Real Cowboys. Roz Fox Denny

front of a classroom.

      Laughing, she threw up her arms, hugged herself and twirled her motorized chair. The sound echoed in the empty room, prompting Danny, who’d finally wandered in, to exclaim, “Mom, what’s wrong?”

      She sobered. “Everything is right for the first time in ages, honey.” Seeing his skepticism, she held out her arms. He cast a furtive glance toward the door to make sure he wouldn’t be observed before he accepted the hug. Then he pulled away fast.

      “I hope you aren’t gonna do that in front of the other kids.”

      “I won’t embarrass you, Danny. Are you worried kids here might bully you because you’re the teacher’s son?”

      “I dunno. Maybe. In Fort Worth all the kids knew Pawpaw. They thought it was cool I got to live at the Bar R-S where all my friends trained for junior rodeo. Here…I’m nobody.”

      “Just be yourself, Danny. I know you’ll make friends.”

      He turned away.

      “Wait, will you open the window? Oh, and put that monster teacher’s chair in the closet, please. You know, I wouldn’t turn down help in tacking up a bulletin board.”

      He brightened, did as she requested, then worked feverishly to help Kate cover a small canvas board with red construction paper. Danny stapled on letters that spelled Welcome To School. Yellow happy faces peeked out from between letters. “It’s simple,” Kate said, “but it’s bright and cheery.”

      “Yep, it’s nice, Mom.”

      Finding a piece of chalk, Kate rose out of her chair and wrote Ms. Steele in printing and cursive on the blackboard.

      A loud crunch of tires outside alerted them to someone’s arrival. Kate set the chalk in the tray and parked her wheelchair behind the desk. To anyone walking in the door, it would appear she was sitting in a regular chair.

      At the door, Danny shouted, “It’s the van with the other kids.”

      Kate’s confidence slipped. She caught herself rubbing damp palms down her slacks. “Let them follow their normal routine, Danny.” Calmly, Kate opened her book bag and pulled out papers.

      “What should I do?” Danny asked.

      “Pick a seat?” Kate waved at the desk he stood beside.

      “What if some other kid sits there?”

      “Oh. Good point. What do you think you should do?”

      “Go back to Fort Worth. I hate it here.” He spoke with such fervor Kate winced.

      “Honey, I agreed to work a full school year. In May I’ll reassess. Until then, we’re staying. Why don’t you ask the van driver what time he or she plans to return to pick up the students.”

      “It’s a he,” Danny muttered, brushing past two boys who were timidly approaching.

      Kate pasted on a smile. “Welcome boys. Take seats near the front of the room for now. Once I take attendance I’ll assign seating based on your grade.”

      The duo, freckle-faced carrot tops, plopped down in the second row. Two giggly blond girls followed. All four appeared nervous.

      The next five to straggle in tried to act cool and aloof. Three older boys waited to see where the girls who trailed in their wake decided to sit. The boys then put as much distance between themselves and the girls as humanly possible.

      Kate noted that the last two students slipped in silently. The girl was possibly the youngest of the group. In a few years she would be stunning. Lustrous, straight black hair fell to below her shoulders. Eyes so dark they were almost purple studied Kate from beneath thick lashes. By comparison, the boy seemed bland. His black hair was cropped short, his liquid eyes somber. If Kate had to describe the color of his skin, she would call it flat tobacco, whereas the girl’s glowed like burnished copper. Kate had one Hispanic name on the list from Marge and two Native Americans. Checking grade levels, she concluded these two were her Native students.

      Which meant the girl was her landlord’s daughter. Last night she’d barely glimpsed the child down beside Danny and Goldie.

      Danny returned, trailed by a stocky man.

      “You sent the boy to get me, ma’am? I’m Bill Hyder. Dave, there, is my youngest boy.” The van driver crushed a battered straw hat between work-scarred hands. His gaze lit proudly on a husky, toffee-haired teen who slumped in his seat.

      Kate smiled, hoping to put the man and his son at ease. “I’m Ms. Steele. I forgot to ask Marge Goetz if I should stagger dismissals by grade levels.”

      Bill shook his head, relaxing some. “All grades get out at two-thirty. I hope that’s okay. It saves on fuel and vehicle wear and tear. Plus, our driver volunteers pull double duty between farming, ranching or jobs in town.”

      “Your board employs me, Mr. Hyder. I’ll abide by their rules. Two-thirty it is. Have a nice day.” She’d perfected a smile of dismissal.

      He jammed on his hat and ducked out.

      Kate beckoned to Danny. “Class, I’d like you to meet my son. Danny is in fifth grade. After he sits down, I’ll take attendance. Please raise your hand as I call your name. Then we’re going to have a two-page quiz. Simple questions designed to show me your skill levels in reading, math and science.” She expected groans or outright objection, but the room remained eerily silent.

      The first sound was an audible gasp from the students after she completed attendance and motored out from behind her desk to hand out tests.

      Kate hadn’t planned to explain her condition. The collective gasp changed her mind. “I was injured a couple of years ago in an auto accident.”

      A boy Kate had already handed a test to raised his hand.

      “Yes? You’re Terry Goetz, have I got that right?”

      “Uh-huh. Did my mom know you were crippled?” he blurted, then yelped when the boy seated beside him, his younger brother, Jeff, socked him in the arm.

      “Ow!” Terry scowled at Jeff. The other kids sat in shocked silence.

      Kate felt shaky and needed a minute to collect her thoughts. She eased around the last seat in Terry’s row and headed up the next aisle, continuing to pass out tests. She had been right—Clover Trueblood was her youngest pupil. The girl had just turned eight. Kate recalled that Clover’s record hadn’t made it clear if she was in second or third grade. Kate set a test designed for second graders in front of Clover. Kate’s hands were empty now and it was time to deal with Terry Goetz.

      “Terry,” she said quietly, crossing to her desk. “Do you think it’s necessary I be able to walk in order to teach?”

      “I dunno,” the boy mumbled. “Depends on what you teach. Uh, I didn’t mean no offense, but me ’n’ Ron Quimby and Mike Delgado are probably gonna go to the consolidated high school next year. Sports are big there. Our last teacher, Mr. Sikes, he hung a basketball hoop on the back school wall and was teaching us how to make hook shots and blocks.” Terry slid lower on his spine.

      “Basketball?” Kate repeated, stopping behind her desk. “It so happens I rarely miss watching an NBA game on TV. Naturally I can’t run with you on the court, but I bet I can help you. These tests are timed by the way,” she said in the same even tone. “Does everyone have a pencil?”

      The kids scrambled to open their backpacks, and Kate saw she’d done the right thing in not coming down hard on Terry. She’d find a private moment to make him understand that the term cripple was hurtful.

      “These scores won’t be recorded,” she assured them. “And accuracy is more important than speed. Is everyone ready?”

      A blond girl named Shelly Bent raised her hand. “If we miss a lot of questions, Ms. Steele, are you going to move us back a grade?”

      “Good