CASSIDY'S COURTSHIP

by Sharon Mignerey

  Brenna's mask of calm gradually gave way, and Cole found her alternately shy and funny, and always articulate. Nothing in her speech hinted that she hadn't finished school.

  Equally compelling was his need to know more about her. Over dinner, she told him that her father had been stationed all over the world. Everywhere they had lived, Brenna's overriding interest was in the legends and parables handed down from grandparents to grandchildren. Given her interest in those stories and the lost opportunities that came with her dropping out of school, Cole found her interest poignant. He understood better why she enjoyed volunteering for story hour at the library. In her own way, she seemed to be passing on legends to the next generation.

  "You obviously love all those old folk tales," Cole said. "My grandmother had dozens of stories she told me as a kid."

  "Like what?" Brenna encouraged.

  Cole ducked his head. "At the time, I didn't pay that much attention," he murmured.

  "Ah," Brenna said with a chuckle. "There are times when I wish I had paid more attention to my grandmother, too."

  "I was too busy telling her what a hotshot I was going to be after I grew up that I didn't listen nearly as much as I should have," Cole confessed. When Brenna cocked her head to the side in silent encouragement, he continued, "About every other week I had a new career I was going to try. And it didn't really matter whether I wanted to be a deep-sea diver or a design engineer, she listened as though she really believed me."

  Brenna nodded. "Mine, too."

  "She also knew when to knock me down a peg or two, or ten, when I needed it. I was the first in my family to get a college education, and I remember being pretty smug about that. I remember the summer after I graduated, I'd come home to help my dad bring in the hay, and I didn't like the way he was doing anything. Grandmom sat me down and boxed my ears." He smiled. "Literally. Told me a little book learning didn't mean diddly without experience, sweat, and common sense." Cole met Brenna's eyes. "She was right."

  Brenna swallowed. "Education is also important."

  Cole nodded. "But, my grandmother showed me that other things are equally important. She was the oldest of seven children, and her papa made her quit school after her mama died so she could help take care of the little ones."

  "Why are you telling me this?" Brenna asked.

  Cole met her glance. "My grandmother would have boxed my ears again," he said, "if she'd heard our conversation the other night. I admire you. I respect you."

  Brenna's eyes took on a sudden shimmer and she shook her head. "Don't say things you don't mean."

  "I'm not." He wanted to tell her outright that her lack of education didn't matter to him. It's what Grandmom would have expected of him. But it wasn't the truth, and he did wonder why she had never worked for her GED.

  He still found it difficult to believe she hadn't finished school. She was eloquent, listened intently when he had something to say, and asked thoughtful questions. Maybe she was one of those people without much education who was widely read, he decided. The apartment was certainly filled with books.

  His gut instinct told him there was more to Brenna than met the eye. He didn't know what it was, but he had to find out.

  "I'm not judging you," he said, taking her hand.

  "I judge me," she returned.

  He smiled and touched the side of her face. "Then maybe it's time to stop."

  After they finished dinner, Cole and Brenna walked hand in hand the few blocks to the theater, pausing along the way to window-shop. Brenna couldn't have said what they looked at or talked about. Had it been within her power, she would have stretched those moments into hours.

  After they were seated in the theater, she found the program nearly as frustrating as the menu. She searched for words she recognized, trying to read as she hadn't tried in years. The. A. To. Or. His, for, last, and, in, house, wife. Her recognition of those words came slowly, and she shook her head in frustration. The play, Paint Your Wagon, was a lighthearted musical that bore little resemblance to the movie she had seen years before. When intermission came, she and Cole followed the crowd into the lobby. Someone called Cole's name from across the lobby.

  "Cole, hello," the woman said, extending her hand.

  Dressed in a severe white suit with a sheer navy blue tailored blouse underneath, she was poised as anyone Brenna had seen in a long time. She was reminded of Sunday afternoon teas on broad expanses of manicured lawns, where the officers' wives had tried to outdress one another. Children were to be seen and never heard, and problems were ignored with the same efficiency as dirty plates and glasses that were whisked away by white-coated waiters.

  "Hello, Sandra. Frank."

  Brenna glanced behind the woman to the man Cole was shaking hands with. He wore a seersucker jacket and tweed slacks that were a definite mismatch. What an odd-looking couple, Brenna thought.

  "Are you enjoying the play?" Cole asked. This is it, he thought suddenly. The first time he and Brenna had ever been with any of his colleagues.

  "It's a bit much," Sandra replied. "But it is fun, isn't it? I think I would have preferred a good drama."

  Cole touched Brenna's arm. "This is my friend, Brenna James. Brenna, Sandra and Frank Wilson."

  Sandra tipped her head in a slight nod. "Hello."

  Frank clasped both of Brenna's hands in his, and a smile creased his tanned face, deep smile lines making his eyes just about disappear. "We're both glad to meet you. My wife may prefer a good drama, but I like this a lot."

  "Me, too," Brenna said with a smile. She glanced back at Sandra. Brenna had the feeling that, despite her pleasant expression, Sandra was a woman who was good at hiding her feelings beneath a chic exterior. Frank, however, seemed as relaxed as Sandra was formal, as warm as she was cool.

  "Have you and Brenna been dating long?" Sandra asked Cole.

  "Long enough," Cole replied, wrapping a hand round Brenna's and slanting her a warm smile. "Sandra shows the same aggressive style in court. She gets right to the point."

  Sandra's mouth curved in a surprisingly friendly smile. "And guess who I took lessons from?"

  It was the kind of small talk Brenna knew how to do even if she didn't like it. "If you're referring to Cole, I believe it. I've seen him in action."

  "Are you also an attorney?" Frank asked. "Because I'm really going to feel outnumbered here if you are."

  Brenna laughed. "Good heavens, no."

  "Thank God," he said with real feeling. "I'm safe. You get three lawyers together, and it's a convention." He took a sip of wine from the clear plastic glass he held. "So, Brenna, what do you do when you're not keeping Cole out of mischief?"

  The sixty-four dollar question, Brenna thought. Why was it people decided who you were by what you did to earn a living? She squeezed Cole's hand and looked at him with wide eyes, giving her best imitation of a woman completely beguiled by a man. "Who says I'm keeping him out of mischief?"

  Frank laughed. "Have you been sailing with him yet?"

  Brenna nodded. "Sure have. And, he promised to take me to Lake Dillon the next time we go out." She gave Frank another once-over. "Next thing you know, he'll want to teach me to play golf."

  Cole gave her a puzzled glance. Never once had he indicated a liking for golf—in fact, he hated the game.

  Frank chuckled. "If you want a good teacher, forget this guy. I'm your man." And he launched into a long dissertation about his favorite "impossible" shots.

  Cole's puzzlement gave way to admiration as his understanding dawned. Brenna had accurately gauged Frank's likes and dislikes. In the process, she steered the conversation away from herself.

  Cole watched Brenna as the conversation drifted back to sailing and how they each were spending their spare time during the summer. Brenna continued to turn the conversation away from herself, deftly picking up on things Frank or Sandra told her, getting them to expand on their comments.

  Cole had to admit to himself that Brenna was far better at the social
small talk than he would ever be. She was warm, witty, and Frank and Sandra would walk away knowing nothing about Brenna James. Cole listened, really listened, to her. She sounded as well educated as Sandra, and her diction and grammar were better than Frank's.

  The lobby lights flickered, indicating intermission was over. Cole squeezed her hand. "Ready to go sit back down?"

  "It was a pleasure meeting you," Frank said. He and Sandra disappeared in the throng of people returning to the theater.

  "Are they good friends?" Brenna asked.

  Cole shook his head. "Acquaintances. And I never realized before tonight just how nosy Sandra is."

  "Unusual couple."

  "She's a prosecutor in the district attorney's office, and he's making tons of royalty money off a group of computer programs he developed a few years ago."

  Brenna glanced at Cole. "That tells me what they do, but not who they are."

  Cole followed Brenna into their aisle where they sat back down. "I don't understand."

  "Aren't you more than the sum of your job?" she asked.

  "Of course."

  "Is what you do for a living the most important part of who you are?"

  "It's a big piece," he said.

  "I know. But, is it the most important piece?"

  He shook his head. "I hope not."

  She smiled. "Which is my point. What is Sandra Wilson's most important piece? I bet it's not her job."

  Cole grinned. "In her case, I wouldn't bet on it." He took Brenna's hand in his. "But if you're trying to tell me there's a lot more to you than your education or the jobs you've had, I know that, fair lady. And I like all the parts of you."

  "Intuitive, too, aren't you?" She slid her arm under his, threading her fingers with his.

  He lifted their joined hands to his mouth and kissed the back of hers. "No. But I can add two plus two and get the right answer if I'm pressed."

  The curtain rising for the second act kept Brenna from replying. As the play unfolded, she watched Cole from the corner of her eye. Tonight she had been the worst kind of fraud. Pretending she was just like him. Telling him about things she had seen and done while she lived overseas. She loved his approval, and she enjoyed his company. He'd given her the opportunity to tell him she couldn't read when he told her the story about his grandmother. And she couldn't face shattering his attraction to her with the unadorned truth of her life.

  When the play ended, Cole held her hand while they walked to his car and stole a kiss when he helped her into the seat.

  "It doesn't seem possible Independence Day is this weekend," Cole said.

  "Summer always feels like it's half over by then. Even though it's just started."

  "What I'd like to do over the Fourth of July, is go to the ranch." Cole took her hand. "You and me."

  "You're asking me…"

  "To go to Nebraska with me." He smiled at her. "About once a year, I get homesick. And I go to the ranch for a few days, get my perspective back, and things are good again. You know?"

  "Yeah."

  "So, it's agreed then. You'll come with me."

  Brenna sensed the tension radiating from him despite the casual tone of his voice. She wanted to say yes, but she owed it to herself—to him—to think about this a little. Meeting his parents … she wasn't ready for that.

  "I'd like you to meet my folks. And you'd love my grandmother," he said, as if reading her thoughts.

  Cole didn't know whether he had expected an immediate "Yes, I'd love to come" from her. But he hadn't expected her to watch him with dark eyes as though she was trying to fathom some hidden message.

  He pulled into an empty parking space in front of the apartment.

  "You'd love my grandmother," he repeated. "She's the most amazing person, feisty as ever. She's over eighty now, and she ignores us all when we tell her she ought to slow down a little. Did I tell you that she came to Nebraska on a horse-drawn wagon?"

  Brenna shook her head. "She's seen a lot, then." Accepting Brenna's comment as an invitation for more, Cole told her about his grandmother's trip from Kentucky to Nebraska when she was a girl, then told her how she'd met his grandfather.

  Brenna listened with her usual fascination for oral histories passed from one generation to another. Easily, she imagined what it must have been like traveling across the wide prairie to a new and unknown home.

  Cole's grandmother came alive to Brenna, and she admitted wanting to meet the woman who had been such an influence on him. Even so, the idea of being important enough to him to meet his family scared her.

  "We'll have a great time," he said, finishing his story by repeating his invitation to visit the ranch.

  "Do you ask every girl you take to dinner?" she teased. On one hand, she would have a lot less pressure if he took women there all the time. On the other hand, she didn't want to be one of many.

  "Only one other," Cole answered seriously. "And that was a long time ago."

  Brenna's smile fell away. This was no casual thing for him either. She should tell him no, but instead, she asked, "When would we go?"

  "Probably Wednesday. I'd like to spend the weekend there and come back on Sunday night or Monday." Cole's finger touched a tendril that lay against her nape. "It would give us some time together without all the distractions we find around here."

  Brenna smiled. "No Teddy."

  "If you want a chaperon, my grandmother would do better than Teddy any day."

  "She takes longer naps?"

  Cole laughed. "Ahh, Brenna." He slid closer and touched her temple with his lips. "I know a few places on the ranch where I can have you all to myself."

  "What kind of invitation is this?" she whispered.

  "Completely honorable." He kissed her cheek, then her hairline below her ear where wisps had escaped the confinement of her chignon. "I want to touch, and look at, and cherish—"

  "Oh, Cole," she sighed, putting her arms around him. "Yes." He hauled her across his lap. "I want you."

  "I know."

  "I think a change of scenery would do us both good."

  "I agree," she whispered against his neck.

  "So you'll come?"

  She nodded. "I'll have to rearrange the schedule for a couple of my cleaning customers. And I have to make sure I don't leave Jane in the lurch. Maybe one of the neighbors can help watch Teddy for a couple of days."

  "Good," Cole whispered a scant second before claiming her mouth as completely as he wanted to claim her body. He wanted to take her back to his house, and conversely, he wanted this tension to increase until she was as consumed by it as he was. Reluctantly, he forced himself to lighten the pressure of his kisses, to tease them both.

  When they made love for the first time, he wanted time to play, to enjoy, and to have thoughts of work far behind them. The perfect place would be at the lake, he thought. They would make love beneath the shady cottonwoods, then go skinny-dipping, and play very adult games in the water. He'd never taken a woman there. In fact, he had never made love with a woman out-of-doors.

  The idea of making love with Brenna like that tested his resolve to tease them rather than escalate the passion. A few more days, he promised himself. Finally, Cole forced himself to let her go and he walked her to the door of the apartment. "I'll come by tomorrow night," he said. "What would you like to do?"

  "I don't know. I can't," she blurted out, her color very high. "I'm … Nancy and I are—"

  "Going to the movies, I bet," Cole said. "Who is she dragging you off to see this time? Tom Cruise? The latest Spielberg film?"

  "Jealous?" she asked, wrapping her arms around him, a smile lighting her face.

  "Only if you think about kissing any one else like this," Cole answered, lowering his mouth to hers.

  "Just Tom," Brenna whispered long seconds later, as she hugged Cole more tightly.

  "Just Tom," he muttered. "I don't even want to know." He set her firmly away from him. "You two have a good time. I'll call you from work tomorrow." />
  "Okay."

  He playfully swatted at her fanny as she turned to go through the door. "And be good."

  She turned and winked at him. "Of course, you won't be around."

  * * *

  Chapter 14

  « ^ »

  "Hi," Nancy said the following evening when she met Brenna outside the library.

  "Hi," Brenna responded. Now that the moment was upon her, she almost wished she hadn't agreed to this. Fear, the flip side of elation, surfaced. She knew just what failure tasted like. She had dined at that plate for years.

  Everyone knew kids learned things more easily than adults. The last time she had tried, the experience had been awful. She had felt stupid, and she had hated the teacher. Alarm curled through her stomach and she cast Nancy a quick glance. They were friends. God, what if she ended up hating her friend?

  "I just figured out something," Nancy whispered as they crossed the library, headed toward the meeting rooms.

  "What's that?"

  "I'm scared to death."

  Brenna stopped dead in her tracks, her heart pounding, and watched Nancy walk ahead of her. Of all the things she could have said, this was one Brenna had not expected. Nancy opened the door into a small room and turned around to wait for Brenna.

  She slowly approached the door. "Why are you afraid?"

  Awful things poured through Brenna's head. Maybe she was too stupid to learn, and Nancy knew it. Or maybe she had changed her mind. Or maybe this was going to be just too, too hard.

  Nancy closed the door behind Brenna. "Because I've never done this before. When I volunteered, I thought it would be easy. Then, when I went through my training … whew." She rolled her eyes. "They had some exercises to show us what it would be like for someone who doesn't read, and all of the sudden, I figured out this wasn't some lark to feed my ego. This was hard. And important."

  "But you volunteered anyway," she interjected. "So why are you scared?"

  Nancy looked away from a moment, and when she looked up, her eyes were bright. "I never really thought about who might be my student. And it's you—my friend. And what if I'm not good enough—"