The Brodys of Lightning Creek

“Shayna.”

“I stand corrected.”

Finn shifted his weight uncomfortably. Good. “I didn’t intend to humiliate you.”

“Well, you did.”

“Obviously you’re still angry about it.” He quickly held up a hand. “Not that you don’t have cause. You do.”

“I’m not angry.” Molly drew in a breath. “But you know, honestly? I’ll be more comfortable calling a professional for this job.” She’d made her point and now she wanted him gone.

Finn rubbed the back of his neck as if his muscles had gone tight, then met her gaze, and she was irritated to discover that she still thought he had pretty amazing eyes. “Let me look at the problem. I owe you.”

“You owe me?” She spoke on an incredulous note.

“I showed poor judgment.”

“You were monumentally insensitive.”

“I was a horny teenage boy.”

“Who didn’t make one move on me.” The words blurted out and Molly was surprised to find that she didn’t regret them. Not one bit.

A look of surprise crossed his face. “You were so...”

He stopped before he got himself into trouble, but Molly was not letting him off the hook. Her eyebrows lifted coolly. “Please. Finish your thought.”

“Mousy.”

Molly’s eyes went shut for a fraction of a second as her lips thinned. Yes, she’d been mousy. Which was worse than being invisible, which is what she’d thought she’d been. She opened her eyes again and fixed her gaze over his head at his Mustang as her economical self battled with her pride. On the one hand, the incident had occurred a long time ago. His grandfather was her neighbor. On the other, he’d taken her out on a date, dumped her and screwed another woman that same night.

“Tell your grandfather thanks for sending you.” She started to cross her arms over her chest, then stopped abruptly. No more drawing into herself. “I appreciate you taking the time to stop by. I’ll reimburse you for your gas.”

“Forget the gas,” he said. “And for what it’s worth, I apologize for what I did.”

“Accepted.” Molly meant what she said—even as she wondered if he did—because she was not going to let ancient history weigh on her. But she also wasn’t having the guy work on her drain. Wouldn’t be beholden to him in any way, shape or form. “Now, if you don’t mind...I have more unpacking to do.”

* * *

“YOU’RE BACK ALREADY?” Mike looked over his glasses at Finn.

“Your neighbor—” for the life of him he couldn’t remember her last name “—wants to hire a professional.”

“Are you sure it’s not a case of her feeling uncomfortable about taking up your time and getting help for free? I mean, she wasn’t just being nice, was she?”

“Trust me. She wasn’t being nice.” She was totally pissed over an incident that he’d long forgotten. He doubted very much that she’d walked around regularly stewing about the incident for the past dozen years, but there’d been no question that once she’d been reminded, she still harbored resentment.

“Meaning?”

“She didn’t want me to do it. Maybe she took one look at me and decided I was incompetent.” Or an asshole. Actually, there was no maybe about that. He was not on her A-list.

Mike studied Finn for a long moment, his gray eyebrows coming close together, making Finn feel very much as he had when he’d been guilty of some kid crime and Mike had wanted him to fess up on his own. Finn always had, but today he didn’t think that Mike needed to know all the details of what had gone down between him and Molly whose-last-name-escaped-him.

“Is something weighing on you?” Mike finally asked. “You haven’t been yourself lately.”

Finn gave a snort. “I’m good.”

“You seem unsettled.”

Finn almost said something about the military changing a man, but he didn’t want his grandfather to latch on to the notion that he was suffering from PTSD. He wasn’t. He forced a smile. “Maybe I grew up a little while I was overseas. I’m fine. Anything else?”

His grandfather took a few seconds before shaking his head in a way that told Finn that the matter was not yet considered finished. “Nope.” Mike focused back on the ledger in front of him and Finn left the office.

Until now, he’d thought he’d done a pretty good job of hiding the fact that he no longer wanted to spend his life selling grain and Western doodads. He wanted to do something that spoke to him, that meant something. It wasn’t sales and it wasn’t mechanics, which had been his specialty in the service.

Finn had always been woefully bad about choosing the right path, unlike his cousin Dylan, who’d managed the store while he was overseas. He and Dylan had grown up together, sons of brothers, but Dylan’s father had been terminally ill during their teen years, so his cousin had been all about school and academics and doing well so that his father would be proud. Finn had been all about good times. Academics had never interested him. He excelled at sports, so that was what he’d pursued. After graduating from high school, he slid into the family business, apprenticing under Mike before taking it over when Mike semiretired.

The business had done all right under his watch, but it hadn’t thrived as it had under Dylan’s—or rather his fiancée Jolie’s—and Finn knew that was because managing the store was not what he wanted to do. It was what had been easy to do. His real life had started after closing, but that life—hitting the bars, playing sports, watching games—no longer called to him, either.

During the service a crazy thing had happened—he’d discovered that he enjoyed teaching new recruits the ins and outs of mechanics and enjoyed working with people in a way that didn’t involve ringing up a sale or loading a bag of grain. Teaching made him feel...valuable...in a way he’d never felt before, and on the flight back to the States, he’d come to the conclusion that he wanted to teach industrial arts, to show kids how to work with their hands. He had a feeling he’d be good at it, that it would give him satisfaction, but he didn’t know how his grandfather was going to take his abandoning the store.

Mike was getting older, had retired once, and there would come a time when he would retire again. Who would manage the place then? Because both he and Mike felt strongly about having a family member present in the family business.

Maybe Jolie when she and Dylan returned?

That would be a perfect solution.

One that he was going to discuss with his cousin as soon as he got a chance.

* * *

AS SOON AS the water had gone down, Molly took the top off the drain and shone a flashlight down the drainpipe, but she couldn’t see any obvious obstructions. She then pulled up a video on YouTube about snaking drains and watched it with Georgina looking on over her shoulder.

“Where are we going to get one of those things?” Georgina asked, pointing at the reel holding the industrial-size snake.

“I don’t think we are.” Not unless she could find a place that rented the equipment. She doubted that Finn had the equipment necessary to handle the problem either...unless of course he was a plumber. Which was totally possible, so she paid close attention to the last names of the plumbing experts she found online before choosing one to call. She wasn’t about to ask Mike Culver for his recommendation again, because she didn’t want to explain why she’d sent his grandson packing. She hoped to stay friendly with her neighbors.

Plumbers in the area were busier than she’d anticipated, working on the new houses going in around the lake. But the forecast was clear and sunny for the next seven days, so Molly didn’t panic when she couldn’t get an immediate appointment without paying an emergency fee. She took the first regular appointment, two weeks away, and told Georgina that they wouldn’t be storing anything that wasn’t waterproof in the garage for a while.

“Maybe you should have let the hot prom guy handle it.”

“Homecoming, not prom. And I’d rather sing opera naked in the park.”

* * *

“YOU SURE YOU don’t want to watch the game with us at McElroy’s Bar?” Karl asked as Finn got ready to leave the store for the evening. “We three could attract the girls and maybe one of them would feel sorry for you.”

“Hard to turn down an offer like that,” Finn said with a grin. “But I’ve got some stuff to catch up on at home.”

From the way Karl and Cal exchanged glances, Finn gathered that Mike had shared his concerns with the boys. Finn had to admit that he’d never turned down an offer to go out in favor of kicking around his house before he’d gone overseas, but he hadn’t had a focus or direction then, either.

“Give me a rain check,” he said. “The guy who sublet my place while I was gone let a few things go to hell, and if I don’t take care of things now, I’ll regret it later.”

“We understand,” Cal said, stepping forward to clap Finn on the upper arm, as if he were about to embark on a perilous journey and making Finn wonder if he’d be better off going with the guys to McElroy’s and letting them attract women for him. It’d get these two off his back, but the truth of the matter was that he wanted to register for classes and before he did that, he wanted to give his cousin Dylan a call.

“Thanks for understanding,” Finn said with a grave nod. He’d have to go out and disgrace himself one of these days to keep Mike from worrying about him.

He grabbed his coat off the peg by the door and headed toward the side exit. Behind him he heard Karl, Cal and Mike shutting down the office in preparation for dinner out followed by the evening game. He was glad his grandfather had good friends, because it was going to make it easier when Finn informed him that he wasn’t going to be with the store forever.

After returning home, Finn signed into his newly created account at Eagle Valley Community College and registered for two evening classes, figuring that would allow him to ease back into school without affecting management of the store. He finished his registration, then got to his feet, feeling a surge of energy. No, make that energy coupled with unexpected anxiety.

What in the hell had he just done?

When he’d walked across the stage wearing his mortarboard twelve years ago, he’d sworn that he’d never subject himself to anything close to a formal classroom again. Yet here he was, wading in.

For a good reason.

He opened a beer, turned on the game and tried to focus, but even though the score was close, he kept going over the pros and cons of his plans for his future. Maybe he should have used the money he had coming due to his military service to dive in with both feet and do a four-year college program instead of a couple of courses at the local community college. That would show commitment. Was signing up for only two classes a wishy-washy approach to his new life?

Finn didn’t do wishy-washy. But on the other hand, he couldn’t just abandon his grandfather on short notice...although he had a feeling that if he did, Mike would wish him Godspeed and hire someone to do his job at a lower salary.

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Action erupted on the screen in front of him, the announcers went crazy, and Finn opened his eyes again. His team had pulled ahead. Cool. Karl was probably going nuts because he hated Finn’s team. Finn smiled faintly and took a long drink, wishing he was enjoying the moment more.

Finally he reached for the phone and dialed his cousin’s number. Dylan answered on the first ring.

“I’m going back to school,” he blurted as soon as his cousin had said hello.

“No kidding.” Dylan sounded stunned at his announcement and he didn’t blame him.

“Yeah. I am. I want to become an industrial arts teacher with an emphasis in automotives.” There was a long stretch of silence. “Hello?” Finn finally said.

“Yeah. I’m here. I just thought I heard you say you wanted to be a teacher.”

“Not a real teacher. A shop teacher.”

“Last time I heard, they were real teachers.”

“What I meant was that I want to teach hands-on skills that kids who don’t go to college can use in life.”

“You want to be a teacher.”

“Strange, huh?”

“I gotta say that I never saw this coming. What does Mike think?”

“I haven’t told him yet.”

“Why not?”

“I...don’t know.” Fear of failure maybe?

“What school are you going to?”

“The community college let me in. I got official notice last week. I’m only taking two classes. I thought it best to start slow.”

“Definitely. Especially after...uh...” Dylan gave a discreet cough and Finn filled in the blank for him.

“I did crappy in high school?”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“I had no reason to do well. Now I do.” And his grades hadn’t been that bad. He’d graduated with a high-C average. He’d actually excelled in math, the only class he’d truly enjoyed. The rest had been more a chore than anything, but again, now that he had a reason to learn, he’d do better.

“I think this is a good idea, Finn.”

That was what Finn had been waiting to hear. Dylan knew school. He knew academics. He knew Finn.

“Maybe I’ll tell Mike, then. I can take math and English in the evening and still work full-time. After that, then we’ll have to work something out.”

“After that, Jolie and I will be back and she can take over your job.” Just the words Finn had hoped to hear.

They talked for a few more minutes about life in Colorado, then Finn hung up feeling a lot more certain about his course of action.

Hell, he was actually kind of excited.

* * *

“I KNOW THIS is a full schedule,” Mary Jean Flannigan, the curriculum director, passed a printout of Molly’s new classes across the desk to her, “but with funding cuts, we’ve all had to pull extra duty.”

“I’m okay with it.” As a new instructor to this school, she’d be stupid not to be okay with it, but the truth of the matter was that she didn’t mind being overloaded, and this schedule didn’t seem that bad. The only addition to the mock-up she’d received the week before was an evening basics class and a composition class run in conjunction with the local high school, which gave the high school participants college credit. Molly was well familiar with the program. She’d had nine college credits by the time she’d graduated from high school, but had never dreamed she’d one day be teaching in the program.

“Let’s see...” Mary Jean flipped through some papers on her desk, then squinted up at the computer screen. “Looks like you’re set. You’ll share an office with Kelsey Cunningham and you have a key to that, so...any questions?”

“Class lists?”

“Will be loaded by the end of the day.”

Molly smiled. “I’m set.”

She walked out of the director’s office and started down the hall to her office, only to slow her steps as she caught sight of a guy walking ahead of her who looked an awful lot like Finn Culver from the back.

Finn was a student?

He certainly hadn’t been one in high school. Rumor had it that the only reason he made grades was because the coaches needed him to be eligible to play.

It couldn’t be him.

But when the man turned down another hallway, Molly caught his profile and her stomach twisted a little. Yep. Finn.

She put her head down and continued to her office at a brisk pace. So what? He was probably there for the diesel mechanics course. Or maybe welding. Even if he was in one of her courses—so what? What had happened between them was history—and more importantly, it truly felt like history now that she had gotten her chance to address the matter with him. That had been satisfying, even if she hadn’t gotten her drain fixed for free.

Mousy.

Pfft.

The one thing she was never going to be again was mousy.

* * *

FINN HAD NO IDEA what to expect his first night of class. His schedule was simple—an hour-long English class on Monday and Wednesday and an hour-long math class on Tuesday and Thursday. Classes started midweek due to Labor Day, so he only had one of each that week. And thankfully, the classes started late enough that they didn’t interfere with work, meaning he didn’t have to tell his grandfather what he was doing just yet. He preferred to test the waters before making any big announcements and now, as he was getting out of his car in front of the community college, he was glad he’d kept his plans to himself.

Registering for the courses had felt surreal, but now that he was in the building, looking for his classroom, well, surrealism was replaced by good old-fashioned nerves.

Which was stupid. He’d seen action in the Middle East; he shouldn’t be intimidated by an English class. But his gut twisted as he recognized his room number. The two middle-aged women walking ahead of him went into the room. Cool. They didn’t look at all intimidating. They looked like normal people. Like him.

Drawing in a breath, he walked into the room, automatically searching for a chair in the back.

“I’d like all the students to sit in the first two rows, please.”

Finn froze at the oddly familiar voice, then slowly turned his head to meet Molly whatever-her-last-name-was’s rather grim gaze. Then he looked down at the schedule he still held in his hand as if it were a ticket to get into the room. M. Adamson.

Adamson. Her last name was Adamson. Bringing his eyes back up to hers, he tried to decide if the night could get any worse. Maybe if his car caught fire or something. Forcing a smile, he made his way to the second row and sat one desk away from one of the women he’d followed into the room. She smiled at him in a motherly way and he smiled back as he checked out Molly from the corner of his eye. She was welcoming another student, guiding her to the front of the room.

Son of a bitch. What were the chances?

He drew in a breath. He could do this. A woman he’d humiliated twelve years ago was now his teacher, but surely she’d treat the situation professionally and not find small ways to torture him. Because if she was going to do that...

What?

He was going to quit?

He didn’t think so. He centered his notepad on his desk, pulled a pencil out of his pocket and readied himself for battle. From the look Molly gave him before she turned to write something on the whiteboard, she was doing the same.

Let the game begin.

* * *

MOLLY HAD LEARNED that Finn was one of her students early that morning when the class lists finally posted—late because of a computer error. So she’d been ready for this moment. He hadn’t had a clue that she was his instructor, and she had to admit to feeling a certain satisfaction at the flash of the deer-in-the-headlights look he’d given her when he’d realized who his instructor was. Yes. That had been one small bright spot in what was no doubt going to be a series of long, self-conscious evenings.

Even now he was sitting with his feet stretched out in front of him, a half smile playing on his lips, looking way too sexy and comfortable. Making her feel less than comfortable. It was almost as if the air was snapping with small sparks now that he was in the room.

She started to speak, but had to stop and clear her throat. “Welcome to English Basic Comp. I’m Molly Adamson...”

She explained her grading procedures, her class expectations and what her objectives were for the course. She handed out the syllabus, gave a brief overview, then leaned back against her desk and asked if anyone had questions before they began the night’s work. Several hands went up, but Molly was expecting that. She’d taught classes specifically for older adults at college in Arizona while she’d worked on her degree and knew that nontraditional students liked to ask questions. They wanted some bang for their buck.

Finn had no questions and when she chanced a look straight at him, instead of letting her gaze skim past him as she’d been doing, she saw that his expression had shifted from cavalier to something bordering on serious.

She swallowed and called on the lady next to him—Debra—who had a lot of questions. When the students were finished grilling her, Molly handed out a paper.

“What you’re getting is your first assignment. A writing assessment to let me know where you are as a writer. The topic is simple—describe a moment in which your life changed forever. I’d like at least one page. No more than two.”

Finn was once again wearing his half smirk, but Molly ignored it.

“The computers are behind you. When you’re done, please hit Print, then place your papers in the in-box on my desk. I’ll have them back with comments and suggestions next week.”

Debra raised her hand. “Will this grade count?”

Shades of high school. Molly smiled. “I’ll put a grade on the paper, so you get an idea of where I think you are, but no. The first paper is for me to figure out what each of you need. Then I’ll do my best to give it to you.”

And damned if her gaze didn’t stray back to Finn, who met her look dead-on as the last words came out of her mouth.

CHAPTER THREE

FINN LEFT THE EVCC campus feeling drained and in deep need of a beer. No wonder there was so much drinking on college campuses. Although he wondered if regular students found sitting through a basic English comp class as challenging as he had. He’d sweated over that damned essay, typing a single sentence while Debra, at the computer next to him, seemed to be blasting out pages.

At least he could type, but he wasn’t fast. It’d been so long since he’d put thoughts down on paper that the whole process seemed foreign to him. But he’d done okay in the end, talking about how his parents’ divorce had affected him as a teen and managed a page and half. Hopefully Molly would go easy on him, realizing he hadn’t been in the classroom for a while. Hopefully...

Once he was on his way home, his tight muscles started to give. He rolled his neck and shoulders, told himself that the hard part was over. He’d sat through one class; Molly hadn’t embarrassed him, or even looked at him more than a couple of times...although that last look she gave him had him shifting in his seat.

Molly Adamson—he wouldn’t forget her last name again after tonight—didn’t look mousy anymore. A couple of times as she was answering student questions she’d become animated and he’d been surprised to see dimples appear at the corners of her mouth. She’d smiled and gestured, and then seemed to remember that he was in the room and instantly became the English Teacher.

She clearly was aware of him and probably still thought he was the king of assholes, but he felt better about the course walking out than he had walking in. He was also now less intimidated by his math class on Thursday. As long as it wasn’t taught by someone he’d once screwed over, he should be good.

* * *

MOLLY BIT THE END of her pencil as she read through Finn’s essay for the second time. The first time she’d thought he’d been putting her on, playing with her, so she’d skimmed over it, expecting to find some kind of punch line at the end. There was no punch line, so she’d turned back to the first page and started reading again. He hadn’t written about a moment, but rather a summer. His parents had divorced and he’d gone to live with his grandfather, Mike, while they sorted things out. It was the first time he hadn’t played summer ball because he’d been too ripped up inside, but he’d pretended to his friends that he had a shoulder injury.

Molly had had no idea that might Finn Culver’s life had been anything other than perfect during high school. He never showed a sign. But it wasn’t the experience she was grading. It was the writing, which wasn’t good.

His sentences were short and to the point, but more often than not, he used clauses instead of sentences...and sadly, the sentences/clauses were the strongest part of his writing. As far as structuring meaningful paragraphs, it was as if someone had fired a shotgun of disjointed thoughts at the page—and there were a lot of thoughts, since he’d dealt with a season—summer—rather than a moment as assigned.