Page 4 of Stirring Up Trouble
As much as it irritated Gavin to get phone calls from the vice principal, it sure beat the day he got called to pick Bree up at the police station. “Still. Both of your so-called friends were happy to say you knew what they were up to when they stuck those lipsticks in your backpack.” Thank God for the security footage, which clearly showed she’d been unaware of the other girls’ actions.
“Like I said, it was a misunderstanding.” She clapped her mouth shut, par for the course at this point in the discussion. Gavin had tried no less than a thousand times to get her to talk about it, but Bree never opened up. He’d spent weeks afterward alternating between being fearful for her future and highly pissed off at her lack of good judgment.
They’d ended up moving to more rural and definitely safer Pine Mountain less than a month after they’d walked out of the police station.
“I’m all ears if you want to clear the air.” Gavin knew she’d probably shoot him down yet again, but still the offer came out anyway. Wearing her down wasn’t exactly how he wanted to go, but at this point, he was nearly at the end of his rope. Bree gripped the sides of her jacket hard enough to blanch her knuckles, an odd, impossible-to-place expression flickering over her face.
“All the kids here think you’re stupid if you don’t ski.”
“You want to learn how to ski?” What the hell? Thirteen-year-old girls should really come with a manual. “Is that what this is about?”
“No,” she shot back, her rapid-fire blinking making it impossible for him to meet her eyes. The odd expression was gone from her face, painted over with an angry coat of frustration. “God, you just don’t get it!”
He clung to his reserve like it was a life raft on raging seas. “You’re not really helping me here, Bree. What does skiing have to do with you cutting English class?” Desperate, he sifted through a handful of possible parallels, each one more absurd than the last.
“Just forget it.” She huffed out an exaggerated breath, angling her face away. Damn it, this was impossible. Maybe if he gentled his voice, they’d at least get somewhere.
“I can’t forget it, Bree. You’re cutting classes and failing English. If you need help, we can get you a tutor, but we’re not going to fix this unless…”
“I don’t need a tutor! And you can’t fix this. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
The words flew out before he could stop them, low and quiet. “Because I promised Mom I’d take care of you, that’s why.”
Bree froze, mid-glower, her expression slamming shut. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I hate this. I hateyou.”
Before Gavin could respond, Bree was gone, just a blur of olive drab and surly attitude whooshing down the narrow hallway toward her room. The tooth-rattling slam of her door a moment later punctuated the silence with a rude clap of wood on wood.
“Glad we had this little chat,” Gavin muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Part of him wanted to go after Bree, to sit her down in a chair and wait out her anger with methodical precision so they could just deal with this and start moving on. But the more he tried, the tighter-lipped and more defiant she got. Even though she was no longer hanging out with a bad crowd, she was still toeing a dangerous line. If he couldn’t figure out a way to get through to her, it was only going to get worse. He needed a way to reach out to her, some kind of bridge between them that they could both cross without stomping their feet.
Of course, the best shot he’d had at bridging the gap and having the family he’d always wanted had left him just shy of the altar.
“Knock, knock.”
Gavin’s head jerked around even though the voice coming from behind the storm door was gentle and familiar. “What? Oh…sorry, Mrs. Teasdale. Come on in.” He waved the kind, elderly sitter past the storm door, dodging her crinkly-eyed look of concern with a stiff smile.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, dear. You must’ve been off in your own little world. Is everything all right?”
The irony smacked against his ears, but he held his ground, determined not to let it get to him. “Absolutely. Bree is in her room. She’s had a bit of a rough day.”
Mrs. Teasdale bobbed her silver-gray head in a knowing nod. “Well, don’t you worry. I’ll make a nice cup of hot cocoa and go check up on her. See if maybe she feels like talking this time.”
Gavin exhaled a slow breath as he scooped up his keys and said good night to Mrs. Teasdale. As he drove toward the restaurant, he found himself praying harder than ever for that bridge.
If he didn’t find a way to reach Bree soon, he was going to drown trying.
2
“Hey! I was starting to think you’d forgotten me.” Sloane softened the accusation with a playful smile as she rose from her plush seat in the reception area. Morton House Publishers didn’t do anything halfway, and the gorgeously appointed offices served as case in point. Belinda flashed a smile as she took Sloane’s hands and airily kissed both of her cheeks.
“You’re a one of a kind, sweetheart. Nobody who meets you ever forgets it.” She gestured to her office, already beginning to glide down the hall in a blur of ash blond and stylish navy blue. “Sorry I’m running behind. Things have been crazy, as usual. Here, let’s make room for you.” Belinda scooped up a foot-high pile of galleys from her client chair, and Sloane had to laugh.
“And I thought my workspace was a mess.” She dropped into the chair as Belinda moved a thick stack of advanced reader copies from her own seat.
“Controlled chaos,” Belinda said with a mischievous smile, although it didn’t last. She tapped a folder on her desk with one perfectly manicured hand before sliding a handful of papers from beneath the cover. “Listen, sweetie. We need to talk about this proposal, and I’ll tell you the truth. The news isn’t good.”
The back of Sloane’s neck prickled as Belinda’s words registered in her brain. “Okay.” Come on. How bad could it be? She’d written three sexy bestsellers, for God’s sake. They’d just walked past framed pictures of her book covers in the hallway.
“I hate to say it, but I just don’t love the small-town vibe you want to go with. We’ve branded you as an author who writes about these exotic places and the exotic men that go with them. Your readers are expecting that, honey.” She paused for another tap-tap on the proposal in front of her, this one accompanied by a frown. “They want hot Sven, the ski instructor from the Swiss Alps, notSmall Town, Big Love. And I’ve got to say, I’m with them.”