Real Cowboys. Roz Denny FoxЧитать онлайн книгу.
next day, Kate rousted Danny from bed early so she’d be at school in the event Trueblood chose to come for a morning meeting, but he didn’t show. Clover got off the bus. Entering the room alone, she shyly crossed to Kate’s desk, where she set a peanut-butter jar filled with fragrant wildflowers.
The gesture and the child’s almost palpable anxiety touched Kate. “Why, thank you, Clover. These are beautiful. Do they grow wild near your house?”
The girl bobbed her head. Kate’s obvious pleasure triggered a sweet responsive smile before Clover spun and skipped to her desk.
Kate hated to bring up the letter she’d sent home, but she needed to know. “Clover, did you give your dad my note?”
“Yes, ma’am.” She sat, but didn’t look at Kate.
“What did he say after he read it?”
Fine black hair hid Clover’s face. “Nothing.”
“Is he picking you up from school today?”
“Uh-uh. I’m riding the bus and Miss Vida’s staying late to fix my supper ’cause Ben’s got a meeting in town.”
Kate closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Do you always call your father Ben?”
Clover shrugged, clearly puzzled. “That’s his name.”
“All right. Not to worry. I’ll write him another note. Or, better, I’ll phone and leave a message.”
The morning reading assignment netted Kate two more drawings from Clover—a dark horse with an oddly trimmed mane and a dog that looked like Goldie. Kate had Clover read out loud. She read about every fifth word, seeming easily distracted.
While the students were eating lunch at tables out back, Kate took a minute to call Ben Trueblood and was connected to an answering machine. “I understand if you’re busy,” she said, rushing to beat the time-out tone. “Perhaps I didn’t convey the urgency of my request to speak with you in my first note. We need to conference ASAP about your daughter.” The tone bleeped, so Kate clicked off, annoyed that she hadn’t repeated her offer to come in early or stay late.
THURSDAY AT SCHOOL was a repeat of Wednesday.
Frustrated, Kate again attempted to impress on Clover that she really needed to meet with her dad. “This is my cell-phone number,” she said, making sure Clover saw her stuff the note in a zip pocket of the girl’s red backpack. “Please tell him he can call me any evening. I’m up late.”
Blinking a couple of times, Clover dashed off to meet the van, leaving Kate with her day’s work—more art. Today there was a likeness of Kate seated at her desk and below it a sketch of the boys playing basketball. The last drawing was of a wizened man bent over a campfire, his features and arthritic hands compellingly lifelike.
If she didn’t see or hear from Ben Trueblood soon, Kate intended to load Danny in her pickup and follow Bill Hyder to Clover’s home. She’d wait for him there.
Kate spent a large part of the day observing Clover. She seemed a happy child, always humming to herself as she flitted about. And flit she did. Simple things caught her attention. Clouds. A fly. Colorful rocks.
The other kids didn’t exactly avoid her, but neither did they include her in play. And for some reason she chose to shadow Danny. Curiously, he let her, probably because she knew a lot about horses—Danny’s greatest love next to calf roping.
As she watched the kids at lunch, it struck Kate that if not for her pretty hair and girlish features, Clover could pass for one of the boys in her slant-heel boots, faded blue jeans and Western shirt.
Clover wasn’t disruptive in class. She listened attentively when anyone, especially Kate, talked. However, small things had her leaving her seat. A ladybug marching across a neighbor’s desk. Oak leaves that blew in and skittered across the floor when Meg Wheeler came in late. And of all things, a honeybee that Clover guided out the classroom window because she said its family was waiting outside.
Clover’s verbal skills were fine for her age and she gave detailed answers to the questions Kate asked. But she stubbornly chose not to do written assignments and she only read a handful of words on a page. Kate didn’t get it. The kid was an enigma. And so was the elusive dad, whom Danny pronounced “real cool.” According to Danny, buckaroos, as Clover called her dad and his crew, were the greatest because they lived in tepees on the range. They did nothing but ride horses, herd and brand cattle.
Kate didn’t share her son’s admiration for the man. Clover was a beautiful child who had somehow fallen through a huge crack in the education system and it was Kate’s job to see that her student got the help she needed.
Frustrated, Kate left a terse message saying that if she didn’t see him Friday, she was going to call the district superintendent’s office about his child. “I understand what it is to be a working, single parent. I’ll be at school until six o’clock.”
Danny overheard the last part of her call. “Are we staying late again tonight? If we stay till six that means I’ve gotta feed and exercise Flame in the dark.”
“Not tonight, Danny. I’m ready to go home now. Tomorrow, bring a book along to read. If Clover’s dad spends long hours out on the range, it’s up to me to remain flexible so that he and I can meet.”
“You said Clover wasn’t in trouble. So why do you need a meeting?”
“Danny, I can’t discuss another student with you, and I’m sorry you have to stay with me. You know, if Clover’s dad makes this meeting, you’ll have to sit in the truck until he and I finish talking. Our meeting is confidential.”
“Br-oth-er! You think I can’t keep a secret? I was with Mimi when she bought Pawpaw that fringed leather jacket for Christmas, and I didn’t tell.”
“This is different, honey. All students and their families have a legal right to privacy.”
“Not me. You’re my teacher and my mom. You know everything there is to know about me.”
Kate couldn’t resist teasing as she hugged him. “But you’re perfect, Danny.”
He wiggled out of her arms and delivered an eye roll like only ten-year-old boys could. However, he helped her collect her papers without being asked before they locked up.
FRIDAY THE KIDS WERE ANXIOUS to be off for the weekend. “Are you going to assign homework?” asked tall, lanky Ron Quimby.
“I prefer not to assign weekend homework. Tests I give will be on work you should be covering during class.” Kate couldn’t help glancing at Clover. She hadn’t completed any class assignments this entire week. Well, that wasn’t true. She’d done her math.
Last night, Marge Goetz had dropped by with a welcome casserole and Kate had been dying to ask the older woman about Clover’s father but didn’t feel she’d been at her job long enough to probe for such information. After Marge had left, Kate had looked up dyslexia in a teaching textbook. Kate wondered if that was Clover’s problem. But the text said a dyslexic child would have difficulty with reading, spelling and numbers, so that didn’t describe Clover.
Class ended in a stampede out to catch the bus.
“Danny, I’m going to grade papers,” Kate told her son. “Will you go see if anyone left sports equipment out on the playground?”
“Okay. Why do we hafta stay late every night? I want to ride Flame. Why doesn’t Clover’s dad show up?”
“I’ve no idea.”
Kate spent a half hour going over the day’s work. From the sporadic thump on the back wall, she knew Danny had gotten sidetracked shooting baskets.
At the sound of footsteps, Kate’s head shot up. In walked the most arresting man she’d seen in Lord only knew when. He was lean, not too muscular and oozed masculinity. He wore narrow-legged