The Rancher and the Girl Next Door. Jeannie Watt

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      Regan had advised her to ignore the stony stares and reward the behavior that met her expectations, but hadn’t mentioned what to do if the behavior of the older kids was tainting the younger ones.

      Claire headed for the office phone. Something had to be done before it was too late.

      Back in the classroom, she told the fifth and sixth graders to go outside for recess. When the older kids also rose to their feet, she asked them to remain. She spoke quietly, but there was no doubt that she meant what she said. The seventh and eighth graders sat back down.

      “We need to talk. You guys are role models for the younger kids. I want to know if you think you’re setting them a good example?”

      They did not even have the grace to appear ashamed. If anything, they looked smug, and Claire felt her anger growing.

      “You guys are acting like a bunch of jerks, and it has to stop. I will not have you ruining the education of the other students. I’ve phoned Principal Rupert, and if this behavior continues, he will be driving out to have a talk with each one of you on an individual basis.”

      Dylan and Ashley both smirked. Toni gave Claire a stony stare.

      “He’s also calling your parents today.”

      Ashley looked unconcerned, but Dylan and Toni paled slightly. So there was some fear. That was good. Maybe there was hope.

      “I don’t hold grudges,” Claire continued. “I’m willing to let bygones be bygones, if you start acting the way you know you’re supposed to act.” She drew in a breath, wondering if the kids knew how much she was winging it. “Instead of recess, I would like you to write about how your behavior is affecting the other kids. Ashley, I want to talk to you privately.”

      “Sure,” the girl said with a toss of her head. She followed Claire out into the hallway.

      “I know you feel safe, Ashley—like no consequence can touch you.”

      The girl smiled.

      “And I want a straight answer. Are you going to set a better example with your behavior? Or are you going to continue as you’ve been doing?”

      “I don’t see anything wrong with my behavior, and neither does my mother.”

      “You don’t see how the younger kids are learning from watching you?”

      She shook her head.

      “Then my only option is to put you where they can’t watch you. Your desk will be in the hall for the remainder of the day and tomorrow, until we talk to the principal. We’ll reevaluate then.”

      “I’m going to sit in the hall?”

      “Yes.”

      “How will I hear what you’re saying?”

      “What would that matter, Ashley? You seem to think you already know everything. Stay here. I’ll go get your desk.”

      Claire took a few steps toward the room, angry with herself for sniping at the girl. She turned back, wanting to give it one last stab. “This is your choice, Ashley. I don’t want you out here. If you’ll participate in class in a respectful way, I want you in the room with everyone else. You’re a bright girl, and you can help the younger students learn.”

      She raised her chin and narrowed her eyes. But she did not respond.

      A steaming Ashley was sitting at her desk in the hall when the younger kids came traipsing in again. Claire stood next to her door and watched the procession. The kids looked first at Ashley, then at Claire. No one said anything.

      There was a definite change in attitude, now that Ashley was no longer in residence. Claire took her the work for the afternoon, then closed the classroom door. There would, no doubt, be a hot phone call from Deirdre Landau later. Maybe even a personal visit. But it was worthwhile, if Claire could save her younger students from going over to the dark side.

      Surprisingly, Ashley left school that afternoon without summoning her mother. She walked away, her chin held high and her books pressed close to her chest. Toni walked with her, but their heads were not together as usual. Claire felt a little bad, but knew she had to draw the line somewhere.

      She graded papers until three-thirty and then went into her storage closet, prior to her usual trip to the basement before going home. Every evening she sorted and carted one shelf of stuff off to the nether regions. She almost had space in her closet now to store the textbooks that were shoved into boxes under her counters. And in the process she had uncovered some useful supplies, as well as some hilarious artifacts of days gone by. She figured that with her box-a-day strategy, she’d have decades worth of haphazardly stored items properly sorted and put away by the end of the semester. If nothing else, she would leave the school better organized than she’d found it—and the students better educated. Even if it killed her. And them.

      Claire pulled open the stubborn basement door and started down the stairs, descending into the earthy coolness, which felt good after the heat of the classroom. She had just heaved the box up on top of the lowest stack of rubber bins when she heard a heavy scraping noise, followed by a dull thud.

      The door. Someone had closed the basement door.

      Bertie must have come back, seen it open…

      Claire trudged up the stairs and pushed. The door didn’t budge. She controlled a twinge of panic, twisted the handle and pushed again. Nothing. Someone had thrown the dead bolt. She began to pound with the heel of her hand.

      “Bertie!”

      No answer. Claire pounded until her hand was bruised, more in frustration than from any hope of being heard. It was pretty obvious she’d been locked in on purpose. Three guesses as to who had done it.

      She sank down onto the top step and stared at the dangling light. About time for the bulb to burn out, the way things were going. She had a flash of inspiration and shot a glance over her shoulder at the door.

      But the hinges were on the outer side. Drat.

      The frog croaked and Claire’s shoulders slumped.

      Could it be she was going to spend a night in the basement? Not if she could help it.

      She rose to her feet and tromped down the stairs. The ventilation windows were covered with screens, and they were quite small. And high—probably seven feet off the floor. Claire glanced down at her hips, then back up at the window. What would be worse? Spending the night in the basement or spending the night stuck in a window?

      It was a no-brainer. She was going for stuck-in-the-window.

      Claire searched for some moderately safe way to get herself up there. With all the stored files and equipment, would it have been too much to ask that a ladder be among them? Apparently so. The only bits of furniture were rickety or broken. An old file cabinet wobbled when she tried to move it, so she started stacking rubber bins. The ones that were full enough to support her weight were also quite heavy. She managed to pile them three high and then climbed on top, grimacing as her hands pushed the damp, mossy wall when she steadied herself.

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