was hard at work to fulfill the conditions so they could keep the boys ranch going strong.
Heath’s grandfather, Edmund Grayson, was one of those original residents, and it had been Flint’s responsibility to help find him. Which he’d done, with Heath’s help.
“Coming out for Christmas, I think. And for sure to the reunion in March.” Heath leaned against the fence surrounding the horse corral. “You said you wanted to see me about something?”
Flint pushed back his hat and leaned on the fence beside his friend, looking out over the land he’d come to love, brown grass of December notwithstanding. Then he hitched a thumb toward the barn. “Missing some saddles,” he said, and told Heath what was gone and when he’d last seen them.
As Flint had expected, Heath got into analyzing the situation right away. During his enforced leave from his Texas Ranger job last month, he’d started digging into some of the recent problems in the area. Although he was back at work now, he’d continued to keep an eye on the situation. “You’ve got more valuable saddles they didn’t take, right?”
Flint nodded. “Doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.” He waited for Heath to home in on the ranch boys as suspects. Flint was worried about that, himself. They were the ones who had the most opportunity.
All the more reason Logan shouldn’t be over-involved with them. Flint would have to keep up the effort to recruit more varied after-school friends for Logan.
Heath was rubbing his chin, looking thoughtful. “Could be someone trying to pin a theft on the ranch boys, make ’em look bad.”
Since Heath had only recently overcome his animosity to the boys ranch, his attitude pleased Flint. “Like who?” he asked. “Phillips?” Fletcher Snowden Phillips, local lawyer and chief curmudgeon, was forever criticizing the ranch for its supposed negative impact on property values and attracting new business.
“Could be.” Heath plucked a piece of grass and chewed it, absently. “Could be Avery Culpepper, too. She’s got some pretty strong opinions about the ranch.”
Two of Flint’s least favorite people. “You’re right. Could be either one. Except I can’t figure either of them getting their hands dirty, breaking into a barn and stealing saddles.”
“Good point. Truth is, any lowlife who knows about the ranch might take kid stuff. Because they’d figure we’d blame the boys.”
“Yeah, and those saddles do have some resale value.” And Flint would have to replace them if they weren’t found quickly.
“I’ll take a look around,” Heath said.
As they walked toward the barn, Flint’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out. An unfamiliar number, but local. “I’d better take this,” he said, gesturing for Heath to go ahead into the tack room. He clicked to answer the call.
“Mr. Rawlings, this is Lana Alvarez over at the school.”
Flint stopped. Liking for her musical voice warred with a sense that, whatever Lana Alvarez had to say to him, it wasn’t going to be good. “What’s up?”
“I’m calling to request a conference. Could we set up a time for you to come in to school? I’m afraid there’s a problem with Logan.”
The next afternoon, Lana Alvarez looked at the large school clock and frowned. Her nervousness was turning into annoyance.
Flint Rawlings was late.
“Still here?” Rhetta Douglass, the other first-grade teacher, stuck her dreadlocked head through the door and then walked in. “Girl, it’s four fifteen on a Friday. This place is empty. Go home! Get a life!”
“Parent conference.” Lana wrinkled her nose. If Rhetta only knew how little of a life Lana had, she’d probably laugh...and then invite her over.
Lana and Rhetta had both started as new teachers this year, and they were becoming friends, but Rhetta had a husband and twin three-year-old sons. She didn’t need Lana horning in on her family time.
Rhetta put down her bags, bulging with student work and supplies, and came over to perch on the edge of Lana’s desk. “Who schedules a conference at four fifteen on the one day we’re allowed to leave early? You better look out, or I’m going to sign you up for Cowboy Singles-dot-com.”
Waving a hand back and forth and laughing, Lana leaned back in her teacher’s chair. “Not going there. And I’m about to leave. I didn’t schedule the conference for four fifteen. The parent is—”
At that moment Flint Rawlings appeared in the doorway, taking off his hat and running a hand through messy blond hair. “Sorry I’m late.” His well-worn boots, plaid shirt and jeans proclaimed he’d come straight from the ranch.
Rhetta raised an eyebrow at Lana. “On second thought, you may not need that website after all,” she murmured, and headed over toward her things. She waved at Flint as she walked out the door.
Lana crossed the room to greet Flint, hoping he hadn’t heard that Cowboy Singles remark. “Come in, Mr. Rawlings.” She led the way back through the classroom to the teacher’s desk up front.
Although she’d already put an adult-sized metal folding chair beside her desk, anticipating Flint’s visit, it didn’t seem large enough for the rugged rancher. Maybe it was the fact that she was used to males of the first-grade variety, but Flint Rawlings seemed to overwhelm the room by his very presence.
“Thank you for—”
“I’m sorry about—”
They both stopped. “Go ahead,” Lana said, gesturing for Flint to finish.
He shook his head. “Nothing important. It’s just, we had a little episode up at the ranch. That’s why I’m late. If you need to reschedule, it’s fine.”
It sounded like he wanted her to reschedule. Really? Wasn’t he concerned about his son? “I think the situation is important enough that we’d better discuss it now.”
“That’s fine, then. What’s going on?” He propped a booted foot on one knee and then set it down again. Like he was trying to get comfortable, or...
He wiped a bandanna across his forehead, and understanding struck Lana. He was nervous! The manly Flint Rawlings was sweating bullets in the classroom of his son’s first-grade teacher.
It was a phenomenon she’d seen in her previous job, too. Lots of parents had anxiety around teachers, usually a result of bad childhood experiences or just excessive worry about their children. Whatever was the case with Flint, the realization siphoned off some of her annoyance.
She crossed her legs, folded her hands and faced him. “So, we had some trouble with Logan yesterday.”
“What sort of trouble?” He raised his eyes from the floor—or had he been looking at her legs?—and frowned. “If it was disrespect—”
“Not exactly. Hear me out.” She picked
