Susan Crosby - Marriage On His Mind

Four

Mickey stood in the courtyard absorbing the beauty of the community college campus, an award-winning school praised for its overall design and lush landscaping. Climbing ivy and leafy trees cleverly screened concrete and stucco buildings; flowering shrubs edged brick pathways weaving through the campus grounds. No city sounds intruded. The college was a community unto itself.

The frantic, disorganized first week of the semester was over; her second week of teaching had begun. Last Monday, she’d been able to look forward to the batting lesson with Jack at the end of her first day of teaching. Now all that faced her was her new Monday, Wednesday and Friday routine: four classes of algebra, followed by an hour for lunch, then two hours tutoring in the math lab. She would have papers to grade in the evening, lessons to plan and individual counseling where needed—nothing overly demanding, nothing that would too quickly awaken long-dead emotions, just a gradual return to life.

She had forgotten how much she enjoyed teaching, had forgotten the pleasure of communicating with curious students, how satisfying it was to see awareness dawn on the face of someone who grasped a concept that a moment earlier had been a puzzle.

“Hey, Ms. Morrison,” someone called, coming up behind her as she stared at the koi swimming in the fish pond, the showcase of the school’s courtyard.

She lifted her head and turned, then recognized the young man she’d just tutored in the lab. “Hey, Greg,” she responded, smiling at the infectious grin on his face. “Good work today.”

“It clicked, you know?”

“Drop by again on Wednesday, if you can. I think you can catch up in a hurry.” Her gaze shifted to a man making his way on crutches past them. He looked up from focusing on the path before him and stared at her, surprised.

“I’ll be there,” Greg said, walking backward. “Thanks a lot.”

Mickey blinked, breaking the intensity of the gaze with the man who had haunted her dreams for days. Haltingly, she said goodbye to Greg and watched as he jogged across the courtyard. He had been out of sight for seconds before she reluctantly faced forward again. “Jack,” she whispered.

Jack positioned a crutch on each side of her, trapping her between him and the koi pond. His head an inch from hers, he breathed in the now-familiar scent of her shampoo. His gaze took in her blond pixie hair and startled brandy-colored eyes. Even without touching her, he could feel the tautness of her body, clothed this time in a blue-and-white striped tailored blouse and matching blue slacks. “You work here,” he stated, noting the briefcase she carried.

He saw her glance in silent question at his own soft-sided satchel tied to the handle of his right crutch. “I volunteer legal aid, and I occasionally speak to classes on topics that I have some expertise in,” he told her. “How about you?”

“I teach algebra,” she replied, clearly uncomfortable at having to answer.

He pulled back in surprise and studied her face, her identity becoming blindingly clear. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Mickey Morrison, would it?”

Her eyes widened in obvious shock. “How do you know that?”

His tenant! All these weeks, and she’d been living a hundred yards from him. Damn it all, what luck! He grinned. “I thought you knew my name.”

“I know your first name.”

“I’m Jack Stone.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“It should.”

“Why?”

“The name Jack Stone doesn’t ring any bells?” he pressed.

“Tell me why it should.”

Ignoring her demand, he slid a hand into his satchel and withdrew her L.A. Seagulls baseball cap. She started to take it from him, but he yanked it out of reach. “Not so fast. You stayed at the hospital for almost an hour. Obviously, you were worried about me. Why didn’t you at least stay long enough to talk to me?”

“I told you. There can’t be anything between us. Don’t keep forcing the issue.”

He used his most soothing voice, one he’d cultivated to pull information from reluctant clients and witnesses. “I know you’re in some kind of trouble. Whatever it is, let me help you.”

Mickey dipped her head. Lord, spare me from chauvinistic men, she thought, suddenly finding her sense of humor now that the shock of his knowing who she was had settled in. “Look, you can’t tell anyone, okay?” she said, her voice hushed and deep.

He leaned closer. “Of course.”

She glanced around surreptitiously. “I escaped a white slavery ring.”

“What?!”

“There were twenty of us, being guarded by a eunuch. He fell in love with me.” She sighed dramatically. “He helped me—”

Jack laughed, then plopped her cap backward on her head. “I get the message, loud and clear, Coach.”

“Do you?”

“Whatever’s bothering you isn’t criminal, right?”

“What made you think otherwise?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“Call it jumping to conclusions after years in a business where being suspicious is part of the job description.”

“Yet you were willing to help me, even if I’d done something—”

“I didn’t think you’d done anything. I just thought you were in some kind of trouble.” He backed up, providing her an escape route. “I can see you want to get on your way.”

Mickey frowned. He was giving up far too easily. She pulled the baseball cap off her head and ran her fingers through her hair. She was mesmerized by the intensity of the beautiful dark blue eyes directed on her, holding her hostage even after granting her freedom. “Thanks for returning this.”

“I’ve carried that with me everywhere I’ve gone these past four days. I went to the grocery store and opened shampoo bottles until found which one matched the scent in your cap, just because I needed to know. Even getting caught was worth the embarrassment.”

“You...you got caught? Sniffing shampoos in the store?” She tried very hard not to laugh.

He grinned. “Yeah, by a smug teenaged boy who stood there with his arms folded across his chest until I loaded every bottle I’d opened into a shopping cart and then followed me to make sure I bought them. But I needed to know everything I could about you. This cap was all I had. It’s hard now to give it up.”

She swallowed. No one had ever laid siege to her before. She wasn’t the kind of woman men saw as a sex object. She was just Mickey, the woman whom people asked directions of, whom weekend daddies trusted to take their daughters safely into public rest rooms. She looked harmless. She was harmless. She was not the femme fatale that Jack seemed to be projecting her to be.

Jack could see he’d flustered her, although he was mature enough not to gloat. He knew who she was. He knew how to find her. He could let her go—for now. “So long, Coach,” he said, maneuvering his crutches past her.

“Wait a minute, Jack Stone,” she called. “Tell me why I should know you.”

“You just think about it,” he called back, grinning. “I’ll be seeing you.”

Mickey wrenched open the jar of fish bait and sniffed. Ugh! What an atrocious odor. Fish Love It! Guaranteed To Attract Even The Most Elusive, the store display had promised, while the jar label warned it was not for human consumption. As if anyone in their right mind would want to taste it!

She held the jar at arm’s length, her nose wrinkling and eyes squinting. Dipping her thumb and two fingers into the jar, she extracted a smidgen of bait. The texture of clay, it rolled easily into a ball she could press onto the hook. She stared at her hand when the task was done, then dipped it in the water before resolutely wiping it on the ground, hoping the dirt would mask any lingering scent.