of a special education teacher if they hadn’t been born into poverty? They would have had the exposure to print and early literacy development, and different experiences to build background knowledge. And it’s not that the parents don’t want to provide their kids with the best start possible, but living hand-to-mouth...” Casey counted things on her fingers. “Food insecurity, illiteracy, lack of education and job opportunities, so many factors, that parents don’t have the time, or the energy, or the resources to read to their children, or provide them with those vital foundational skills. By the time these kids get to kindergarten, they’re already behind in all of those fundamental skills, like vocabulary and phonemic awareness... It’s really sad. Shameful, really.”
When Casey spoke about the kids she worked with in Chicago, her face lit up with excitement. It turned a rather ordinary face into one that was really quite extraordinary.
“You love your job.”
Casey gave him a little smile that was self-effacingly saying, What tipped you off?
“I really appreciate your passion for your work.” Brock seemed like he wanted to reassure her. To validate her. “Kids like my Hannah need teachers who are dedicated, who genuinely care about her success. You’re a hero to parents like me. I mean, the way you redirected Hannah and kept her calm... It was impressive.”
In the low light cast off from the lantern between them, their eyes met and held for the briefest of moments before Brock looked away. His dark hair, threaded with silver near the temple, was slicked back from his long face. His jawline was square, his brows heavy above deeply set blue eyes. When she was a scrawny teenager, and Brock was eighteen, she had thought he was so handsome—and she still did. But all signs of youthfulness had been worn from his face. The wrinkles on his forehead, around his mouth and eyes, were evidence of frowning and stress. This was a man who was under a major amount of pressure—she recognized the signs. She also recognized the signs of a devoted father. Whatever marital problems he was having—and she had heard from her sister that there were many—he hadn’t let them interfere with his dedication to Hannah.
“Well, thank you.” Casey felt her cheeks get a little warm. “I’m glad I could help.”
Hercules picked that moment to sit up, stretch, yawn and then take a large leap off her thigh and onto the blanket.
“Is that a real dog? Or do you have to wind it every morning?” Brock had turned his attention to her teacup-sized poodle that had just made the large leap off her leg onto the blanket.
“Hey! Don’t pick on Hercules!” Hannah scooped Hercules up and kissed him several times. “Though he may be but little, he is fierce!”
“Now it’s getting serious. You brought Shakespeare to the table?” Brock teased her.
Hercules gave a little yap and ran around in a circle.
“A little Shakespeare never hurt anyone.”
“Speak for yourself,” he retorted. “I took a class on Shakespeare in college. Worst semester of my life.”
“It pains me to shift the subject away from Shakespeare, because I happen to be a fan, but I think—” she nodded her head toward her pocket poodle “—he needs a bathroom break. He does have a microscopic bladder, after all—poor baby.”
“Okay.” Brock shook Hannah’s shoulder to wake her. “I think it’s safe to go topside.”
Ignoring the stiffness in her joints from sitting for too long in one position, Casey stood up quickly, shed the blanket, scooped up Hercules and tucked him into the crook of her arm.
She was the caboose, and followed Brock, his daughter and their dog up to the main floor.
“Oh, wow.” Casey walked to the closest window.
The storm had torn through the ranch, littering the yard with large, broken tree branches, overturned equipment and missing shingles from the roof of the barn.
“What a mess,” she said to Brock.
“I’m going to check on the horses.” The ranch foreman shrugged into a rain slicker. “Will you watch Hannah?”
She agreed to watch his daughter, of course. And, once both dogs had the chance to take care of business, Casey and Hannah took their canine companions back inside. It was drizzling outside, and the gray sky was so dreary, but it seemed as if the worst of the storm had finally passed them by.
“Do you have a landline, Hannah?”
Hannah showed her the phone on the other side of the refrigerator. She had periodically tried to get reception with her cell phone while they were in the cellar, without any luck. Now that they were out of the cellar, she still wasn’t having any luck with reception.
Relieved to hear a dial tone when she picked up the receiver, she dialed her sister’s number and silently begged her sister to answer.
“Hello?”
“Taylor! Thank goodness I got you!”
“Casey! I saw Brock’s number on caller ID. I wasn’t expecting to hear your voice, but I’m so glad it’s you! I’ve been trying to get you on your cell phone for hours!”
“I knew you had to be freaking out. I’m sorry—the truck broke down, then the tornado... It’s been a crazy day. How did you fare through the storm?”
“We’re fine—we’ll have to clean up the loose branches in the yard, but it could have been much, much worse. I’m just glad that you’re okay,” her sister said. “I didn’t want you to drive all of my stuff here by yourself, anyway. And you said the truck broke down?”
“Small fire in the engine, yes.”
“Ca-sey! I knew it was a bad idea!”
Casey heard the sound of her niece crying in the background. Penelope had been born premature and was prone to ear infections. She didn’t say anything to her sister, but Taylor sounded exhausted.
“Tay—I wanted to do it, so I did it. I’m fine. Brock happened to show up at an opportune time, so no harm done.”
There was a pause on the end of the line.
Then Taylor said, “I was wondering how you wound up with Brock.”
When her sister said her brother-in-law’s name, there was an underlying dislike in her tone. Casey knew from many conversations with her sister that Brock and her new husband, Clint, had a long-standing fractured relationship. From what she understood, Clint didn’t like Brock any more than Brock liked him. And the only glue that bound them together was Hannah.
“He kept me safe. And he’s been really nice to me.”
“Well.” Her sister seemed reluctant to give Brock a compliment. “That’s good at least.”
Casey smiled at Hannah, who was sitting at the table with an iPad while Lady took her position at Hannah’s feet.
“And I’ve had a chance to make friends with Hannah,” she said. “I hear my niece. How’s she doing?”
“She’s
