P.I. Daddy's Personal Mission. Beth Cornelison
Chapter 2
“Eyes on your own paper, Anthony.” Lisa Navarre gave the student in question a firm but kind look to reiterate her directive.
Cheeks flushing, Anthony DePaulo lowered his head over his geography quiz and got back to work.
Lisa checked the clock. “Fifteen more minutes. Pace yourselves. Don’t spend too much time on a question you don’t—”
Her classroom door slammed open, and a tall, dark-haired man—an extremely handsome man—burst through. His eyes were wide with alarm, his manner agitated. Even before Mr. Handsome Interruption’s gaze scanned the room and landed on Patrick Walsh, Lisa knew this had to be Peter Walsh. The father was the spitting image of his son. Or vice versa, she supposed. Dark brown hair roguishly in need of a trim, square-cut jaw and a generous mouth that was currently taut with concern.
“Mr. Walsh, I—”
“Patrick! “ Peter Walsh rushed to his son’s desk and framed his face, tipping his head as if checking for injury. “Are you all right?”
“Da-ad!” Patrick wrestled free from his father’s zealous examination, while the class twittered with amusement.
“Settle down, kids. Finish your work.” Lisa hustled down the row of desks to rescue Patrick from further embarrassment. “Mr. Walsh, if you would?” She tugged his arm and hitched her head toward the hall. “We can talk in the office. As you can see, the class is in the middle of a test.”
Peter Walsh raised dark, bedroom eyes—okay, not bedroom eyes. He was a student’s parent, so maybe that descriptor was inappropriate…but, gosh, his rich brown eyes made her belly quiver. Confusion filled his expression, then morphed to frustration or anger. Now her gut swirled for a new reason. She hated dealing with angry parents.
“Fine.” Mr. Walsh gave one last glance to his son before stalking out to the hallway.
“Keep working, kids. I’ll be right back.” Lisa swept her practiced be-on-your-best-behavior look around the room, meeting the eyes of several of her more…er, loquacious students before she joined Mr. Walsh in the corridor.
He launched into her before she could open her mouth. “What’s going on? You called me here because there’d been—”
“Mr. Walsh.” Lisa held up a hand to cut him off, then caught the attention of the school librarian who was walking past them. “Ms. Fillmore, would you mind sitting with my class for a few minutes while I talk with Mr. Walsh in the office?”
“Certainly,” the older woman said with a smile.
“They’re taking a geography quiz. You’ll need to pick up the papers at exactly two-thirty if I’m not back.”
“Got it. Two-thirty.” Ms. Fillmore gave a little wave as she disappeared into the classroom.
When Lisa turned back to Patrick’s father, she met a glare that would freeze a volcano. “You lied to me. You said Patrick had been in an accident. Do you have any idea how worried I was on the way over here? “
Patience. Keep your cool. Let him vent if he needs to.
Drawing a deep breath to collect herself, she flashed him a warm smile. “Let’s go to the office where we can speak privately.” She motioned down the hall and started toward the front of the school. When Mr. Walsh only stared at her stubbornly for a moment, she paused to wait for him to follow. Handsome or not, the man clearly had a temper when it came to his son.
Lisa could understand that. Most parents had an emotional hot button when it came to their children. Sweet, soft-spoken members of the quilting club became growling mama bears when they thought their cubs needed protecting or defending.
Finally, Peter Walsh fell in step behind her, his long-legged strides quickly catching up with hers. “Why did you tell me there’d been an accident?”
“I didn’t,” she returned calmly.
“You di—”
“I said incident. With an i. You hung up before I could explain the nature of the problem.”
Mr. Walsh drew a breath as if to mount an argument, then snapped his mouth closed. His brow creased, and his jaw tightened as if replaying their brief phone conversation and realizing his mistake.
“I’m sorry if I alarmed you. Patrick is fine, physically.” They reached the front office, and Lisa escorted him into a vacant conference room. “Please, have a seat.”
Patrick’s father crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed a suspicious gaze on her. “Thanks, I’ll stand.”
Okay. She faced him, squaring her shoulders and staring at his forehead…because looking into those dark eyes was just too distracting. Too unnerving.
Darn it all, she was a professional. She couldn’t let this man rattle her.
“Mr. Walsh, I called you because Patrick was disrupting class today and—”
“Disrupting how?” he interrupted, his back stiffening.
“He burped.”
Mr. Walsh’s eyebrows snapped together in confusion. “Excuse me? He burped?”
“Yes.”
He shifted his weight and angled an irritated look toward her. “You called me down here to tell me he burped? “ His angry tone and volume rose. “Kids will burp sometimes, lady. It’s a fact of life. Maybe you should be talking to the lunch ladies about the food they’re serving instead of calling parents away from important business to report their kids’ bodily functions, for crying out loud!”
Patience. Lisa balled then flexed her fingers, struggling to keep her cool. She made the mistake of meeting his eyes then, and her stomach flip-flopped. Good grief, the man had sexy eyes!
“It wasn’t just a small, my-lunch-didn’t-sit-right burp, Mr. Walsh. It was loud. Forced. Designed to get a rise out of his classmates.”
Peter Walsh rocked back on his boot heels, listening. At least, she hoped he was listening. Some parents wore blinders when it came to their kids’ behavior. Their little darling couldn’t possibly have done the things she said.
Lisa took a slow calming breath, working to keep her voice even and non-confrontational.
“He’d been disruptive all morning—talking, getting out of his seat without permission, making rude noises, even poking the girl in front of him for no apparent reason. The loud belching was just the final straw.”
Peter Walsh had the nerve to roll his eyes and shake his head. Lisa gritted her teeth.
“With all due respect, Ms. Navaro—” he started in a tone that was far from respectful.
“It’s Navarre, Mr. Walsh.”
“Navarre,” he repeated, lifting his hand in concession, but his disposition remained hard and challenging. “It seems to me keeping order in your classroom is your job. Send him to the principal’s office if you need to, but don’t drag me down here every time my son acts up in class…or burps. You shouldn’t have to call a kid’s parent away from their job to handle a minor behavior problem. If you can’t keep a ten-year-old boy in line for a few hours a day, perhaps you’re in the wrong profession.”
Lisa’s hackles went up. She’d already wondered if teaching children was the best place for her, but for reasons that had nothing to do with her ability to discipline her class. She suppressed the ache that nudged her heart and focused on the matter at hand.
“I’m perfectly capable of maintaining order in my classroom, Mr. Walsh.” She drilled him with a look that her students knew well, the one that said she’d reached the limits of her patience. “Especially if I have the cooperation of the children’s