Military Grade Mistletoe Page 7

  “It’s not like I could sleep, anyway.” Harry’s hands stopped their awkward petting and settled against the ribs of her chenille robe long enough for her to feel their warmth seeping through the layers of cotton and flannel. His voice was a growly whisper at the crown of her head. “Thought I’d put my time to good use. Those boot tracks worried me enough that I wished I’d run a security check like this before I left. Felt guilty that I hadn’t. It was so late I didn’t want to wake you. I thought it’d be enough to watch from outside the house.”

  “So I’m not the only one with insomnia. We’re a pair. I toss and turn in bed out of worry, and you sit out in the cold out of guilt.”

  His nose rubbed against her temple as he breathed in deeply. Was he sniffing her hair? Why not? Standing here, she’d been memorizing the scent of his clothes and skin. His fingers curled into the back of her robe, pulling it tight across her back for a moment, as if he wanted to hold on tighter but didn’t dare, before he released her and backed away. Filled with static electricity, a few wisps of her hair clung to his sweater like tiny, grasping fingers. Before she could smooth them back into place, his hand was there, tucking the wayward strands behind her ear. “Will you be okay now?” he asked.

  She reached up to cup the side of his face. When he tipped his head away from her touch, Daisy suspected it was vitally important that she not retreat. Maybe it wasn’t just shyness, but a self-consciousness about the wounds he couldn’t hide that made him so awkward around her. She brushed her fingertips along his cheek and jaw, noting the rough textures, marveling that she could still feel the warmth and rugged bone structure beneath the stiff ridges of scar tissue there. She imagined Harry had a lot of reasons why socializing and human contact might not come easily for him. “I know you went through something horrible when you were deployed. I’m sorry if bringing up Tango upset you. I know that dog meant a lot to you. You mentioned him in nearly every letter.”

  Harry turned away and opened the door. “I’ll wait on the porch until I hear the dead bolt engage.”

  Clearly, they hadn’t gotten off on the right foot in person. But if he wouldn’t talk to her, she didn’t know how to fix whatever the problem was between them. “I’m sorry if I’ve done anything to—”

  He spun around, leaning toward her with such a hard expression that she backed away a step. “Don’t apologize to me. Ever. If anything, I owe you.” Owe her what? But he wasn’t going to explain that cryptic remark, either. He was already on his way out the door. “Good night, Daisy.”

  “Good night, Harry.”

  She locked both doors and moved to the side window to watch him stride through the snow around the side of the house. A few minutes later, apparently satisfied with his reconnaissance mission, he returned to his truck and climbed inside. She was glad to see he had a cup of coffee waiting for him, and wondered if it was still hot. She wondered if he’d appreciate her brewing up a fresh pot and offering to refill his disposable cup. If sleep was an issue, though, he wouldn’t want more caffeine. And if being with her made him so edgy, he’d probably appreciate her turning off the lights and going back to bed so he could relax his vigil. If she could do that much to thank him for both his service to their country and standing watch here on the home front, she would.

  “Good night, Top,” she murmured before shutting off the Christmas lights. “Come on, boys.”

  Daisy turned off the rest of the lights except for the lamp beside her bed. After she gave each of the dogs a crunchy treat to chew on, they settled into their respective spots on top of her quilt. She draped her robe over a chair, along with her damp slipper socks, and set her glasses aside. Sensing that sleep would remain elusive, either out of fear of the unknown crazy stalking her or curiosity about the US Marine who’d made it his mission to make her feel safe tonight, Daisy dropped to her knees and lifted the eyelet dust ruffle to pull her father’s old metal tackle box from beneath the bed. She sat on the bed, pulling the quilts over her lap and tucking Muffy against her side before opening the box.

  She pushed aside the keepsakes she stored there and pulled out the small stack of letters she’d tied together with a ribbon. Then she propped up the pillows behind her and leaned back to read through Harry’s letters again. She held one close to her face to bring the tight, angular handwriting into focus.

  Dear Daisy,

  Thank you for your letter from 2 May. I hope you are well.

  Not that you asked for my opinion, but one of my jobs here is to correct disruptive behaviors. I wouldn’t let a man I outranked talk back to me, and you shouldn’t let that student talk to you with that kind of language, either. My first instinct would be to shove the jackass young man up against the wall and wash his mouth out with soap. But I suppose your principal and his parents would frown upon that. Are there parents? I had a potty mouth until I got placed with my second set of foster parents. Used to shock the hell out of Hope. (Clearly, I’ve gotten a little lax. If my pen wasn’t about to run out of ink, I’d rewrite this thing so I wasn’t swearing in front of you, either.) But if he’s not learning it at home, he needs to learn it from you. That student needs to respect your command. Take charge.

  I recommend avoiding direct eye contact, not speaking to him unless absolutely necessary, not giving him the attention he’s looking for. That works on the dogs I train when we need them to be quiet. I’m not telling you to treat your students like dogs, but I can see that regular, consistent training in expected behaviors would be beneficial to managing a classroom.

  We’ve had a slow week here. It makes me nervous when things get too quiet. Your letter offered a nice reprieve from the tension. Tango appreciated the dog treats, and I enjoyed the cookies. And no, I didn’t get the two packages mixed up. (Although Tango did actually have some of both. I think he liked the cookies better.)

  Yours truly,

  MSgt. H. Lockhart

  Daisy was in the middle of her third letter when she drifted off to sleep, surrounded by her dogs and watched over by the mysterious Marine who had touched her heart.

  Chapter Five

  It was a good day to be a teacher. But then, Fridays usually were.

  Daisy deposited the holiday-scented hand soap on Mary Gamblin’s desk, straightening the gift bag and Secret Santa card before peeking into the hallway to ensure the coast was clear before dashing across to her own classroom to grab her bag and coat. With the gift delivered, her to-do list at school was done. She locked up her room and hurried down to the teachers’ lounge. She needed to zip in, grab her mail and get out of here for a couple of hours.

  She’d had a busy day, working through lunch with Angelo Logan, dressing up in toga-draped sheets with her sophomore literature class to reenact scenes from Julius Caesar and celebrating a stack of vocabulary quizzes that everyone in her composition class had passed. Despite having such a short night’s sleep, she’d enjoyed a couple of hours of the deepest slumber she’d had in a long time. When she awakened, she’d rolled over onto a pile of letters strewn around her in the bed and on the floor. Remembering the closeness she’d felt reading Harry’s letters, remembering he’d been worried enough about her to keep watch over her house all night, remembering the abundant strength of his arms folding around her, all made her smile. She woke up feeling hopeful, renewed and unafraid to face the day.

  With the light of day, Harry’s truck was gone. But the feelings remained. While coffee brewed and the dogs ran around the backyard, Daisy had unpacked a few more Christmas decorations and hung them around the house. She wouldn’t be putting up a tree until this weekend, but little by little she was getting the rest of the house ready to go for the faculty holiday party. Although she still had no explanation for the snowballs tossed against the side of her house, there had been no more boot prints in her yard beyond Harry’s that she needed to worry about, and Daisy was feeling Christmasy again. For a little whil
e last night, she hadn’t felt as horribly alone as she usually did in that old house. Harry had offered her enough of a reprieve that she could put her imagination to rest and find her fighting spirit again.

  Daisy zipped up her coat and looped her bag over her shoulder, heading down the hallway with a purpose to her step, humming a holiday tune. She was going all out this Christmas, partly because of the party, but mostly because she hated that fear, paranoia and even a little depression were such easy moods to succumb to this time of year. Especially this year, when her mom was celebrating Christmas with her stepfather’s family and her creepy Secret Santa gifts were making December feel like a scary Halloween movie.

  She exchanged a wave with her principal, Ryan Hague, as he locked up his office and headed out. He was probably heading home for a quick bite of dinner before coming back to supervise tonight’s basketball game with a cross-city rival. Daisy smiled, glad she’d taken the time to hang up the white silk ball decorated with plastic mistletoe in the archway leading into her living room. She wasn’t expecting any kissing action herself over the holidays, but Mr. Hague was a newlywed who’d married his second wife over the summer. It would be a fun way to start the Christmas party when he and other staff members arrived with their spouses or dates and she ushered them inside.

  The clicking of her boots on the marble floor slowed as she tried to remember the last time she’d been kissed. The memory of Brock’s dark head bending toward hers while she pushed his sour breath out of her space gave way to an illusory image of Harry Lockhart’s damaged face with all its interesting angles and soulful gray eyes. She didn’t suppose he was a mistletoe kind of man, indulging in silly holiday traditions, but that didn’t stop her from picturing his mouth sliding over hers and those massive arms gathering her up against his chest again. Daisy’s breath caught in her throat and she was suddenly uncomfortably warm inside her coat.

  When had her patriotic pen pal become the stuff of her fantasies? She had a feeling she hadn’t made a terribly good impression on Harry. He seemed to have a hard time relaxing around her. Although he’d been kind enough to check out her backyard, and set up a guard around her house last night, she didn’t have to be psychic to sense the antsy energy coming off him. Without any kind of explanation beyond his obvious injuries or perhaps being an introvert, it was far too easy to suspect that she was what made him so uncomfortable.

  Other footsteps, heavier and moving faster than her own in the hallway behind her, dragged Daisy out of her thoughts. She peeked over her shoulder and saw Bernie Riley’s familiar blue and gold jacket and light brown hair. She nodded a greeting to the tall, lanky man. “Coach.”

  “Gunderson.” He jogged a few steps to catch up and walk beside her. Apparently, he was en route to the teacher’s lounge, too. “You coming to the game tonight?”

  “I’m working the front gate.” Selling tickets, checking passes from the other school’s staff. “But I’ll try to get into the gym to watch some of it. Are you starting Angelo?”

  “That kid’s my star point guard. Not as tall as his brother. But faster. Smarter on the court, too.”

  Speaking of brothers... She knew Bernie was focused on tonight’s game, but she had to ask, “Did you get my note about Albert?”

  “I did.” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his slacks and chuckled. “So he’s your new pet project, huh? Always trying to rescue somebody, aren’t you.”

  Daisy bristled at the condescension hidden behind his teasing tone. “We need to do the best we can for all our students, not just the star athletes.”

  His long fingers clamped around her upper arm, stopping her. “You’re not implying that I only care about the students who play for me, are you?”

  She had to tilt her head back, way back, for him to see the glare in her eyes as she tugged her arm from his grip. “We’re an academic prep school. We shouldn’t have students who are failing English. We’re going to lose Albert if we don’t do something.” She wasn’t fond of being grabbed like that, but for a man with Coach Riley’s ego, perhaps she’d be smarter to make this request about him. “You know how much Albert loves basketball. He respects you. If you encouraged him to—”

  “Did you ever stop to think that maybe you were the problem?”

  “Me?” Daisy rocked back on her heels, as surprised by the accusation as she’d been to feel his hand on her arm. “What do you mean?”

  Bernie shrugged, his gaze checking up and down the hallway before landing on her. “Some of those boys—they’re young men, really—aren’t comfortable being in your class or working one-on-one with you because, well, they have a crush on you.”

  “Impossible.” How could they? She was more than a decade older than the teenagers. She made them write nearly every day, and most of the novels she taught weren’t on any high schooler’s must-read list. “Did one of them tell you that? Miss Wadsworth is younger than I am. Prettier, too.”

  “Yeah, but you’re friendlier, funnier. You’ve got that cool hair vibe going.” He flicked at a strand of her hair. “Wasn’t this red last year? And you were a blonde when I met you. Like my Stella. The kids like that kind of stuff.”

  “I have never encouraged any one of them on a personal level. When it comes to teaching I have never been anything but professional with my students.” She was appalled to hear that she was any part of the school’s gossip mill. “There has never been one complaint filed against me.”

  Bernie’s hands were up in surrender and he was grinning again. “Hey, I’m not accusing you of anything. But when you’re a walking hormone, it doesn’t take much for a kid to think he’s in love with somebody who smiles at him or gives him a good grade. You should hear some of the questions I get in health class.”

  “About me?”

  “About women.” He arched his brows in a wry expression. “And sex.”

  No. Sex and Ms. G should not be anywhere together in a sentence where students were concerned.

  “You think Albert has a crush on me?” Was that why he’d dropped her class? Or was that the explanation for those sick gifts she’d been receiving? Could the beheaded elf and other disturbing mementos be Albert Logan’s idea of expressing his feelings for her? Or expressing his frustration that she didn’t return his feelings?

  “I don’t know. The boys don’t usually talk about specifics.”

  If there were some misplaced emotions going on, she shouldn’t try to help Albert personally. But that didn’t mean she was giving up on helping the young man succeed. “Encourage him to talk to another teacher, then. You could help him.”

  Bernie took a step back, shaking his head. “Whoa. I’m not an English teacher.”

  “Even if he starts turning in his assignments, it’ll raise his grades. You can teach him responsibility, can’t you?”

  Bernie considered her request for a few moments, scratching at the back of his head before replying. “I could use his height back on the team. But I’m so busy this time of year.”

  Daisy took half a step toward him, encouraged that he would consider her request. “Would you at least promise to talk to him?” When he nodded and turned toward the faculty lounge again, Daisy fell into step beside him. “And if you do find out that he’s got the hots for me, will you please remind him that I will never be available to a student in that way. It’s not just school policy, it’s my policy.”

  Bernie reached over her head to open the door. “I’ll sit him down and we’ll have a chat.”

  “Thank you.” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the animated conversation inside. Eddie Bosch was regaling a couple of their coworkers with a story while Mary Gamblin ran off copies of worksheets and Carol Musil sorted through the catalogues in her mailbox. They were laughing at the light-up tie Eddie had gotten from his Secret Santa, and lamenting other unfortunate fashion choices they had made over the y
ears.

  So much for making a quick exit. While Bernie joined the conversation, Daisy moved toward the bank of mailboxes, already spying the stack of reworked papers from a student who’d been serving an in-school suspension. She’d tuck those into her bag and go, knowing she couldn’t linger if she wanted enough time to get home to let the dogs out, change into a pair of jeans and get back to school for tonight’s game. Dinner would have to be a hot dog from the concession stand.

  She was sorting through the papers, making sure they were all there, when Eddie came up beside her. “How did that interview go last night? You got a new tenant?”

  Hardly. When the guy had said he’d only move in if she kenneled her dogs or left them outside 24/7, she’d been only too happy to show him the door. “No. But I’m meeting with two more prospects tomorrow.”

  Bernie pulled down a six-pack of sports drinks with his name and a big bow on it from on top of the mailboxes. “Nice.”

  Clearly, he was faring better with the gifts he’d been receiving from his Secret Santa. Daisy braced herself and stuck her hand inside her own mailbox, dreading what she might find today. She breathed an audible sigh of relief when she found no surprise packages, which made her feel good enough to elaborate on her answer to Eddie’s question. “Mr. Friesen liked everything about the place except for me and my dogs. Didn’t think we’d be a good fit.”

  Eddie laughed. “Probably not. But I think you’re on to something, leasing part of that big house. Income property. That’s what they call it on TV. I’m thinking about finishing my basement and renting it out. How much are you asking for rent? I’m curious to know if it’d be worth the investment.”