The Outlaw's Angel (Daughters of the Prairie 1) - Page 40

Like his daughter, he’d be beautiful if he smiled.

But clearly that wasn’t likely to happen.

He hadn’t yet spoken, and Ruth cleared her throat. “I’d appreciate it if you’d remove your hat, sir.”

The man ignored her. The nerve.

Ruth stood and walked toward him. Lord above, he was tall. Her eyes only reached the chin of this one.

Tall and mountainous he may be, but Ruth refused to put up with such discourtesy in her classroom. Not from a student, and not from a parent, no matter how good looking he was. A spark of anger fueling her, she reached forward and removed the cowboy hat from his tousled head.

“I said, please remove your hat in my classroom.”

The man eyed her again. Was it her imagination, or did his gaze rest on her chest a little longer than normal? She resisted the urge to cross her arms. A good teacher needed to take a firm stance with students, and sometimes with parents as well. Give one inch, and they’d take a mile.

One side of his mouth edged upward, just a touch. Was that the beginning of a smile? It disappeared in an instant, so Ruth wasn’t certain.

“Beg pardon, ma’am.” He took the hat from her.

As his hand brushed hers, a flicker of warmth traveled up her arm. Strange. And not unpleasant.

She cleared her throat. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced, sir. My name is Miss Ruth Blackburn, and I’m the schoolteacher here.” She held out her hand.

“Garth Mackenzie.” He didn’t take her hand. “Why is my daughter still in school at this hour?”

“I’m afraid I had to punish her, Mr. Mackenzie. She missed five words on her spelling lesson. I’ve let it slide in the past, but I’m not doing her any favors by—”

“Favors?” Though he did not raise his voice, the tone was not kind. His handsome face tightened. “Her lot in life is to marry and bear children. She doesn’t need to spell. She has chores to attend to at home, Miss—”

“Blackburn.” Ruth’s skin heated. Who did this man think he was? “And if that is what you envision as your daughter’s future, sir, why send her to school at all? Why not keep her at home all day doing chores?”

“I’ve considered it, Miss Blackburn.”

“And what stopped you?”

“That’s not likely any of your business. Your business is to teach my child. It’s what I pay all those damned property taxes for.”

Rage surged through Ruth, and she whipped her hands to her hips. “You will not use such language in my classroom, Mr. Mackenzie. And as for teaching your child, that is why she has been kept after school. To learn the spelling lesson that she didn’t learn the first time.”

“Let me rephrase myself,” Mackenzie said. “Your job is to teach my child during normal school hours. After those hours, she’s needed at home.”

“I understand that Mary Alice has chores to attend to. All my pupils do, as do I. But learning comes first in this schoolhouse, Mr. Mackenzie. It’s what the county pays me for, and I take my job seriously.”

“If you’d taken your job seriously, ma’am, you’d be married with a family of your own by now.”

His cruel words pierced her heart. Marriage and a family had always been her dream. But not her lot in life, it seemed. Her fate was to teach. A job that brought her both joy and frustration in equal amounts. She opened her mouth to respond but noticed Mary Alice had stiffened against the blackboard. The chalk fell from the girl’s fingers, and she grasped the bottom ledge. Paleness crept into her cheeks.

“Goodness, Mary Alice.” Ruth grasped the child’s shoulders and steadied her. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ruth touched the girl’s forehead. Clammy, but cool. “It’s so hot in here, dear.” She ushered her to a nearby desk. “You sit down for a moment.”

“Of course it’s hot in here,” Mackenzie said, gesturing. “These windows are positioned all wrong. You can’t even get a cross breeze. Who built this schoolhouse?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, Mr. Mackenzie.” Ruth rubbed Mary Alice’s back in slow circles. “Whoever did so most likely did the best he could.”

“You need better ventilation. Any fool can see that.” He marched along the edge of the room, shaking his head. “What a waste of my good money. Damned taxes.”

Tags: Helen Hardt Daughters of the Prairie Romance
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