Small-Town Dad Page 8

  “You don’t have to drive me home.” He closed the car hood. “I’m supposed to be meeting Anne at the work site.” He checked his watch. “About a half hour ago. You can drop me off on your way.”

  “I’m sorry. I made you late.”

  “No problem.” At least he hoped it wasn’t a problem. He had the whole morning free, but that didn’t mean Anne did.

  He hoisted the car battery into the back of the pickup and pulled his wallet from his pocket as he walked around to the cab door. Autumn was already in the driver’s seat. He handed her a credit card. “Pick a battery up on your way home from the hospital. You should be able to turn the old one in for credit toward the new one.”

  “Thanks. Jack can put it in for me. I’ll pay you back after I pick up my check.”

  He shook his head. “It’s on me.”

  “Wait. How will you get home?”

  “I’ll see if Anne can give me a lift and, if not, I’ll call your grandfather.”

  “Just like me. Calling Dad to the rescue.”

  Neal gritted his teeth. She was teasing, but he hadn’t thought of it like that. “We’d better get a move on if you don’t want to be late.” He resisted a strong urge to grab the assist handle above the door. He wasn’t used to being in the passenger seat.

  A couple of minutes later, Autumn pulled into the birthing center site.

  “You can drop me here. I’ll walk back to the office.”

  “Thanks again. I’ll bring the truck right home. I don’t have any classes this afternoon.”

  “That’s fine.” He waved her off and trudged up the dirt road. Anne opened the office door as he reached the site trailer.

  “Hi. I’d about given up on you. I did say nine o’clock, didn’t I?” The sun passed behind a cloud throwing a gray shadow on Anne and the trailer.

  “Yes,” he said, feeling every bit the chastised student he was. “Autumm had car trouble. I had to stop on the way and help her.” No need to mention that he’d already been late before his daughter had called and delayed him more. “She dropped me off at the road and I walked up.”

  Anne looked out past him. “So that’s why I didn’t hear you pull in.”

  Neal noticed she had her briefcase. She must have been leaving. He wasn’t that late, not more than thirty, maybe forty minutes. But, then, in their high school days, Anne had always been punctual.

  “I tried to call, but couldn’t get through.”

  “Come on in.”

  She walked to the table at the back of the office.

  He nodded and stepped over beside her.

  “I tried to reach you, too, but I don’t have any service bars here. These are the report forms we have to fill out for Gary.” Anne handed him a clipboard from the table. “I’ve already sent him all of the code information you included in your research. Good job, by the way.”

  The sincere smile she gave him didn’t quite wipe out the dig of her “good job” comment. To him, it sounded like something Autumn’s preschool teacher would have said. Did say, in fact. All the time. He flipped through the report pages on the clipboard. What was with him today? Anne wouldn’t have said “good job” if she didn’t mean it.

  “Thanks.”

  “Let’s go out and get started on the evaluation.”

  Neal opened the door for Anne and followed her out. The breeze carried the light floral fragrance he was beginning to think of as Anne’s scent mingled with mountain pine.

  “I’m going to put my case in the car. Can you lock the office?”

  He met her in front of her car, and she showed him the solar meter she’d picked up from the passenger seat. She slipped another meter into the pocket of her hoodie.

  “We need to go over to the building site and take measurements at several spots to see where the sun is most direct.” She lifted her head and surveyed the sky. “Although it looks like we’re losing the sun.”

  “The wind has picked up, too. Looks like a storm is moving in. Is there enough sun for us to get accurate readings?” He thought there was, but she was the engineer.

  “As long as the storm doesn’t move in too fast.” She strode over to the far right corner of the mapped-out building position. “I’ll show you how to use the meter by taking the first reading. You can write down my numbers on the report. Then, you can take the rest of them.”

  Neal leaned forward, eyes fixed on the meter and watched and listened as Anne explained and took the readings. He wouldn’t mind if all his classes were like this, casual atmosphere, lovely teacher presenting information he could see as useful.

  “Got it.” She rattled off the last number and he wrote it down. “Ready to do the next one?”

  “Ready.” She handed him the meter and he reset it to zero as she’d showed him.

  “We need to take the next reading at the halfway point between this corner and the far corner.” She pulled the other device from her pocket. “Pace it out. The building dimensions are on the site map on the last sheet, behind the report pages.”

  “Is that a digital laser measure?”

  Her eyes brightened. “Yes. Have you used one before?”

  “No, I’ve only read about them.”

  “They’re really cool. I’ll show you.”

  He stepped closer.

  “See the pine tree at the far edge of the site before the ground slopes down?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Watch.” She held the meter and punched the buttons. “See?” She turned the meter to him and rocked forward, her every move radiating enthusiasm.

  This was Annie, the science nerd he remembered so well from high school.

  He read the measurement. “Are they as accurate as they say they are?”

  “You tell me.” She stepped back until her toes touched the stake delineating the close corner of the proposed building and shot a measurement to the far corner. “Now, read me the dimensions of the building from the site map.”

  Neal obliged.

  She flashed the meter in his face. He grabbed it, brushing the soft skin of her hand with his callused fingers, and whistled. “Down to the sixteenth.”

  “Told you it was cool.”

  “Can I try it?”

  “Sure. Shoot the distance to the office.” Anne placed her left hand on his forearm and pointed directions with her right.

  As Neal sighted the meter, a clap of thunder sounded in the distance. Anne’s grip on his arm tightened and threw the laser off mark.

  “Sorry, try again.” She dropped her hand and held it clenched at her side.

  Anne was afraid of thunderstorms? Neal shrugged off her reaction, sighted the meter again and took a reading. He turned to show it to Anne. Her eyes were focused at the dark bank of clouds moving in. She took a deep breath. “Let’s pace off the distance to the trailer. The storm is moving in. You’ll have to finish the solar evaluation another day.”

  “Sure.” Although from the threatening look of the sky, they might want to move faster than a pace. He was convinced the laser meter was accurate.

  “My stride is twenty-six inches.”

  For some reason, it didn’t surprise him that Anne knew that.

  She started toward the office methodically counting her paces, her jaw set and mouth drawn in a thin line. Another crack of thunder sounded closer. She faltered and her lips parted as if she were talking to herself before resuming her count.

  “You don’t have to do that. I saw how right on the meter was when we took the building measurement.”

  Lightning flashed across the now-dark sky. He waited for the thunder and Anne’s reaction.

  “Yes, I do.” Her movement was almost trancelike.

  The expected boom came and with it a deluge of rain.

  “No,
you don’t.” Neal grabbed her hand and pulled her after him to her parked car. The passenger-side door was closest. He breathed a sigh of relief when it opened and she climbed in without protest. He raced around the car to the other door, not that he wasn’t already drenched.

  Once he was seated behind the wheel, Anne looked at him wide-eyed. “I don’t like thunderstorms.”

  That seemed like an understatement.

  “You don’t have to drive me home. I’m okay—really. You can go. Here, take the solar meter.” She shoved it at him. “You can come back and take the readings later in the week, whenever you have time.”

  “I don’t have my truck. Autumn took it to Saranac.” He hoped the storm would let up before his daughter had to drive back.

  “Oh, that’s right.” She studied her hands clenched in her lap. “I can give you a lift home. I don’t have any classes until this afternoon.”

  “I’d appreciate that. But why don’t I drive to my place? By then, the storm should let up some.”

  She opened her mouth.

  “I know you’re perfectly capable of driving in the rain. Humor me. I don’t like to ride with other people.”

  “All right.” She unclenched her hands and dug in her jeans pocket for the car keys.

  The storm fired off three more claps of thunder with no pause between. Anne made a strangled sound and dropped the keys she was handing to Neal. He caught them and her hand as she tried to save them from falling.

  “Like you said, you don’t like storms.” He held on to her hand and let the keys drop to his lap.

  She pulled her hand from his and crossed her arms. “It’s a kid thing.” She unfolded her arms and raised her hands, palms forward, shaking her head. “I should be past it.”

  He picked up the key and put it in the ignition. “But you’re not. We all have stuff like that.” He turned the key, put the car in Drive and started down the dirt road to the highway.

  “It’s stupid. Dad was teaching me not to fear storms. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  She said the last words as if they were an affirmation.

  Lightning flashed close in front of them. He half expected her to repeat there’s nothing to be afraid of. Neal glanced over. Her eyes were squeezed shut.

  “I was about three or four. It was a bad storm. Like this one. I was crying because the noise scared me.”

  Neal shifted in his seat and scratched a sudden itch on the back of his neck.

  “He took me to my room, threw open the curtains and explained that the storm showed us God’s power and glory, and locked me in.”

  Neal swallowed hard. He hadn’t been much impressed with the glimpses he’d gotten of her parents when he and Anne were teens. That impression dropped about one hundred points. What was the guy thinking, saying that to a little girl? God was a loving father. At least the God Neal knew. He wouldn’t use his awesome power to frighten small children.

  “I never cried during a storm again.” She looked over at him as if she’d just realized he was there. “I’m sorry. Too much information. I’m fine.”

  Sure, if you didn’t count her chalk-white pallor and the way she sat rigid against the back of the seat, her feet flat on the floor.

  He shrugged it off. “It’s okay.” Before he could decide whether to say anything more, a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky so close he blinked from the flash. The resounding thunder was deafening.

  “That was a close one.” He wanted to take the words back as soon as they left his mouth.

  Anne released a strangled screech and, out of the corner of his eye, Neal caught motion to the right. Almost as if in slow motion, one of the towering pine trees bent and then plummeted across the road ahead. He slammed on the brakes and felt the car skid forward on the mud.

  Lord, help me.

  Gripping the wheel as hard as he could, he turned into the slide. His experience driving on icy, snow-covered roads paid off. The car came to a halt parallel to the fallen tree.

  Heart pounding, he looked up at the angry gray sky. “Thank You,” he mouthed before turning toward Anne. “Are you...”

  She sat perfectly still, not making a sound, eyes scrunched shut and tears streaming down her cheeks. He gathered her into his arms and pressed her head against his shoulder. Her hair was soft and damp against his hand. “It’s okay. We didn’t hit it.”

  She burst into loud sobs, gulping for air. He rubbed her back and tried to soothe her as he’d done with Autumn when she was frightened as a child. But Anne was no child and the protective feelings he was experiencing weren’t those of a father toward his child. How could Anne’s father have done that to her?

  Anne shuddered and breathed deeply, bringing her sobs under control. “I’m sorry.”

  He held her close for another moment before allowing her to push away.

  “I don’t know what got into me, breaking down like that.” She straightened and smoothed her hair.

  He caught her hand as she dropped it to her lap and rubbed it with his thumb. “It’s okay. I find large trees crashing to the ground in front of my car on the scary side, too.” The smile he’d hoped to coax out of her didn’t come.

  “No.”

  “Crashing trees aren’t scary?”

  “No. Yes.” One corner of her mouth curved up.

  “That’s my girl.”

  She tilted her head and stared at him for a second, her brow furrowed.

  “No, the storm. I don’t lose control like that. Not like that.” Her voice trailed off and she looked out the side window away from him.

  He wanted to draw her back into his arms and comfort her, let her know it was all right to be afraid sometimes. But he knew better. The set of her shoulders told him the self-controlled college professor was returning.

  “No sense sitting here. We should go back to the trailer and wait out the storm. Once it lets up, we can walk into Ticonderoga, and I can call someone about getting the tree removed so we can get your car out. I should be able to get cell reception there.”

  * * *

  Anne shook her head. She had to get away from here and Neal. The embarrassment was too much. “There’s another way out. The driveway to the house that used to be on the property goes to a side road that you can take to the highway. You’ll need to turn around and drive past the trailer.”

  Neal rocked the car back and forth, tires spinning, until they caught traction. He turned around and drove back past the office. She ignored the muscle working in his jaw. He had every right to be impatient with her and her childish behavior.

  “See ahead, the road curves to the left? That’s the old driveway.”

  Neal relaxed his steel-eyed attention to the road long enough for a quick nod.

  The rain pelted the windshield in blinding sheets. She bit her lip as she felt the car slip in the mud again, or thought she felt it slip. Neal kept his hands straight on the wheel. So she must have imagined it. The pounding of her heart slowed and she released her lip when the tires crunched on the stone of the old driveway.

  Neal turned left when they reached the highway.

  “The lake’s the other way,” she said.

  “I know. I’m going to take you to the college. You don’t want to be driving back from the lake in this weather and you said you had classes this afternoon.”

  Relief loosened the band of fear constricting her chest, followed by guilt about leaving Neal stranded at NCCC and a twinge of embarrassment that he was playing white knight saving her from the storm. Escaping to her office, rather than spending another twenty minutes in her car making polite conversation sounded very inviting. Whatever had possessed her to share that stupid story about her dad and thunderstorms?

  “That’s fine for me, but how will you get home?”

  “I’ll
get a hold of Autumn and have her swing by and pick me up when she’s done at the hospital. I have some classwork I can do in the computer lab.”

  “If you’re sure.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as cheery to him as it did to her. Storms usually didn’t get to her like the one today had, not anymore. She would have been fine without Neal’s comforting, given a minute or two. Still it had been nice to have his strong arms around her when the storm was crashing around them.

  “Are you okay?”

  “What? Fine. Why?”

  “You were so still. I thought maybe the storm...”

  “No. I’m good. I was thinking. Getting in early would be good. I’ve got a lot of things I can catch up on before my class this afternoon.” And in her office, she could shut out the storm with the window blinds, and the lingering thoughts of Neal holding her.

  She ignored the puzzled look he shot her. Letting him get close to her wasn’t an option. He was her student. Besides, his comforting her about the storm was simply his paternal instinct reacting to her juvenile fear. She was an adult, not the teenaged girl who’d had a crush on Neal Hazard that she’d denied to everyone, including herself. Reading any more into his action would be as childish as her fear.

  Chapter Eight

  “Smooth, Hazard.” Tyler from his English composition class caught up with Neal in the hall as he approached Anne’s office.

  “Tyler,” Neal said, slowing his pace.

  “Ryan saw you and Professor Howard pulling into the parking lot in her car the other morning.”

  Neal gripped the metal binder he’d been carrying casually at his side until it almost cut into his fingers. “We were out at the new birthing center building site doing a solar site analysis for my independent study.”

  “Independent study. Sure, if that’s what you want to call it. You didn’t happen to notice there was a thunderstorm?”

  Neal repeated the Lord’s commandment Love thy neighbor as thyself to himself as struggled not to wipe the smirk off the guy’s face. On second thought, maybe he didn’t love himself that much today.