Black Creek Burning (The Black Creek Series, Book 1) by R.T. Wolfe Page A

anyway.
    He'd given Brie time to think and the space she'd asked for. He'd never had time for
     clingy women. Following her suggestions, he worked with Andy each night, reading the
     books she sent home, doing the worksheets, flashing the flashcards and all that. As
     he and Andy worked on his assignments, Duncan worked with pencil and water colors
     on the view of the lake and Black Creek. The scene was becoming a nightly routine,
     and it felt right.
    For the first time, he was beginning to feel like a real parent. The studio wasn't
     calling. He wasn't working late. The letters requesting work piled up, but he could
     ignore those easily enough.
    His folks helped and had already convinced him into a few day trips with the boys,
     one hiking around the Finger Lakes and another ice skating in downtown Northridge.
     The boys seemed to get into the cold as much as his hard-shelled neighbor. He saw
     her almost daily and let his dog out to play with hers when the two of them came around
     to her backyard.
    He stopped what he was doing to watch out one of the windows in the back of his garage.
     There she was, working with Goldie. His dog trotted across the log without her coaxing
     him now. She plopped his butt down and put a hand in front of him like a stop sign,
     then walked away. The mutt sat watching her. Brie patted her leg and he ran to her,
     looking like he was going to knock her over. Instead he slammed on the brakes, then
     sat his butt down again. Go figure.
    Brie always had some kind of treat in her pocket for a reward. He thought that was
     cheating. He tried to get Goldie to sit and stay for him once, but the dog played
     dumb. If he didn't hear from her soon, she would have to deal with him breaking the
     don't-come-to-my-house request.
    * * *
    Andy learned quickly. Brie was determined to catch him up. Not because of anything
     that included Nathan, but because it was her job. She learned that he loved to build.
     There wasn't a lot of that in the first grade, but she made some adjustments to allow
     for it. The other kids were drawn to him. He was fun and had a likable personality.
     It was often too cold to go outside for recess. On those days, the students played
     in the classroom after lunch. The other children liked to give Andy something to build
     with, sort of a challenge. Cards, blocks, books.
    She decided to ask about Duncan and stopped in to see his teacher on her way home.
     She knocked on the open door. "Elizabeth? Did I catch you at a bad time?" Mrs. Whittier
     was in her early sixties. Her hair was stark white and her skin well cared for. Not
     too many lines for a woman her age. She generally wore dresses with large floral prints
     and laced shoes with large heels.
    "No, no, Brie. Come in. I expected you long before this."
    Honestly confused, she asked, "Did I forget something we were to do?"
    "No. I expected you to check on the Reed boy before now. Aren't you still seeing his
     uncle?"
    The Reed boy? Brie thought that was cold. "I was never seeing his uncle." She reviewed the
     night of the New Year's Eve party in her head, trying to remember if Elizabeth had
     been there. "Who told you that?"
    Elizabeth's brows lifted. "I'm not sure really, everyone I suppose. The boy is doing
     well. He's smart enough, although the children are giving him a go. Sorry about the
     assumption, by the way."
    "Apology accepted as long as you mention that it's not true the next time you hear
     it. What do you mean 'giving him a go'?"
    The third-grade teacher stuffed papers into a bag covered with pictures of cats. "They
     call him a girl. He does like to doodle on a lot of his notebooks and papers. Mostly
     trees and people. The teasing doesn't seem to bother him. He's content."
    "I see you're on your way out. I'll let you get going. Have a nice night, and thank
     you."
    Brie kept running back the phrase "but he does like to doodle" through her mind, like
     it was enough of a reason to call him a girl. As if it was