The Wrong Man. Laura Abbot
effort, Libby forced herself to look at Trent again. The features were all there, just as she remembered them. Yet sadness weighed down his eyes, and the worry lines and Norse-blond hair, now darker with the passage of time, made a stranger of the happy-go-lucky man who had once been her husband.
“Yes, we knew each other,” Libby said. “A long time ago.”
“Good, then. Shall we leave now, Mr. Baker?”
Mary turned to go, but Trent stood his ground, his eyes never wavering from Libby’s. His voice caught.
“Take good care of her, Lib.”
Libby wanted to look away, to be anyplace but here, doing anything but this. “I will,” she said quietly.
They left the room, and when Libby caught up a tissue for Lacey, she also took one for herself.
TRENT SLUMPED BACK against the leather seat of his truck. Of all the crazy things! He’d known Libby was teaching in the area, but what were the odds of her being in the same school—the same grade—where Kylie was enrolled? Last he’d heard she was the kindergarten teacher in Polson, at the far end of Flathead Lake.
Not that he’d heard much about her in recent years. After their divorce, he’d gotten out of Dodge and made a new life for himself in Billings. Weezer and Chad had known better than to mention Libby. When he’d left northwest Montana, he’d erased that slate. Or so he’d thought.
Miss Cameron? It sounded somehow like a missed chord. He’d known she’d taken back her maiden name, but still… Hearing it like that hurt.
On some level, he’d anticipated that returning to Whitefish would resurrect old memories, but seeing her today had knocked him for a loop. Just like that first time he’d clapped eyes on her coming out of the administration building at Montana State. When he was a little kid, his mom had taken him to see Disney’s Snow White, so when he’d spotted Libby walking toward him across the campus, all he could think was that here, in the flesh, was his own personal Snow White—the same dark, wavy hair, high color in her cheeks, rosebud lips. The only difference was that Libby had sparkling blue eyes instead of brown.
He blew out a puff of air. Hell, she wasn’t older, she was better. The same trim figure, but now with more generous, womanly curves. When she’d smiled at Kylie, he’d had to force himself not to reach out to touch her.
Pull yourself together, Baker. The woman was going to be Kylie’s teacher. He was grateful for that. If anybody could ease Kylie through this transition, it would be Lib. His own confused emotional state was a small price to pay.
Checking his watch, he started the truck. He would be late meeting Chad at the bank. However, as he drove the familiar streets, his thoughts were far from business loans. He could fantasize all he wanted about getting back together with Libby, about providing Kylie with a loving stepmother. But that’s all it could ever be. Fantasy.
Libby would never forgive him. Hell, he’d had a tough enough time trying to forgive himself. He’d been a complete asshole.
And if she did?
Things would have to be very different. He would have to be different.
And yet?
He thought about Ashley and those last few days when he’d sat by her bedside holding her hand. And the important things they’d had just enough time to say to each other.
He knew one heckuva lot more about love now. And loss. Especially loss.
TRENT? Here in Whitefish? Nothing could have prepared her for the onslaught of emotions, everything from shock, grief and anger to joy, hope and confusion. And of course regret. Somehow Libby pulled herself together enough to settle little Kylie. She paired her with Lacey, who seemed pleased to be singled out to help and relieved that Kylie, not Bart, was now assigned to help repair the damaged submarine. Kylie, however, sat mute, turning the glue stick over and over in her hand.
She blushed furiously when Bart pulled on her hair and said, “Hey, new girl, where’d you come from?”
She didn’t look at him, but merely whispered, “Billings.”
“You prob’ly don’t even know how to ski,” the boy scoffed.
“Kylie will learn,” Libby said, deftly steering him to his seat.
Then it was time to put away the craft projects. Amid the clatter of drawers and bins opening and closing, Libby had a moment to study Kylie. She had Trent’s square face and generous mouth, but the hair must be her mother’s. Trent’s was curly. A hitch caught in her chest. She remembered the springy feel of those curls that refused to be tamed. When the bell for recess rang, Libby felt relieved. She didn’t want to think too much about what Kylie looked like. Whom she resembled. Whose child she could have been…
Libby threw on her coat. Stop it! But the unfairness burned in her throat like bitter medicine.
On the playground, the girls headed for the swings while the boys clustered around a soccer ball, dividing up into teams. Kylie, however, stood just outside the door, hands thrust deep into the pockets of her pink-flowered parka. Every so often, her eyes darted around the playground before settling back on her boots. Weezer had told Libby that Trent’s wife had died within the last year. Her heart went out to Kylie Baker. Libby understood what it was like to lose a mother, to have the idyllic world of childhood shattered, replaced by emptiness and uncertainty.
Libby approached Kylie. “Did Lacey invite you to play with the girls?”
“Yeah. But I don’t want to.”
The thrust of the child’s chin was hauntingly familiar. “Why not?”
Kylie merely shrugged.
Libby put her arm around the child. “It’s hard being new, isn’t it?”
The answer was a sniffle.
Pulling her closer, Libby said, “Moving involves lots of changes. Everything seems unfamiliar, I’ll bet. We all want to help you, though. Will you let us?”
When Kylie turned her face into Libby’s coat, Libby could feel her shoulders shaking with sobs she didn’t want her classmates to observe. Digging out a tissue, Libby knelt with her back to the playground, shielding the girl from view. “Here, sweetie.” She handed her the tissue.
“That’s what—” sniff, sniff “—my daddy calls me sometimes.”
“Daddys are nice that way.”
“I guess. But I don’t have a mommy.”
“You miss her a lot, I imagine.”
Eyes streaming, she nodded vigorously.
Libby helped dry her tears, then stood. When Kylie shyly slipped her hand into Libby’s, a satisfying warmth traveled through her. This little girl was so desperate for love. But she was Trent’s daughter. Libby mustn’t get too involved.
“Can I tell you something?” Kylie said, adoration in every feature.
“Certainly.”
The little girl gripped Libby’s hand more tightly. “I think you’re beautiful, Miss Cameron.”
“Thank you, Kylie.” Libby blinked furiously, blaming the cold wind when she knew darn well why she was really in danger of blubbering.
Throughout recess, Kylie remained by her side. Libby drew her out about the move and learned that Trent and his daughter were living at Weezer’s, and that Kylie loved dogs and Barbie dolls. Libby told her about Mona, inviting her to come see the cat someday, then reassured her that she would learn to ski in no time. But it was the girl’s answer to her final question that lanced the emotional scar Libby had thought was forever sealed. “Why did you move to Whitefish, Kylie?”
The wistfulness of the whispered reply explained everything. “So my daddy could be happy.”
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