Muriel Jensen - Man With A Message

Letitia stared at her a moment, then smiled. “Well. When you return from your exploration, we’ll find a place for you if you’d like to work with us again. But until then, we have a lot to do here until the school year’s over. Is your heart still in it?”

“Absolutely,” Mariah replied firmly.

“Good. Then please explain to the children, and we’ll try to spoil them to help cheer them up.”

Mariah nodded. “I’m worried about Ashley. Do you have any idea what Walter Kerwin’s intentions are for her if he should…”

Letitia shook her head. “That isn’t really our business, Mariah. But I’ll be speaking with him today, and if he shares any information about that, I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you, Letty.”

“Are you going shopping today?”

Mariah nodded. Every Tuesday morning she replenished the dorm’s groceries and picked up special requests for the children.

Letitia delved into a bottom drawer of her desk and surfaced waving a ten-dollar bill. Mariah stood to take it from her. “Would you buy me a quarter pound of raisin clusters? Dark chocolate.”

Chocolate was Letitia’s one indulgence. Mariah had trouble finding fault with that.

“Of course.” Mariah started for the door.

“And about the flood…”

Mariah stopped in her tracks, prepared to take the heat for Brian’s gold-digging fiasco. She turned, shoulders square, “Yes?”

Letitia shook her head. “We had Brian’s grandfather here in the old days and he set the lawn on fire with a magnifying glass. Unfortunately, we’d just mowed, and it caught a bank of raked grass and burned several acres. We had his mother, too, and she had the same problems when she was in high school that she has now. We had to expel her.”

“Mercy.”

“Yes. I know there’s nothing you could have done to prevent what happened, but it was costly, and we must try to make Brian understand that even if he finds the gold, he’ll owe it all to us should he destroy the house.”

Relieved, Mariah nodded. “I’ve already explained that.”

“Good. Then enjoy your day.”

Mariah left Letitia’s office and headed for the cafeteria, hoping to get a quick cup of coffee before she went into town. Because she’d been rushed this morning, she hadn’t put up her hair or taken care with her clothes and she felt sort of unguarded, and therefore unprepared. She felt sure caffeine would help.

The cafeteria was filled with workmen, a circumstance the Manor staff had grown used to and mostly ignored. As she stepped over lumber in the dining area, she could hear saws whine, the staccato beat of hammering and the sound of male laughter. She went behind a long counter where lunch was usually served and into the kitchen.

Though the Manor had made arrangements for the public school to cater lunch at tables now set up in the gym until the renovation was complete, a coffeepot was always going in the kitchen for the staff and the workmen.

She took a thick pottery cup from a tray on the stainless-steel counter and filled it with the steaming brew. She turned to find a quiet corner in which to drink it—and ran right into Cam Trent, who was coming up behind her.

She uttered a little cry of dismay as the coffee sloshed; he danced back a step, and she put a hand to her cup as if to hold the coffee in. The hot brew sloshed all over it and she cried out again.

“Mariah!” Cam took the cup from her, caught her wrist and led her to the sink, where he slapped on the cold water tap and dunked her hand under it. “I’m sorry. I thought you saw me.”

“I had my back to you,” she pointed out, though her brain seemed focused on the touch of his fingertips at her wrist. “How could I have seen you?”

He turned her hand over under the water, his glance at her friendly but unsettlingly sharp. “I sensed you before I saw you,” he said. “I thought it might have been the same for you.”

She ignored that, determined just to get out of there. Her pulse was fluttering.

He shut off the water, dried her hand with the tail of his shirt, then inspected it. The pad of her thumb was red where the hot coffee had burned her.

“Come on. I can take care of that.” Still holding her hand, he drew her with him out the kitchen’s back door.

She pulled against him. “But my coffee…”

He wasn’t listening. In another moment they were in a parking area filled with tradesmen’s trucks. He led her to a green pickup that had seen better days.

He opened the passenger-side door and was immediately assailed by Fred, who kissed Cam’s face and whopped him with a dexterous paw.

“Hey, Fred.” Cam patted the dog’s flank, then reached around him and into the glove compartment. He extracted a first aid kit.

Fred licked Cam’s ear while Cam delved inside. He finally held up a small tube of something. “Hydrocortisone cream,” he said as he placed the kit on the roof of the cab. Holding her injured hand palm up, he squirted a small amount of white cream into it.

He rubbed it in gently.

She tried to think of something else. She’d felt flustered and befuddled this morning, and had put it down to oversleeping and then hurrying to prepare for school. His gentle, circling touch didn’t help. That is, it soothed the burn but did nothing for her flustered feelings.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you,” she replied. She looked at her thumb and not at him. Then she focused on the dog, who was overwhelmed by her attention. He kissed her cheek, her forehead, her hair.

“Fred, show some manners!” Cam commanded, pushing him back onto the seat he was about to fall off of.

“That’s all right.” Mariah patted the dog and nuzzled him. “My husband got our retriever in the divorce and I miss her a lot.”

CAM, STANDING SLIGHTLY behind Mariah, put the tube back into the first aid kit, studying her, thinking there was something different about her this morning. She seemed a little less controlled. Then he realized that her hair wasn’t scraped back and tied in a knot. It fell to the middle of her back, thick and glossy and the color of walnut. It softened the line of her face, darkened her eyes to midnight. Light rippled in it as she nuzzled Fred. Her hair made Cam feel lustful. He hated being such a cliché, but he couldn’t deny his reaction.

“Have you had breakfast?” he asked.

She stepped aside, giving him more room than he needed.

“No, I overslept. But I don’t really have time. I have to go shopping and then there’s—” A wild rumbling in her stomach interrupted her.

“Sounds like you’d better make time,” he said, pushing Fred to the middle of the bench seat. “Besides, I have something of yours.”

She looked puzzled. “What?”

“I’ll tell you over breakfast,” he said, bargaining, “then I’ll take you wherever you want to go shopping. I have to pick up a few things, too.”

She eyed him doubtfully. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“I came in to see if they were ready for me, but they’re ironing out some kind of problem with the plan, and I can’t start until tomorrow. Climb in.” He held the door, waiting for her to comply.

She finally did, giving him a brief but stimulating glimpse of a jeans-clad derriere as she swung into the seat. He pretended detachment, locked her in and closed the door.

He was not only a cliché, he decided as he walked around to his side, but a pubescent cliché.

The Breakfast Barn was everyone’s favorite place to begin the day. When things were starting slowly everywhere else, it was alive with activity—businessmen and -women, morning walkers, gossip groups who’d been getting together for years and solved their own and the world’s problems over scrambled eggs and coffee.