had died of cancer the year before. Since then, her father walked around in a daze, emotionally paralyzed with grief. Butch Doolin used to dote on his only child. But not since he lost his wife. Jerilyn had confided in Tori that lately she wondered if her dad even knew she existed anymore.
Tori went to her and smoothed her thick black hair. “How ‘bout some cheese, whole-wheat crackers and fresh fruit?”
Jerilyn’s wistful expression faded. She giggled. “Ms. Jones, did you ever serve a snack that wasn’t healthy?”
“Not a chance.” She took the girl by the shoulders and turned her toward the kitchen.
As they sipped organic cranberry juice and nibbled on sliced apples and rennet-free white cheddar, Jerilyn talked about CJ. “I’ve seen him a couple of times before in the past week, riding his skateboard around Heritage Park. I never thought he’d notice me. But today, he stopped and we started talking.” A dreamy look made her dark eyes shine. “It was so strange, the way we connected, you know? It seemed like we could instantly tell each other everything. I felt so … comfortable with him. And, yeah, he dresses like a skater and he wears his hair long and all, but he’s very smart. He’s fifteen, same as me. He skipped fourth grade, just like I did.”
It was good to hear a little about the boy. Tori’d had no time to ask the pertinent questions before the furious father arrived.
She sipped her juice. “You really like him.”
Jerilyn smiled shyly. “I hope maybe I’ll see him again. He’s going to some expensive boarding school back east in the fall. But even if he stayed here in Thunder Canyon for school, he’d probably end up hanging with the rich, popular kids …”
Tori slid her glass across the table and clinked it with Jerilyn’s. “Uh-uh. Don’t go there. You have no reason to start beating yourself up. You’re every bit as good— and twice as pretty—as any girl at Thunder Canyon High.”
Jerilyn wrinkled her nose. “You say that ‘cause I’m smart and I understand Moby Dick better than most college students.”
“I say it ‘cause it’s true. Your being smart is a bonus.” She ate a strawberry. “I have to admit, though. I can’t help but love a student who stays on top of the reading list and writes a better essay than I can—and though we didn’t have much chance to talk, it definitely seemed to me that CJ liked you.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“Jerilyn.” Tori spoke sternly.
“Yes, Ms. Jones?”
“If I say it, I mean it.”
“Yes, Ms. Jones.” Jerilyn sighed. “You really think he likes me? “
“I do. I really do. And he seemed like a nice boy.”
“I’m so glad you liked him.” Jerilyn beamed.
Too bad his dad’s such a complete jerk, Tori thought, but didn’t say.
“Tall, good-looking, auburn-haired, buttoned-down. Obviously rich. Pushy. And rude?” asked Allaire Traub, who was Tori’s dearest friend.
Tori took the fruit and cheese tray from earlier that day out of the fridge and pulled off the plastic wrap. “That’s him.”
Allaire’s two-year-old, Alex, who sat on her lap, started chanting in a singsong. “Rude, rude, rude, rude …”
“Shh,” Allaire chided. She kissed his dark brown baby curls. Tori set the tray on the table and Allaire gave Alex a slice of apple.
“Apple. Yum,” said the little boy.
Tori slid into the chair opposite her friend. “So … you know him?”
“Well, I know of him.” Allaire rescued Alex’s sippy cup just as he was about to knock it to the floor. She kissed his cheek and commanded adoringly, “Eat your apple and sit still.”
“Apple, apple, apple, apple.” The little boy giggled. And then he stuck the slice of apple in his mouth. He was quiet. For the moment.
Tori prompted, “And his name is …?”
Allaire frowned. “Who?”
“Mr. Buttoned-down, Pushy and Rude?”
“Oh. Right. He’s Connor McFarlane, Melanie Chilton’s brother.”
Tori put her hands to her cheeks. “Of course. I should have known.” Melanie McFarlane had come to town three years ago determined to prove herself to her rich, snobby family. She’d ended up opening a guest ranch and marrying a local rancher, Russ Chilton. “Connor McFarlane. He runs the family empire, right?”
Allaire nodded. “McFarlane House Hotels.” She passed her son an orange wedge. “He’s here for the summer, with his son, Connor Jr.”
“Aka, CJ.”
“That’s right.” Allaire gave Alex his sippy cup—then took it away when he started to pound it on the edge of the table.
“I thought Melanie and her brother didn’t get along.”
“Rumor is they’re trying, you know? Connor’s been taken down a peg since the economy dipped. The way I heard it, McFarlane House had to pull back. A serious retrenchment. They closed a few hotels. The company is holding strong now, but not growing the way it was. And Connor’s personal fortune took a serious hit, though I understand he’s still a long way from the poorhouse. His wife dumped him. And CJ, formerly the perfect son, has been acting out. Melanie suggested that her brother and CJ come to Montana for the summer. Connor’s renting one of those big houses in New Town that all the newcomers built—and then tried to unload when the bottom fell out.”
In spite of herself, Tori felt sympathy rising. “His wife divorced him? “
Allaire nodded. “Pretty much out of nowhere, apparently. Story goes that she met someone richer.”
Tori shook her head. “How do you know all this stuff?”
Allaire lifted a delicate, gold-dusted eyebrow. “To many, I may seem merely a deceptively fragile-looking über-talented art teacher and loving wife and mother. But I also have my finger on the pulse of Thunder Canyon.”
“Because you’re married to DJ,” Tori said with a chuckle.
Allaire shrugged. “You know my husband. He makes it his business to keep an eye on the movers and shakers. Even if they’re supposedly only visiting for the summer.”
DJ Traub ran a successful chain of mid-priced restaurants with locations all over the western states. When he returned to town to stay a few years ago, he’d opened a DJ’s Rib Shack on-site at the sprawling, upscale Thunder Canyon Resort, which covered most of nearby Thunder Mountain. The resort gave Vail and Aspen a run for the money—or it had until the financial downturn. DJ knew everybody and what they were up to.
Alex waved his chewed orange rind. “DJ, DJ, that’s my daddy!”
“Oh,
