insurance check comes through. I'm not buying a soda at double the price we can get it from home.”

“It's only a buck or so.”

“Fine. You want one—pay for it yourself.”

Skylar's black painted lips turned down. “Geez, Mom, get a grip.”

A grip? A
grip!
Staring at the creature who used to be her baby girl, Rissa inhaled deeply and fought the urge to scream until she couldn't scream anymore. Her daughter's long blond locks were gone, chopped short and dyed jet-black in a page-boy cut. Chalky powder hid her skin, and black eyeliner, black blush and black lipstick lined her eyes, cheeks and lips accordingly. A tiny black teardrop adorned her cheek below her left eye. Dressed from head to toe in yet more black, Skylar looked like an extra from a vampire movie.

“We'll discuss your behavior when we get home. I
can't do this now, not when I'm going in there for an interview.”

“It's a freakin' diner. Why do you want to work there, anyway?”

“Watch your language,” she ordered automatically. “And for the record, I don't
want
to wait tables, but since I haven't found a pilot's job yet, what do you think I should do? We have bills to pay or have you forgotten?”

Skylar's eyes widened. “You're blaming
me
for the bills?”

“Only the one you made. Now for the last time, stay
here
.”

“What
ever
.” Skylar slumped in the seat and lifted her booted feet onto the dash, the decorative chains rattling. “It's not like there's anywhere else to go in this stupid town.”

Meaning the mall, the music stores or other forms of entertainment. North Star
had
been a surprise. It remained quite old-fashioned despite the modern conveniences available in the nearby state capital.

Simple was good, though. No mall meant no more surprise shopping sprees. No more thousand-dollar credit card charges racked up by a daughter who had slipped out of the house one morning a young girl and come home a vamp.

Rissa slammed the truck door closed and ignored Skylar's glare. “It's a freakin' diner,” she muttered, using one of Skylar's favorite adjectives. “You've flown in treacherous winds, rescued flood victims and kept your cool while SOBs tried to put the moves on you midair. Waiting tables again will be a breeze.”

Ignoring the voice in her head snickering at her pep talk, Rissa made her way down the block and into the
diner on the corner. It was six-thirty and already the dinner crowd had thinned. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. The ad specified evening hours. Thin was good.

And so were tips.

“Can I help you?”

She pinned a smile to her face and tried not to fidget. “I'm Rissa Mathews. I spoke with Porter earlier today about an interview?”

The older woman nodded, her mile-high hair bobbing up and down in sync with her chins. “Porter, she's here!”

A door separated the kitchen from the counter and dining area, and Rissa jumped when a hand slammed against it. An older man emerged, his bushy eyebrows rising high when he saw her.

Without greeting or comment, he took in her appearance of jeans and a T-shirt, his mouth pursed. Maura had told her to dress casually. Bad advice?

The man glanced at the waitress standing by the cash register. “What do you think?”

“Her looks and newness to town will sure draw 'em in, but…you got any experience, honey?”

“A little. I waited tables in high school.” For three whole days before she got fired for dumping a plate of spaghetti on a patron's head after he'd groped her behind.

“You're hired.” Porter nodded at the waitress. “Charlotte'll get you an apron and things. Be here at five-thirty sharp. You'll stay until we close at ten and then help clean up. Weeknights are slow. We're usually out of here by ten-thirty or quarter 'til. That a problem?”

“I—” Rissa wet her dry lips. “No, not at all.” Except next week she wouldn't have time to pick Skylar up after detention, drive her back to their cabin at the Second Chance and make it back here on time.

Four hours in a car unattended? Her daughter was a walking, talking disaster waiting to happen.

“You don't seem too sure,” the waitress added suspiciously.

“Oh, I'm sure. I want it.” She nodded firmly. After all, it was only a week. “I'll be here. Thank you, Porter…Charlotte. I'll see you tomorrow.” Head held high, Rissa gave them a cheerful wave and left, ignoring her nerves, the sick twist in her stomach and her aching head. But halfway down the block she spied a bench out in front of the barbershop and her body refused to take another step. She dropped down onto the weathered surface and buried her face in her hands, not caring who saw her looking so utterly pathetic. She needed a moment of peace, a chance to regroup.

She'd gotten the job. When added to the fairly steady tips she received by working at the ranch as the temporary housekeeper, and what money she'd managed to put back from liquidating everything before their move, she should be able to make all her payments with some creative timing. But while the job ended one worry, she dreaded the night—the next week—to come.

The Klines' comments resonated in her head, and a self-indulgent moan sounded, followed by the sharp sting of tears.

Larry, what happened to her? What did you do?

Blinking away the moisture, Rissa shoved herself to her feet and retraced her steps to the truck, her gaze zeroing in on Skylar once she was close enough to make out her daughter's dark form.

Before her Goth change, Skylar had looked like the best of both her parents. Her daughter had gotten her blond hair, blue eyes and curvy figure from her and had
taken after her father when it came to his height, bone structure and blinding smile. An anchorman for the local television station, Larry attracted attention with his wide grin and jaw-dropping looks the camera loved. Sadly, it hadn't taken too many trips through the sky flying Larry to and from the special assignments he covered with him murmuring outrageously flirtatious comments into her headset for her to agree to his whirlwind proposal.

They'd been the perfect couple. The one people talked about when they entered a room. But it had all been a sham—looks were deceiving—and even before finding out proof-positive about his affair, she'd suspected his infidelity for years. Nearly from the beginning.

Rissa climbed inside the truck and waited, wondering if Skylar would comment. Seconds passed. Skylar ignored her, didn't ask if she'd gotten the job. Unbelievable. Rissa stabbed the key into the ignition, more than a little tired of Skylar's indifference.

The accident had done some major damage emotionally, she
knew
that, but something had to give soon. Otherwise she feared she'd lose Skylar forever. And a big part of herself.

 

J
ONAS KNOCKED
on Caroline's bedroom door and waited until she said he could enter. She'd already showered and now wore a T-shirt and gym shorts, her long red hair pulled back in a ribbon.

“Didn't we wash your pjs?”

She shrugged. “They're getting too small.”

Already? When he added that comment to what he'd noticed earlier in the evening, he knew he'd been given the perfect opening to discuss…things.

“I, uh, talked with your grandma before she left about taking you shopping.” He cleared his throat, the sound emerging louder than he'd intended. “For some new under—uh…things.”

“Dad, you
didn't!
”

He walked over to stare out the window, easily able to imagine Caroline's face blazing with embarrassment, much like his probably was at the moment. “She'll do fine.”

“She likes
old
stuff. Can't I go by myself?”

“You're too young.”

“I'm almost fourteen!”

Like he didn't know that? Wasn't reminded of it every time he looked at her and remembered the moment she'd been placed in his arms mere seconds after she was born? “If your mother were here—”

“But she's not.” Caroline stomped over to her dresser, her head down. “And I
am
old enough. There's a store by the grocery now, and they have stuff like that. Couldn't you wait in the car while I went in? That would work, wouldn't it?”

He'd forgotten about the little shop that opened up a year ago, The Blooming something. But what did his daughter know about shopping for bras?
What did he know about it?

Jonas ran a hand roughly over his face. “I thought since you and Marilyn had to go look for a dress, you could get some things then.”

“Grandma will order one before we ever get a chance to go shopping. She thinks if she buys things, I have to wear them.” She grabbed a handful of CDs and pulled one from the middle. “Dad, you know how she is, she wants me to wear
pink!
I'll never get a dress I like.” CD
in hand, she stomped back across the room, and the bed squeaked when she flopped on it.

“Whatever you get will look great.”

“Uh-huh. You don't have to wear it and look like a redheaded bag of cotton candy. Everybody knows red hair and pink dresses only work for movie stars.”

He rubbed the muscles in his neck in a poor attempt to ease the tension. The teenage melodrama was getting to him. “Look online for a few dresses you like and then send her some suggestions. Your Grandpa Dave can print them off at work and give them to her.”

“Why can't we do that with the other stuff? Just order something?”

“You'll need to try things on, sweetheart. To, um…get the right size.” Jonas felt his face heat again and cursed silently. There were some things dads weren't meant to discuss with their daughters. That's where mothers came in. Knowing your little girl was growing up and having to follow the process firsthand through underwear sizes was just cruel.

“But if it's wrong, we could send it back and order something else.”

“What about the shipping charges? Sweetheart, the answer's no.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. Disappointment clouded her face, and he sighed. Against his better judgment, he thought of a compromise. “I guess if you really want to go to that store by yourself, I could call and ask one of the saleswomen to help you.”

She covered her face with her hands. “That's even
worse!
”

“Why?”

“
Because!
Everybody knows about Mom leaving us
and if you call for help and I go in to buy
that
stuff, they'll give me those funny looks people give us sometimes.”

He knew exactly which looks she meant. Pity, curiosity. Thoughtless scorn that they'd driven their small-town princess away. Jonas turned to face her and found Caroline watching him. Her gray eyes revealed the same thoughts, the same doubts about herself. Insecurities they'd both gained from Lea's desertion.

“We'll do all right and get things taken care of, Caro. Don't worry.”

Once again she left the bed, but this time she padded over to where he stood, sliding her freckled arms around his waist and laying her cheek on his ribs. Jonas hugged her tight and kissed the top of her head like he had nearly every day since her birth.

“I'm sorry, Dad.”

“For what?”

“That you have to do this stuff. Maybe Mom would've stayed if—”

He squeezed her to silence her. “No, honey. She wouldn't have stayed. Your mom wanted to leave North Star long before we ever got together,
before
she got pregnant with you. Some people are meant to live in small towns, others aren't. It's as simple as that.” He kissed her hair again, then her forehead. “You did absolutely nothing wrong, you hear me?”

She nodded, but the movement lacked substance and belief.

“Sweetheart, no amount of helping around the house or extra good behavior would've changed things. She didn't leave you, honey, she left me.”

“But she didn't leave until after—”

“Trust me,”
he ordered, anxious to drop the subject
before she became upset. “I know what I'm talking about, and you aren't to blame. Now…homework done?”

“Almost.” A heavy sigh left her chest. “I can't believe we get homework on the weekend. It
sucks.
”

He chuckled. “Finish it up tonight then and be done with it so you'll have the rest of the weekend free.” He loosened his grip, but she held tight, her nose pressed into his chest, her forehead hot pink.

“Dad…think maybe we could go to The Blooming Rose tomorrow?” Her words were muffled against his shirt. “Things are kind of tight.”

Which meant she hoped to get her things before school on Monday, with or without help. Jonas sighed and rubbed her back. “I'll take you on my break, how's that?”

“And I can do it by myself?
Please,
Dad?”

“I guess you can't get things too wrong.”

“Really?” She hugged him again. “Thank you!”

“I love you, baby. Don't worry so much about things, okay?”

Caroline nodded, not looking at her dad when she released him and walked over and seated herself on the bed. She grabbed a pillow to hold in front of her, and waited for him to close the door behind him, smiling when he looked through the space one last time before he pulled it shut.

A second passed. Two. Tears filled her eyes, but she didn't let them fall.