“This isn’t a monetary issue.”
His expression changed suddenly. He shoved away from the fireplace and crossed the room with three long and quick strides. “My children need to be in school. I’ll have another talk with them.”
No! No! No!Kirsty’s hand tightened on the glass doorknob so tightly she could feel the diamond-shaped facets press into her palm.
Miss Harrington, bless her ruler-thwacking, blackboard-writing, and corner-sitting old soul, shook her head and handed him an envelope.
Her father stared at it.
“It’s a bank draft refunding the balance of the tuition,” Miss Harrington explained, then added, “less damages, physicians’ fees, and the like.”
Now he was the one who braced his hands on the desk and leaned toward Miss Harrington. “There are no other schools available. There must be some solution.” His jaw was so tight, like when he and Uncle Calum had a fight, and his words sounded fiercely quiet and strained. Was he angry? Suddenly their pranks took on new meaning when it looked like their father might actually care enough to be angry.
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to take your children home with you.”
“I can’t take care of two children.” There was a thread of something that sounded like panic in her father’s voice as he pinned Miss Harrington with one of those “listen-to-me” looks that all adults got when something wasn’t going as they wanted it to.
Kirsty chewed her lower lip for a second. She had never heard him sound like that—almost scared—and it confused her a little, got her thinking until she remembered their plan had worked.
She and Graham were going back to the island. Back home. She’d accept the consequences of what they had done because the only way she could even try to win over her father was if she and Graham were with him day after day, instead of locked away at a dumb old school with people who hated them.
“Youaretheir father, Mr. MacLachlan. You’ll have to take care of them.” Miss Harrington stepped around the desk and moved ahead of their father toward the door. “Your children are waiting in the next room.”
Kirsty moved back quickly and turned to her brother. “Okay, Graham. Now it’s your turn.” She stepped back and Graham scrambled to look in the keyhole.
Boys were such silly and impatient creatures, she thought with a sigh.
A second later the door opened... and Graham fell flat on his face, right at their father’s feet.
Chapter Eight
You should never do anything wicked and then lay it on your brother, when it is just as convenient to lay it on another boy.
—Advice to Youth, Mark Twain
Kirsty stood there looking all the way up at her father. However, he wasn’t looking at her. Both he and Miss Harrington were staring down at Graham, who was still lying flat on the floor while his face turned redder and redder, almost as bright a red color as his hair. He slowly turned, his expression a little dazed, until he focused on her.
Her brother’s gaze narrowed. His lower lip and chin jutted out. She knew that look. She made her eyes as wide as she could and shrugged her shoulders.
He wasn’t hoodwinked at all, so she looked up quickly and gave her father that same wide-eyed look, which worked. She captured his attention long enough to get in two whole blinksanda saintly look.
Then Graham tackled her. They hit the carpet hard, but Kirsty got in one good sock. She wiggled out of his grasp, and at exactly the same time... she pinched him. While he was hollering, she sat on his chest. Graham might be bigger and older than she, but she wouldnotlet him best her. He was a boy.
She heard Miss Harrington shriek. She sounded like a barn owl. Out of the corner of Kirsty’s eye, she saw her grab two china bluebirds that wobbled on a nearby table, then hug them to her bony old chest.
Before Kirsty could get in one more good sock, her father lifted her off Graham and set her on her feet right next to him, so close she could feel the heat from him and was aware of his scent, like the sea and leather. If she really tried, she could almost smell that sharp pine scent of the island. Her father smelled like home.
She looked up at him.
His brow was creased and his eyebrows were almost touching—a really stern look.
“Do. Not. Move,” he said with force, but not anger, then turned his attention to Graham.
Kirsty took two wee little steps, then froze when her father whipped back around with a suspicious look.
Standing perfectly still, she gave him her most brilliant smile.
He blinked once and stood there for the briefest second, his expression odd, as if she were a stranger to him. He looked away and shook his head slightly, then scowled down at her brother who was still on the floor. “Stand up, Graham.”
