Thankful for Love Read Free Page B

jeans and a knit shirt and looked more like a teenager than a woman in her late twenties, which he guessed she was from the information about her work life on her résumé.
    Obviously looks weren’t on his list of requirements for a kid wrangler, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing to have an attractive woman around the house again.
    Now, as she spoke enthusiastically about her work experience in her jobs in Pendleton and Portland and how it had prepared her to take care of his kids, her calm, competent manner convinced him—she might be the answer to his problem. If she could figure out what to do about the foul-up in the irrigation system, he’d nominate her for sainthood.
    His divergence to his other problem had taken his mind out of the interview. His inattention was apparently obvious. Anne was looking oddly at him, and Quanna seemed to be waiting for him to say something.
    “I’m sorry. I’ve been distracted all morning with a problem in the fields.” He leaned forward and picked up the papers she had placed on the coffee table. Rifling through them, he said, “I’ve talked to your references, which were even more glowing on the phone than they were in writing. You’re obviously qualified. So, why don’t you ask me—or Anne—what you want to know about the job?”
    Quanna asked about hours, the probability of weekend work, how late she’d be expected to stay on school days, what the arrangements were for school holidays and vacations. She asked about his sons’ eating habits and if she’d be expected to provide transportation to and from afterschool activities.
    She asked so many questions, they hadn’t gotten in a tour of the house when the front door flew open and two boys, all legs, arms, and energy, ran into the entryway. Both looked like carbon copies of Jack with sandy-colored hair and brown eyes. Both looked curiously at the woman sitting on the edge of her seat in the living room.
    “Hey, guys,” Jack said. “Shoes off. Books on the bench. Then come meet someone.” When they had done as he asked, he introduced them. “Quanna, this is Daniel and his younger brother, Lucas. Daniel’s ten, and Lucas is eight. Boys, this is Quanna Morales. She’s applied for the job of keeping you two from living on junk food and wrecking the house.” He nodded at them, and as he’d taught them, they shook hands with her.
    “Hello,” Daniel said, his expression guarded, as it always was when he was introduced to new people or situations.
    “Hi,” Lucas said. He cocked his head to one side. “You have a funny name.”
    “Don’t be rude,” Jack said at the same time Anne said, “Lucas!”
    “It’s okay. I get that all the time,” Quanna said. “Yes, it’s unusual, isn’t it? It’s Indian. My mother is Umatilla and is an admirer of Quanah Parker, who was a famous Indian leader. She changed the spelling of his name a little, but that’s who I’m named for. His parents were white and Indian. I’m mixed culturally, too. My dad was born in Central America.”
    “My teacher grew up on the reservation,” Lucas said.
    “I did, too. Maybe I know her.”
    “Her name’s Ms. Eagleman.”
    “Mary? I know her and her family.” Quanna said. “So, what’s your favorite thing she teaches?”
    In a rather theatrical fashion, using his body as he talked, Lucas explained his struggle with math and science and his love for words and the arts. When Quanna asked Daniel the same question, he answered less dramatically, saying that he did well in most subjects but, unlike his brother, liked science best.
    “Good, then maybe you can help me with my homework when I’m having trouble,” Quanna said.
    “Grown-ups don’t have homework,” Lucas said.
    “This one does,” she answered. “I take classes sometimes at Blue Mountain, and I’ve been taking a lot of science classes lately.”
    Jack watched the interchange between Quanna and his sons with growing pleasure. She wasn’t condescending or uptight.