River's Return (River's End Series, #3) Read online

  “Are you saying Charlie is actually having school trouble?”

  Her mouth tightened and relaxed. “Yes, I’m actually saying that. Do I have your attention now? Do you think you could grant me fifteen minutes to listen to my concerns for your nephew? This conversation is about him, and has no room for your disdain towards public education.”

  Shane twisted his butt back and forth in the chair, properly chagrinned at being chastised. She was right; they were only scheduled to talk for a few minutes, and he came in there, intending to not even give her that. He always erred on the side of being selfish. He didn’t mean to do that with Charlie, however. Jack? Perhaps. But Charlie? Never. He sat up straight and nodded. “I can give you fifteen minutes.” His tone sounded different and was now quiet and serious. Something he rarely ever was.

  Her eyebrows shot up towards her hairline in surprise. She did a small, nearly invisible nod. “Okay, then, let me show you some of his tests and what’s going on…”

  He leaned forward and listened to Mrs. Gray more carefully this time, taking in each word she said so he could repeat it to Jack and Erin when they returned. He had a feeling Jack would contact the teacher ASAP once he learned about it, but at least, Shane would have shown due diligence. Charlie reappeared and sat back at the desk, obviously surprised Shane was taking the conference so seriously then. Finally, Allison rose and Shane followed suit, clutching the folder she so kindly put together. It was all neat and organized and even labeled.

  Holding her hand out with those fire engine-red nails, she said, “Thank you, Shane.”

  He held her hand in his for a moment longer than necessary. His huge hands matched the rest of his bulk and her small, white hand was engulfed by his. She had ultra-white skin, the kind of pale that would have made her nickname “Casper” in grade school. She had freckles that dotted every millimeter of exposed skin. There was something about her freckles that Shane found endearing. They were so innocent, youthful, fresh, and wholesome feeling. Yet, when she spoke, she was far more sophisticated and articulate than he could ever dream of being. There was nothing young or girlish in the way she spoke. And those red-red nails. Something bumped in his chest. What? The image of her small, feminine, freckled hands in his big tanned ones? The brief collision of innocence and the not so innocent? Maybe. He wasn’t sure, but he held her hand too long. Her eyes met his when she realized it and her throat vibrated as she swallowed. He finally released her hand and flashed a crooked smile. She stiffened as she withdrew her hand with a discreet tug. Nervously glancing down at her desk, she began to muss up the papers on it that were already tidy and stacked in perfect order.

  “Be seeing you, teacher,” Shane said while smiling as he saluted her. She scowled hard at him and he grinned wider. He liked her. That was something new he found out today at school. He could damn well like a teacher. First time for everything.

  ****

  Allison Gray sighed as she crossed the threshold of her little house. Sunlight streamed in and filled the small interior. The inside was neat and clean as it was only she who lived there, so no one else could mess it up. She slipped her low heels off and stretched on her tiptoes to loosen her feet up. She found a glass and pulled the opened bottle of wine from her fridge, which she poured into the glass. She well deserved it after five straight days of parent conferences. Some were really lovely parents, whose family dynamics were healthy and positive, and she had no trouble fostering the things she attempted to accomplish with each student. Others were the kind of parents who didn’t show up, or argued with her about her grading system, and blamed her for how their child was doing. To them, anything that went wrong with the child was all her fault and she was the only one to blame. She often had to bite her tongue to resist shouting the truth at them. Shitty parenting was the usual source of behavior and academic problems.

  And then there was Shane Rydell. He’d been about the only out-of-the-box guardian of the week. He was, in a word, intimidating. She had always thought so on the several occasions she found herself in his proximity over the years. He was huge, with arms as fat as legs, and shoulders wide enough to make him appear like he wouldn’t fit through a door. He was as tall as his older brothers, but his crazy bulk was not like them at all. His muscles visibly strained beneath his t-shirt. Even his forearms were bulky. He could probably have taken a melon and smashed it flat between his bare hands. He had long hair that was black as night and he kept it tied back. It stretched all the way down to the middle of his back. He had bright, engaging green eyes and a wide, easy smile. It was a cocky smile, designed to make women wet their panties with want when he flashed it toward them. He almost succeeded, too, even with her. He was what any good mother eternally warned her daughters about: Shane was a player, a big, bad, leather-wearing, tattooed, charming, walking heartache.

  Despite all that, Allison only wished she possessed the strength and wherewithal to throw him out on his perfect, sculptured ass. He was so insulting to her for so long, she gave up trying to get a serious conversation started between them. Why he suddenly dropped all the arrogant, seductive crap, she wasn’t quite sure. But he finally did. He was quiet and even ceased his swagger and charm.

  She knew his opinion regarding the importance of her job was minimal, but at least, he finally seemed to care about its importance to Charlie. She felt almost respectful of him then. He truly cared about his nephew. Until that moment, however, she was sure he cared about nothing more than whatever his charm could manage to squeeze out of her. Education was just a stupid game to Shane.

  She did not play games, and didn’t appreciate her time being wasted on them.

  Still, Shane was a little different than any other man in River’s End. How could he not remember meeting her? It was so insulting, she had to resist simply smacking her folders down and ordering him out of her classroom. Who didn’t remember meeting someone, especially after it happened three or four times? She wasn’t exactly average-looking, not with her bright, carrot-red hair. So… really? How could he forget he met her more than once?

  She stepped out onto her back patio, still sipping her wine, and muttered, “Asshole.”

  Her patio and grassy yard were small with a large cottonwood tree that dominated one corner. Beyond it was a view of the river and farther still, the gentle, rolling pastures of the Rydell River Ranch and dozens of horses. She lived directly across from them, smack dab in the center of River’s End, and just off the small main drag of the town. Her little house was a two-story, charming, old house built at the turn of the last century from stones that came out of the river. The first time she saw it, she imagined the storybook-like cottage set on the small lot with flowers and grass surrounding it. It was in dire need of major remodeling and updating. She did all the improvements but managed to maintain the integrity and charm of the era in which it was built.

  “Tut… such nasty language, teacher. What would your students say?”

  She froze at hearing the voice that came from the left side of her. Slowly turning towards it, she was well aware to whom the voice belonged: Shane Rydell.

  She nearly pinched her arm to be sure she didn’t conjure up his image. Having called him an asshole, now here he sat on her neighbor’s back deck. He was lounging and his ginormous body lay sprawled in a lawn chair. He tilted a bottle of beer toward her in a mock gesture of “cheers” before he took another drink. Clad in his signature leather, from jacket to pants and boots, he smiled as he lumbered to his feet, and his ponytail swung behind him. He stepped close to the railing and leaned on it, so that only about ten feet of lawn space separated them. She really needed to build a new fence.

  “Didn’t realize you was the same teacher who lived next door to Celia.”

  Celia Damon was married. Her husband worked four days a week just outside of Seattle and commuted back home on Saturday mornings, staying there through Monday night. Allison cringed. She realized all at once why, on a Friday evening, Shane was lounging on Celia’s deck
. Celia was around Allison’s age, which was thirty-one. She was nice enough and they got along okay whenever they happened to see each other. She took care of their cat once when they left town. She did not however, need to know about Celia cheating on her husband.

  “You do realize Jett will be home tomorrow morning, I hope.”

  Shane’s smile slowly disappeared into his cheeks, leaving a dimple. “Oh, sure, I realize that.” He drank another gulp.

  She sighed, sipping a drink of her own wine. It was really none of her business. She had no idea if Celia and Jett’s marriage was happy, or where, and how long Shane had been a factor in it.

  “So… who’s the asshole?”

  His casual disregard for Celia’s marital status turned her off him. She raised her eyebrows and stated clearly, “You. I was, ironically, referring to you.”

  His eyebrows shot up as if mimicking her, and a startled laugh escaped his lips. “Me? How so? You couldn’t have known I was doing your married neighbor.”

  She drew in a breath and shook her head. He was just what she said: a total asshole. “Well, now you’re an asshole for that. But before? You were just the rudest person I dealt with all week of all my twenty-five conferences. That’s a total of about forty-plus parents. Many divorced couples too. You get the prize, however, for walking in as an asshole.”

  A small grin started to lift the corners of his mouth, but he kept it at bay and set his beer bottle on the railing. Leaning his hands on the rail, he replied, “Well—”

  He was interrupted when Celia came rushing out her back door. Her voice was panicked as she screeched, “He’s coming home. He’ll be here in a few minutes. Get out, Shane! Now!”

  Shane rose up to his full height. “Who?”

  “Jett. He called, and was all happy to be surprising me tonight. Please, please! You have to leave.” Celia pushed him towards the stairs of her deck.

  “You’ve got to be shittin’ me. You want me to run out of your backyard like some kind of criminal?”

  “Please. Yes.” Celia’s voice was panicked and her eyes darted about frantically. She froze when she noticed Allison standing there, and witnessing it all. She had the good grace and modesty for her cheeks to turn bright pink. “Mrs. Gray! Oh, I didn’t realize you were home…”

  “Can the innocent act, Celia. She’s not stupid,” Shane mumbled as he picked up his beer bottle. “You realize my bike is out front. And has been too many times to count. You really think Jett is so stupid he hasn’t figured it out yet? Why do you suppose he’s coming home early?”

  Celia hid her face from Allison and mumbled something to Shane. Allison should have turned and left to give them their privacy, but in all honesty, she was riveted by the domestic drama unfolding before her. Even more intriguing was Shane’s complete lack of concern, and guilt or shame.

  He suddenly lifted his head up and laughed out loud to whatever Celia said and his gaze was firmly planted on Allison. His eyebrows rose and he shook his head.

  “Please just… go with it,” Celia said louder, her tone becoming desperate. Shane unexpectedly stepped off the deck and started across her lawn towards Allison as his eyes held hers. He stopped at the edge of her patio.

  “What?” she finally asked when she found her voice again. How did Shane Rydell manage to end up at her house tonight?

  “How much do you value your neighbor’s marriage?”

  “Enough not to sleep with her husband,” Allison replied, her tone crisp and sure.

  Shane dropped his head, grinning once again. “You’re quick.”

  “I value it more than you do, obviously,” Allison amended.

  “Enough to let me in your house?”

  “Let you in my house? What are you talking about?” Allison glanced across the small lawn space, but Celia didn’t meet her gaze. She ducked almost frantically back into her house and slammed the door.

  “She’s been telling Jett, and anyone else who pries that I’m doing you. That’s why my bike is parked out front.”

  Allison’s gaze shot to Shane as he stood there, shaking his head, his grin growing wider. “I would have noticed your giant motorcycle out in front of my house,” Allison replied icily.

  “It’s off to the side, behind Celia’s hedge. She told him we’ve been putting it there just to save your reputation. Small town and small minds, you know.”

  “You mean there are people who think I’m having sex… with you?” The horror in Allison’s voice was loud and clear as she nearly shrieked with alarm. Gross. Ick. Like she’d ever consent to having sex with this walking hormone and no doubt, sexually diseased asshole. Her initial take on Shane Rydell was totally spot on, now wasn’t it?

  He held his hands up. “I didn’t do it. I swear to God, I had no idea she said that to anyone, or ever used you as a cover. Actually, I don’t even know why the hell she didn’t just tell me to hide my bike. I kind of thought she wanted to get caught. She has nothing but complaints about being married to Jett. From how he leaves his socks on the floor to his dick being too small to even—”

  She held her hands over her ears. “Don’t finish your sentence. Ever. Please.”

  He grinned and repeated, “So, teacher, what do you say? You going to break up a marriage tonight, or let me come inside your house?”

  She clutched her wine glass before tipping the contents into her mouth and downing the whole thing. “I cannot believe Celia would do that to me. Or how she could even think that risking her marriage to Jett for stolen nights with you could possibly be worth it.”

  He shrugged and stepped closer to her. She stepped back, not so excited about him coming near her. Especially now. She nearly gulped out loud when he leaned down towards her ear and said softly, “Oh, it’s worth it. Trust me. I’m very, very much worth it.” Lifting his face, he grinned, and winked at her as he passed by and entered her house. She was left staring after him, her mouth agape.

  Calling him an asshole didn’t even begin to describe how repugnant and awful Shane Rydell truly was. And damn her heart for nearly leaping out of her chest in response to his words. Her insides seemed to grow warm at his suggestive tone.

  But then she spotted Jett’s car and it was pulling into Celia’s driveway. She sighed and followed Shane inside; realizing no, she couldn’t make Jett realize what was so clearly going on right in front of his face. That left Shane with her inside her house. Her stomach clenched as she grabbed the door handle.

  Chapter Two

  ALLISON TRIED TO HOLD in the monstrous sigh that nearly escaped her lips as she trailed Shane through her sliding door, but at a much slower pace. He was huge. He was like an enormous giraffe, no, more like a great ape, in the center of her living room. He might have been six-foot-five or taller. She had to strain her neck back to see the top of his head with her gaze. His long hair was held back in elastic and several more were added to make it like a long, swinging tail that reached midway down his back. Some of the black hairs sprang up off his forehead, disturbed by something, most likely Celia’s hands. She turned away from him as a weird blush raised her body temperature substantially when she imagined what her petite, rather mousey neighbor had been doing with this man. He wore a red t-shirt with a black, leather vest over it, and dark jeans. His boots were like huge gunboats on his size thirteen or fourteen feet.

  She peeked at him from the corners of her eyes. He was standing on the line between her small kitchen and breakfast nook and her living room. It was dainty, fragile furniture in mostly all white. Her kitchen was also white, but for the splashes of calming blues. He looked just wrong standing there. There was nothing harsh about her decorating style; and that’s all Shane Rydell was. A big, dark, wild, unconstrained-looking man who was harsh and rough and really didn’t belong in her house.

  She set her wine glass on the counter. At a loss of what to do with him there, she grabbed the bottle from the fridge and asked politely, “Can I get you anything?”

  He spun towards her voice and
his green eyes were simply electric. They were big and had long, dark lashes that looked almost feminine if the analogy of anything feminine about Shane Rydell wasn’t so ridiculous. He made everything soft and pretty want to curl up into a small ball before it withered and died. “You got any beer?”

  “No. I just have this wine. Or water. Or milk.”

  His lips twisted up into a smile that seemed like he had some amusing secret he was keeping to himself. “Pop? You don’t even have a can of soda?”

  She arched an eyebrow, trying to show her disdain towards him. “No. I don’t. I didn’t expect to accommodate your tastes last time I shopped.”

  His grin seemed to widen even more at her prissy tone. Dimples. Big dents of dimples flashed on his cheeks as he crossed his arms over his chest. His biceps bunched and strained, his short-sleeved shirt revealing his tan, bulked-up arms bare from his shoulders down. He had tattoos scattered all over them, but didn’t, to her surprise, have full sleeves. She wondered why some spots were tatted up, but others were just bare, tanned skin. “Water. In case you ever think of it, I like beer the best.”

  She gritted her teeth and grabbed a glass before filling it with ice and water. She could feel his gaze on her as she prepared it before handing it to him. “Not bottled?” he asked, his eyebrows sprouting up towards his hairline.

  “I don’t believe in them. I always avoid them if I can help it. Useless and pointless waste of plastic and total land fillers. A glass gets the job done fine.”

  His hand made the eight-ounce glass look like a little thimble. He raised it as if in a toast to her and took a sip. “Real global thinker, huh?”

  More than him, no doubt, but she kept that retort to herself. He turned and started wandering through her living room. The front door opened right into it. It was small and cozy with patterned couches and two chairs that complemented them nicely. A table sat before them and a small, tasteful TV graced the top of an antique dresser she had restored. She cringed as his boots left footprints across the pristine, plush white carpet. She was hoping they were clean.