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Treehouse

By Delia Latham

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Last-minute changes to a perfectly good schedule never failed to bode ill for a
project—that was Ryann's Dean firm opinion. So her response was a little less than enthusiastic when the first phone call on Monday morning punched a hole in her ten o’clock appointment.

“Sorry to bother you at home, Miss Dean.” The voice belonged to Amy, her
assistant. “I know you planned to go straight to the school meeting today, and I wanted to catch you before you get out the door.”

Adjusting the earpiece on her Bluetooth with one hand, Ryann slipped the other
arm through the sleeve of a favorite navy blazer. She jammed her right foot into a sensible white wedge pump, then kicked at a pile of footwear on the floor of her closet. Where on earth was the other shoe?

“Well, you did, just barely. I’ll be out of here in about—oh, there it is!”

“I’m sorry, Miss Dean, what was that?”

“Nothing, sweetie. Look, will you cut out the Miss Dean stuff? I’ve told you a
hundred times, I’m Ryann. You say it just like you say your brother’s name—it ought to be easy for you.” She chuckled, plowing through an explanation she had provided countless times already. “I guess my parents thought adding that extra ‘n’ made it OK to give me a boy’s name. Problem is, nobody knows how to say it unless I tell them.” She brushed a flyaway strand of dark hair off her face and caught her breath. “But I have told you, so no more Miss Dean. OK?”

“You're the boss.” As usual, Amy skipped all the fluff and got right to the point.

The girl epitomized efficiency. So annoying.

“Just got a call from the planning committee. They want to put your presentation
off until one o’clock. Mr. Kerschner can’t make it until then, and since he owns the land, they want him there, of course. What shall I tell them?”

Would’ve been nice of Mr. Timothy Kerschner to provide a little advance
warning. Ryann flopped down onto the bed and kicked off the shoes she had just stepped into. She snatched up a thick planner, already mentally shuffling the list of appointments and tasks lined up for the day.

“Miss Dean?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. And it’s Ryann, for crying out loud!” She paused, waiting
for her assistant to comply. Amy didn’t, so she did, but not without huffing a bit. “Just tell them it’s fine, of course. I’ll make it work somehow.”

She spent the next few minutes on the phone juggling appointments with two
other clients. Each profuse apology raised her dander to a new high. Kerschner's well-publicized generosity had won the heart of every parent, teacher and public official in town. A sixth-grade English teacher at Bliss Junior High and great-grandson of one of the town’s founding fathers, Kerschner had inherited the large piece of acreage adjacent to the family homestead when his uncle, the last of the previous generation of Kerschners, passed away a couple of months ago. He gained instant local celebrity status when he
offered a portion of the land to the school district to be used for new administrative quarters, thereby freeing up the buildings they were currently housed in for several more classrooms and a rather sizeable expansion of the library.

Which was all well and good, but it didn’t give the man a right to play God with
other people’s time.

“Whatever.” Purse hanging off one shoulder and the all-important planner tucked
under one arm, Ryann snatched her car keys off the kitchen table on the run and slammed the door behind her, muttering under her breath. “Doesn’t matter what you think. Kerschner is the current darling of local government, so you’ll cater to his every whim and pretend you like it.”

Glancing into the rearview mirror as she pulled off her gravel drive and onto the roadway, Ryann twisted her face into a wry grimace. “Not a lot of choice, is there, Ry? You need this job if you want to stay in Bliss.” She tapped a finger on the mirror, teasing a smile from her dour reflection. “And you do, so get the job. Think positive.”

Nor would she allow a little schedule adjustment to spoil her day—not with such
incredible beauty splashed so generously over the countryside on the drive from her cabin to the newly arranged first meeting of her work week. She never grew tired of the forests that crowded the back roads, which she chose whenever possible over the busier freeways. As always, she found herself soothed by the pine-scented air and the lush green of the Douglas firs marching up and down each side of the road. Here and there, a stand of hemlock, spruce or cedar interrupted the visual monotony, along with wild tangles of berry bushes and wildflowers spread out in a vivid array of vibrant color.

Perfect. With the radio off, no one screamed out dark lyrics set to a cacophony of instrumentals that passed for music; no media evangelist pandied to the masses with more focus on bringing in an extra dollar than in reaching needy souls; and perhaps most pleasing of all, no reporter spread horrible news about random acts of senseless violence.

Senseless. The only word she knew to describe the evil that men do. It made no
sense when a mother could walk into a convenience store for a loaf of bread and never walk out, but hers had. Twelve-year-old Ryann had dealt with the loss with determined stoicism and the constant love and support of her father. What choice had there been?

Still, she’d like nothing better than to make it through the rest of her life without hearing, seeing, or coming into contact with any kind of violence, random or otherwise.

Forcing the errant thoughts to the furthest corners of her mind, unwilling to face the demons they awoke, she focused once more on her breathtaking surroundings. A smile of pure pleasure tugged at the corners of her lips, and she allowed it to come out and play across her face.

Happiness is living in Bliss, Oregon.

****

As one o’clock approached, Ryann watched one after another of the planning
committee file into the conference room where she would present her landscape plans for the donated property. Each newcomer nodded in her direction, then sought out a more familiar face and forgot her presence altogether, which suited Ryann just fine. She learned a lot by watching unobserved, usually in settings just like this.

She couldn’t wait to unveil her plans. A beautiful, bouncing brook ran through the center of the school’s new acreage, affording an opportunity to do something unique with the project. She had sketched out a gorgeous two-mile walking trail on the back portion of the land, taking great pains to retain as much of the property’s natural state as possible. The trail would extend Kerschner's generous gift to the entire community, even those with no school-age children and no active interest in the educational system.

She’d come up with some ideas she considered quite innovative. With any luck at
all, her detailed watercolor drawings, along with a well-planned vocal presentation, would sell this group on her proposal. A little tremor of excitement set a butterfly—just one—aflutter in her tummy.

A stir in the growing assemblage interrupted the introspective moment, and
curiosity pulled Ryann’s gaze to the door.

He’d been all over the news in recent weeks, but not a single camera had captured the intensity of Timothy Kerschner's eyes. As if connected by an invisible string, Ryann’s gaze locked on his startling blue one, and her heart set up an unexpected racket that brought unwelcome and embarrassing warmth to her cheeks.

What a ridiculous reaction! So this man held a good portion of the power to make
or break her proposal today. No reason to get emotional. She’d be disappointed if it fell through, but certainly not devastated.

“Miss Dean?” From behind her, a voice reached her ears, but didn't penetrate her
brain.

Had Kerschner misplaced his razor? His pale cheeks and chin bore the shadow of
a scruffy beard the same color as his sandy brown hair, and even that appeared to be unacquainted with a comb. A man in his current position of prestige ought to make at least a minimal effort to impress. Ryann drew her brows together, studying the newcomer. He appeared at ease in the spotlight despite his unkempt appearance.

“Miss Dean?” The slight pressure of a hand on her shoulder demanded her attention. Despite the interruption, it took every ounce of effort she possessed to break the staring match both she and the newcomer seemed determined to win.

Sucking in a quick breath, she smiled into the concerned face of Dan Petrie,
chairman of the school planning committee. “I’m sorry, Mr. Petrie. I guess I was wool gathering.”

“Would you like a glass of water?” He handed her a plastic cup. “It's about time
to get started. Everyone’s here.”

Ryann accepted his offering with a nod. “Thank you. I’m ready.”

Petrie approached the podium and tapped on the microphone. The room quieted
as little groups of chattering board members broke up and migrated toward the
conference table. The chairman bent his lanky frame at an awkward angle and spoke into the mike. “Please be seated. We’ll begin in three minutes.”

Ryann’s gaze bounced back to the newest arrival, startled to find him standing
only a step or two away. He extended a hand to shake hers, his piercing gaze traveling over every inch of her face. A perfunctory smile lifted one corner of Timothy Kerschner's lips, but his ice-blue eyes reflected no warmth.

“Tim Kerschner.” He slid into the seat next to her and folded his arms over a
broad chest that Ryann did not notice, then stretched out a pair of long legs and crossed them at the ankles. “I take it you're Ryann Dean?”

After opening and closing her lips a couple of times like a ridiculous fish, she
found her voice. “Yes, I’m Ryann.” For some perverse reason, she wished he had
mispronounced her name like everyone else, giving her a chance to set him straight. She cleared her throat, wondering why she found it so hard to voice the usual pleasantries. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Kerschner.”

“Just Tim.” He close his eyes and rolled his neck in both directions before
speaking again. “Look, it's been a rough day, and to be honest, I’d rather be just about anywhere but here.” He sighed and directed those disturbing eyes her way, slowly raking them over her frozen features before settling his gaze on the stack of drawings turned upside down on the table. “Do me a favor, Ryann Dean?”

He waited and she fumed. Was she supposed to respond? Biting back an angry
retort, she forced herself to remain professional. “If I can, of course.”

He yawned in her face, making only the barest effort to cover it with his hand, and Ryann's ire rose to a dangerous level. "Just keep your little speech short and sweet, OK? Do that, and you and I will be off to a great start.”

She was saved the indignity of losing her temper in public when Petrie chose that moment to call the meeting to order. He wasted no time in giving her the floor, and she launched right into her plans, managing to forget the obnoxious teacher sitting off to her right—almost.

Experience had made her a fair reader of audience reaction, and twenty minutes
into her proposal, Ryann thought she had this one eating out of her hand. But just as she gave herself an encouraging mental pat on the back, Tim Kerschner jumped to his feet and glared at her, those killer eyes of his narrowed to thin slits.

“Wait right there! Just—” He lowered his chin and glared her way. His
outstretched arm and forward-facing palm presented a fair imitation of a crossing guard. “Just hold up. That’s not going to happen.”

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