problem.”
Maybe it was quilting night, Brett reasoned as he headed across the dark field, flashlight in hand. Or maybe she had a date. On a Thursday? Probably not. Maybe she was still working. That seemed the most reasonable answer, even if it was going on seven o’clock.
Claire pulled into her driveway just as Brett rounded the rear of her trailer. He turned off the flashlight and thought about disappearing when she got out of her car, but then noticed that she was looking…rough. Her white blouse and her face were smeared with a dark substance, which he hoped wasn’t blood. It was hard to tell in the fluorescent glow of the yard light. And her skirt was ripped up the side.
Alarmed, he stepped out of the darkness, his movement obviously startling her, and then he saw to his relief that the stains were not blood.
“What are you doing here?” she asked with a remarkable amount of dignity, considering the fact that she was green.
“Regan called. She was worried about you.”
“Oh, that’s right. I was supposed to—” She broke off and frowned at Brett. “Well, thanks for checking on me. I’ll give her a call.”
“You want to tell me what happened?”
She shook her head. “No. I think I’ll employ that we-need-to-keep-our-own-space rule you invented.”
“Suit yourself.” His mouth tightened as he fought with himself. She was vertical, obviously not hurt—physically, anyway. He’d love to know how she’d gotten smeared with green gunk, but it was none of his business. Still…“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” she said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me?” She walked past him into her house, the tear in her skirt exposing a lot of leg as she disappeared. The door closed with a thump.
Brett stared at it for a moment, then turned his flashlight on again and started back across the field.
This was not going to be a restful school year.
CHAPTER FOUR
A GROAN ESCAPED Claire’s lips as she saw her reflection in the living-room mirror. She was green.
How had Brett kept from laughing? Or asking more questions?
She blew out a breath that lifted her short bangs, and headed toward the bathroom, where she cranked on the hot water and stripped off her ruined clothing.
Claire had made a career out of trying not to let problems bother her—instead, she let them bother Regan. Regan was a caretaker by nature, and Claire was more than happy to let her sister smooth out the wrinkles in her life. At least until that unhappy day when Regan had moved from Las Vegas to Wesley, and suddenly Claire had found herself dealing with her issues on her own. But to her amazement, after a few false starts and many long phone calls, she had done all right.
She wasn’t going to tell Regan about this escapade. Not just yet, anyway. She braced her hands on the sink and let her head droop as she waited for the water to warm up.
Reaction was setting in. Anger. Bewilderment. And a grudging appreciation for Ashley’s style of revenge. The kid was good. Now, Claire would have to be even better.
BRETT PACED THROUGH his house. He was supposed to be finishing his math, since it was due the next day, but he also had some work to do in his living room. He’d torn out the existing floor and was down to subfloor. There were bundles of interlocking hardwood flooring sitting there, and they weren’t going to lay themselves.
Algebra or flooring? He headed for his computer. When a guy felt like doing flooring, it probably meant he was avoiding something that needed his attention more.
Brett had figured it was going to take some work to bring himself up to speed in his studies, but he hadn’t realized just how much he’d forgotten, or at the very least, misplaced in his brain. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t used math throughout his adult life, calculating animal dosages, fencing footage, acreage, amounts of feed. But somehow, that came easier than solving for X.
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