by Cindi Myers
He took the book, frowning. “This is Dylan Gates’s father, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” She braced herself for some crass comment.
He opened the book. “I remember some kind of controversy about this. What was it?”
“I believe some people were upset because they thought the book portrayed an unflattering picture of the town’s past.”
He nodded and thumbed to the section of photographs in the book’s middle. “It’s about the Civil Rights struggle, right?”
“Yes. He was a Texas Ranger here during that period.”
He shut the book and handed it back to her. “I don’t believe it’s merely a coincidence you picked this particular book. It’s all over town you’re seeing Dylan again.”
She shrugged. “Believe what you want. The students chose the book, not me.”
Grady leaned against his desk and crossed his arms. “I hear Dylan’s been asked to run for school board. This wouldn’t be a ploy to garner a little extra publicity, would it? Play up the old ‘local boy makes good’ angle?”
Did he practice that smug look in the mirror? “This has nothing to do with that. If anything, some of the old objections to the book might surface, which could be a bad thing for Dylan’s campaign.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Seems like studying this book now is asking for trouble.”
She’d known he wouldn’t say yes right away. The sole reason Grady accepted the position as head of the English department was to take his own little power trip. Riding herd on a bunch of English teachers wasn’t exactly leading the Wild Bunch, but when you were a paunchy, fading former football star, it was something. “Grady, do you remember when we were in school and you and some of the other football players whitewashed every jockey statue in every front yard in town—including the one in Superintendent Peterson’s yard?”
He grinned. “Peterson came out to go to church Sunday morning and just about had a heart attack.” He chuckled. “My dad made me string barbwire fence all summer as punishment, but it was worth it to see the look on Peterson’s face.”
“The thing is, a lot of statues stayed white after that. And the rest of them quietly disappeared. You may have gone about it the wrong way, but you sent the right message.” She gave him a long look. “Are we educating our students to do the right thing—or only the safe thing?”
He studied the toes of his boots. “I hear what you’re saying.” He nodded. “Let me think about it.”
She didn’t smile until she was out of his office and halfway down the hall. Painting Grady Murphy as a champion of civil rights had been a stretch. She had a hunch the jockey-painting idea had originated with Dylan and Grady had tagged along after him, as they all had in those days. Dylan was the star they followed, a rare leader at an age when they all wanted desperately to belong to the pack.
When she walked into her classroom, she was startled to find Mindy seated at her desk, riffling through the center drawer. She cleared her throat and Mindy looked up. “You don’t keep anything incriminating in here, do you?” Mindy said, her cheeks a deep pink.
“What exactly are you looking for?” Taylor laid the book on the corner of the desk.
Mindy closed the drawer. “For starters, something that will tell me what was really going on with you and Dylan Gates last night. Who is, by the way, a definite hottie.” She fanned herself.
“What do you mean?” She pretended great interest in a stack of papers in her In box. “He came by to talk to my students about his father.”
“Uh-huh? So what was with that bogus ‘we fell in the pool’ story?”
Taylor felt the hot flush creep up her neck. “Maybe it didn’t happen exactly like that.”
Mindy leaned forward, her voice low. “Your clothes were dry and your hair was wet. If you were in that pool, you had to have been naked.”
Taylor winced and glanced toward the classroom door. It was early yet; the students were still gathering in the hallways. She looked back at Mindy. Maybe it would be a good idea to confide in a friend. Maybe Mindy could help her sort out her confused feelings. “We were in the shower,” she said.
“The shower!” Mindy squealed and clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Shh-hh! I don’t want everyone to hear.”
Mindy uncovered her mouth, revealing a huge grin. “What were you doing in the shower? Or should I guess?”
Taylor checked the doorway again. Still empty. “Back when I was in school, there was this rumor that Dylan and I got caught showering together in the boys’ locker room,” she whispered. “It wasn’t true, but lately… Well, since the reunion… He and I have been, um, re-creating some of those old rumors.”
“Re-creating?” Mindy’s eyes widened. “You mean, you’re doing now what everyone thought you were doing then? Why?” She giggled. “Not that you need a reason for having hot sex with a guy like Dylan….”
Taylor gripped the edge of the desk. “I know it sounds crazy, but I thought… Well, I realized I’ve kind of had a crush on Dylan all these years and I thought this would be a good way to get him out of my system.”
Mindy pursed her lips and tapped her chin with one finger. “Let me see if I understand this. You realized you’re still crazy about Dylan after all these years. He comes back to town and you think this ‘crush’ as you call it, is a bad thing? Explain how you arrived at this conclusion, please?”
Taylor frowned. “Consult your Webster’s. I think you’ll find ‘crush’ defined as ‘an immature infatuation’ or something along those lines. It’s not anything lasting or real. It’s just like you said—I’ve been stuck in high school, carrying around this unrealistic image of the ‘perfect man’ and it’s ruined me for all other relationships.”
“So screwing your brains out with this gorgeous guy is going to ‘cure’ you?” She shook her head. “That’s like telling me I’ll lose ten pounds on a diet of cheesecake and Deluxe Danny Burgers.”
Taylor looked away. When Mindy put it that way, her “experiment” with Dylan didn’t make any sense. If familiarity was supposed to breed contempt, if spending more time with him was supposed to make her see his faults and flaws more clearly, then so far it wasn’t working. But one thing hadn’t changed—the real reason she and Dylan weren’t going to ever move beyond “immature infatuation.”
“I’m still going away to Oxford after Christmas. Dylan is settling down here. He’s even running for school board. This is his home.”
Mindy frowned. “And you can’t make it your home, too? Nobody says you have to go to Oxford.”
“Oh, sure. Go to Oxford for dream year spent studying Shakespeare and possible future dream job or stay in small Texas town and continue to be outsider with risque past. What kind of choice is that?”
Mindy sat back, arms folded across her chest. “Try this one—run away to Oxford to avoid dealing with past or stay in small town and risk finding true love and acceptance.”
Taylor felt as if someone was tightening a tourniquet around her heart. “For a math teacher, you aren’t very logical,” she said. “Dylan and I agreed to a short-term fling. This doesn’t mean anything more to him than it does to me.”
“You haven’t convinced me that it doesn’t mean anything to you.”
She had a sudden memory of Dylan tenderly drying her body with the gym towel, wrapping the thin terry cloth around her and pulling her close. He’d made her feel so cared for. So safe. So…loved. The band around her heart tightened another notch and she shook her head to rid it of the image. It was just part of the fantasy she’d conjured. The feelings she had for Dylan—whatever they truly were—couldn’t possibly last. “I’m going to Oxford in January. That’s where I belong. Dylan is staying here, where he belongs. Right now, we’re just having a nice time together.”
“The last part I believe, at least.”
Time to change the subject. She leaned toward Mindy. “What were you doing walking out to the parking lot with Clay Walsh last nig
ht? Are you two finally getting together?”
Mindy frowned. “Not really. We were at the task-force meeting and he offered to walk me to my car. I thought maybe he was going to ask me out, but nothing happened.”
“Maybe he just needs a little encouragement. A little push in the right direction.”
She uncrossed her arms and smoothed her hands down her thighs. “We’re having supper next Friday. I told him I wanted to discuss some ideas I had for the task force, but really I’m hoping we can talk about us.”
“I think you should be up-front with him. Come right out and tell him how you feel.”
Mindy chewed her lower lip. “What if he doesn’t feel the same way about me? I’d be so embarrassed, I’d have to quit my job.”
“You won’t have to quit your job.” She smiled. “I think Clay would be really pleased to know you’re attracted to him. It could be that because you’re younger and under his supervision, he’s reluctant to make the first move.”
“I’ll think about it.” She stood. “I guess I’d better get to class. I’m giving a test today.”
“Good luck.” When Mindy was gone, Taylor sat at her desk and tried to focus on the day’s lesson plan. But her advice to Mindy pricked her conscience. Here she was advising her friend to be honest about her attraction to Clay and Taylor herself hadn’t been completely honest about her feelings for Dylan. She had to admit she couldn’t think of him any longer as just a sex partner. Now that they had renewed their friendship, her feelings for him were a lot more complicated. She would have liked to explore those emotions more fully, but there wasn’t time. All she could do was keep things on a superficial level and hope she could avoid being hurt too badly when the time came for them to part.
She opened the top left-hand drawer of her desk and took out the packet of information from Oxford. The front of the folder was embossed with a line drawing of the university. She smoothed her hand over the picture. When she’d gotten this information she’d been so excited. It had been the middle of summer then and the thought of a year in cool, green England, devoting herself to studying poetry and playing tourist, had seemed like paradise.
Only now, as the date of her departure loomed closer, did she think of another side of the picture. She was going to a country where she knew no one, to live alone in a rented flat. Would she be any more at home there than she was here in Cedar Creek? At least here she knew people, some of whom she’d even miss when she was gone.
There was a knock on the door and Clay Walsh leaned in. “I stopped by to see if you’re all right after last night,” he said.
“Yes, of course.” She set aside the folder and forced a smile. What did Clay think about last night? Had he drawn his own conclusions and come here now to voice his disapproval? She braced herself to take the reprimand she probably deserved. She and Dylan had been crazy to do what they’d done on school property. At least she could count on Clay to keep their secret. The principal wasn’t one to gossip.
“Grady Murphy stopped by just now and told me about the class project you’re working on.” He stopped and tapped the copy of A Ranger Remembers on her desk. “He wanted my opinion before he gave his approval.”
She relaxed a little. Maybe Clay wasn’t going to say anything about last night, after all. “And what is your opinion?”
“I think it’s a good idea. Something the students will benefit from. And the community, too.”
“Does that mean I have approval, then?”
He nodded. “I think it does.”
Her smile was genuine now. How nice to work for a principal who supported his teachers and trusted their judgment. Clay was good man. He deserved a good woman in his life, as well. “You just missed Mindy Lewis,” she said, just to gauge his reaction.
He blinked and looked back over his shoulder, as if to catch a glimpse of the young teacher. “You and she are good friends, aren’t you?”
“Yes, we are. Mindy’s a pretty special woman, I think.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re right.” He drummed his fingers on the book, his expression thoughtful.
“She tells me the two of you are having supper next Friday.”
“She told you that?” He looked surprised. “Yes, she said she had some ideas for the task force. I’m looking forward to hearing them.”
Taylor smiled. “I’m sure you’ll have a great time. Mindy’s always fun to be with.”
He looked uncomfortable, his gaze darting around her desk top. Finally he spotted the packet from Oxford. “You must be excited about the teaching fellowship,” he said.
She nodded. “Yes. It’s very exciting.”
“We’re all very proud of you, you know? It isn’t every day a teacher from a small school like this wins such a prestigious appointment.”
“Thank you.”
“We should plan some sort of formal send-off for you. A reception or assembly.”
“That really isn’t necessary….”
“No, we really should do this.” His expression brightened. “I’ll ask Mindy. She’ll know what to do.”
“You do that.” But he was already out of the room. She stared after him. Now that she was leaving, people wanted to make a big fuss over her? It didn’t make any sense.
She shoved the packet back into the drawer. All she’d ever wanted was to blend in, to be accepted. Obviously that was never going to happen in a place like Cedar Creek.
BETWEEN SETTING UP his practice and running for office, Dylan had plenty of work to do. Unfortunately his brain refused to concentrate on anything but erotic memories of Taylor—in the shower at the gym, in the front seat of his truck, on the sofa in her living room. Not to mention less-erotic images of her smile, her laugh or the way she tilted her head to one side when she was thinking.
If his brain had been a TV, it would have been tuned to the All Taylor, All the Time network. And where his brain went, his body followed, so that he spent all his time with a hard-on. Not exactly good conditions for getting anything constructive done.
He couldn’t remember ever obsessing over a woman this way and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like that even when he wasn’t with her, she was still controlling his thoughts. He’d never thought of himself as a man ruled by his sex drive, but that’s what he felt like now with Taylor. He’d left her only a few hours ago and he was ready to be with her again.
He was on edge not only from desire, but from his chaotic emotions. Was Taylor his friend? His lover? A passing fancy or an enduring flame?
Determined to get something done, he pulled out a case file and forced himself to concentrate on a question of real estate law. Within a few minutes he was scribbling notes on a legal pad, plotting his defense of the case. He paused to pull a book from his shelf. When he opened it, a sheet of paper fluttered to the ground.
He retrieved the paper from the floor and found himself staring at a letter his father had sent while Dylan was in law school. Characteristic of his father, it was short and to the point.
Dear son,
I hope you’re doing well. I’m sure you’ll find some use for the enclosed check. Everything here is the same. The book is out and my publisher tells me they are pleased with sales. A few local folks have made a fuss, but I guess that means they are reading the thing, which is good. Your mother sends her love.
Love,
Dad.
The sight of his father’s familiar handwriting made him catch his breath. He could almost see his dad, seated at the old desk in his study, scribbling these few lines to his son. A few locals have made a fuss, he’d written, reducing to a few words the irate letters to the editor, public protests at city council and school-board meetings and the banning of his book from the school library. How much that public derision must have hurt his father, a quiet, private man who had spent his life giving to the community, only to have his most personal gift thrown back in his face.
How much the memory hurt his son now. Dylan re-folded the letter and replaced it in the
book. If nothing else, he owed Taylor a debt of thanks for re-introducing his father’s legacy to a new generation. Not that the move surprised him. Taylor had always put personal freedom ahead of public opinion. When rumors had circulated that a certain male student was gay and possibly suffering from AIDS, Taylor had made a point of going up to the boy in the lunch room and kissing him on the lips. Dylan had stood in the crowd that day, watching her, heart pounding. He’d been awed by her bravery and more than a little jealous that he wasn’t the one she was kissing.
No wonder people were willing to believe she’d do all the wild things credited to her and Dylan. From what he could tell, she hadn’t changed that much over the years. In public, perhaps, she was a little more reserved, but in private, she held nothing back. She sought and gave pleasure with equal abandon. When he was with her, he felt he really knew her, and himself, in a way he never had before.
He sank into the chair, lost once again in memory and fantasy. Maybe he’d have to wait until Taylor left the country before he got any real work done. A deep ache blossomed in the center of his chest at the thought. He didn’t want her to go, but he was powerless to stop her. Going to Oxford was her dream, just as coming back to Cedar Creek had been his. No one had the right to steal someone else’s dream.
He stared at the phone, wishing he could call her. Hearing her voice right now might make it easier to get through the day. But she was working right now. Teaching. He couldn’t interrupt. What would he say, anyway? I called just to talk? Even as a besotted teenager he hadn’t been that pathetic.
He sighed and picked up the legal pad again. Nothing like a riveting real estate law case to take your mind off a woman. Not.
Half an hour later the phone rang. Grateful for any distraction, Dylan lunched for it. “Hello?”
“Dylan, it’s me, Taylor.”
At the sound of her voice, it was as if someone cut a cord that had been wrapped too tightly around him. He relaxed into his chair, smiling. “I was just thinking about you.”
“You were? Imagine that.” Her voice was a sexy purr.
