Rumor Has It

by Cindi Myers

Or was the right man standing here with her now? Was the reason she hadn’t been able to get him out of her head all these years because he was the one she was supposed to spend her life with?

  The thought sent a surge of panic through her. The feelings she’d had for Dylan all those years ago had been a silly teenage crush. And what she felt for him now was simply a more mature version of that crush, undoubtedly fueled by the best sex she’d ever had. You didn’t build a future on those kinds of feelings. Surely you didn’t.

  She pushed herself up out of the chair, anxious to be out of this room, away from Dylan. “I’d better go,” she said. “It was good seeing you again, Troy.”

  “Wait,” Dylan said. “I’ll only be another minute.”

  “Don’t leave on my account,” Troy said.

  “No. I really do have to go. I have work to do.” She nodded to them, managing to keep a smile on her face, then hurried away as fast as she dared, scarcely nodding to Anita as she passed. She had to get away, somewhere where she could think more clearly. She’d go home and take out the folder of paperwork for Oxford to remind herself again why she had to leave Cedar Creek and move on with her life. A life that didn’t include Dylan Gates.

  13

  AFTER SURVIVING SPEECHES to the Rotary Club, the Lions, the Kiwanis, the Junior League and the Happy Homemakers in his first two weeks of campaigning, Dylan considered himself a public speaking pro. But the thought of standing up in front of a classful of teenagers made his stomach do backflips. “I don’t see how you do this every day,” he told Taylor before the start of class.

  “They’re just kids.” She smiled. “Relax.”

  “I was one of those kids once. I remember how brutal they can be.”

  She laughed. “Don’t worry. They’re going to love you.”

  Do you love me? The thought popped into his head, unbidden. He watched her walk to her desk and bend over to consult her grade book. She was so graceful. So beautiful. He was starting to care for her so much.

  Too much. He looked away, down at his hands, which he’d unconsciously formed into fists, as if trying to hold on to something as elusive as the time he and Taylor had left together.

  Any fool knew you couldn’t stop time, anymore than he could stop Taylor from going away and leaving him.

  The first bell sounded. “Get ready,” she said. “Here they come.”

  As students filed into the classroom, he glanced at her again. He couldn’t hold on to her, but he could make the time they had left the best it could be. He’d make sure she had special memories to take with her, memories that would stay with her the rest of her life, the way he knew his feelings for her would always be a part of him.

  “Hey, Mr. Gates! How’s it going?” Dale walked up and shook his hand.

  “We’ve got some most excellent footage for our movie.” Berk joined them at the front of the room.

  “That’s great. I can’t wait to see it.”

  “Everybody take your seats and we’ll get started,” Taylor said. “You all remember Dylan Gates. His father wrote the book we’re working with, A Ranger Remembers.”

  She nodded for Dylan to take the floor. He stepped into the middle of the room and cleared his throat. “Thank you for inviting me here today. I know my father would be very pleased to know you’re studying his book. I remember he worked very hard, researching it and writing it. He wasn’t a very demonstrative man, but I know the book was always very dear to his heart.”

  The door at the back of the room opened and he was startled to see Grady Murphy, Alyson Michaels and Clay Walsh file in. He glanced at Taylor. She raised her eyebrows and shook her head. Great. As if he didn’t have enough to be nervous about.

  “Don’t let us disturb you,” Clay said as he and the others took seats at the back.

  Doing his best to ignore them, Dylan turned back to the students. “I thought I’d start by talking a little bit about my father and then you all can ask me questions.”

  He took some note cards from his pocket and referred to them, then told the class about his father’s birth and childhood and how he became a Ranger. Researching the talk had transported him back to the days when he’d sit on the living room floor, playing, while his father talked to Dylan’s grandmother and aunts about things that had happened when they were young. He’d spent a whole evening last week thumbing through old photo albums, laughing at pictures of himself and his sisters at Christmas or splashing in the stock tank in the summer.

  “This is a photo of my dad at his first book-signing.” He passed around the black-and-white shot that had run on the front page of the Cedar Creek Clarion eight years before. “I thought you might want to use it in your film.”

  “This is great.” Berk held up the picture, a grin stretching across his face. “Thanks!”

  When the time came for questions, the girl from the drive-in restaurant raised her hand. “Yes, Patrice,” Taylor said.

  “What did your father think about the book-burning that was held on the courthouse lawn?” she asked.

  Dylan took a deep breath. “As you might imagine, he wasn’t particularly happy about it. I was away in college at the time, but I heard later that he called Councilman Spivey, who started the whole thing, a number of names that aren’t suitable to repeat.”

  “Why did Mr. Spivey want to burn your father’s book?” another girl asked.

  “I suppose he thought he had a good reason, though I don’t know if there ever is one for actions like that. Mainly, there had been bad blood between Spivey and my dad for years. I don’t really know what started it, though I know my father ran against Spivey for city council and my dad lost. And apparently, there are some things in the book which reflect negatively on Spivey’s family.”

  “His father was one of those who were against segregating the schools,” Berk said. “And he was rumored to be part of the Klan that was active in the county back then.”

  Dale grinned. “We’ve got a really cool reenactment of the Klan burning a cross in front of the school,” he said. “We filmed it at night and everybody wore Klan robes. It looks awesome.”

  “It sounds like you’ve all done a lot of research. I can’t wait to see the final product.” He looked around the room. “Any other questions?”

  Jessica raised her hand and he acknowledged her. “Is it true you and Ms. Reed are going to be chaperones at the Homecoming Dance?”

  He glanced at Taylor and almost laughed out loud. Her cheeks were bright pink and she was unsuccessfully attempting to look indifferent to the question. “Yes, I believe we are. I’m looking forward to it.” He directed the words at Taylor, hoping she’d know how much he meant them.

  “Did the two of you go to homecoming together?” Patrice asked.

  “I think that’s all the time we have for questions.” Taylor stood. “Dale, why don’t you set up the camera and you can tape your interview with Dylan.”

  For the next half hour Dylan answered questions from the two “reporters” Patrice and Owen. It felt odd, sitting in the glare of the bright lights with the camera running, but he told himself he should get used to it. After all, if he was going into politics, he had to be prepared to spend time in the spotlight.

  At last the bell rang and the students gathered up their books and left the room. Grady, Alyson and Clay came forward to shake his hand. “I see you’re running for school board,” Grady said. “Are you a glutton for punishment or what?”

  “He certainly has my vote.” Alyson didn’t exactly bat her eyelashes at him, but she came close. Dylan bit his tongue to keep from laughing. Some things never changed.

  “Thanks for agreeing to chaperone the Homecoming Dance,” Alyson added. “That’s one more chore I can mark off my list.”

  “Thanks for asking us. It should be fun.”

  “I have to get to my next class.” Grady headed out the door. “Thanks for letting us sit in on this.”

  “I better go, too,” Clay said. “Thanks.”

 
Everyone filed out and at last he and Taylor were alone again. “I think that went well,” he said, joining her at her desk.

  “Are you kidding? You were fantastic.”

  He grinned at her. “I was, wasn’t I?”

  She grabbed his lapels and pulled him close. “Why don’t we get together tonight and I’ll show you fantastic?” she purred.

  His body responded to her like gunpowder to a match, desire flaring, burning through him. He resisted the urge to pull her to him, to bury his face in her neck and feel the warm softness of her surround him. Instead, he took a step back and shook his head.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  She blinked. “Why not?” Her expression turned coy. “I was reading in my diary last night and found where we supposedly went skinny-dipping out at the old gravel pit.”

  He swallowed, fighting the vision of her naked. And wet. He shifted and cleared his throat. “I think we should wait until Friday. Until Homecoming.” The idea had just come to him. Not that he didn’t want to be with her tonight. Right now. All the time. But he’d vowed to make things special for her. And what better way to heighten their pleasure than to add anticipation to the mix? He’d make her wait, letting the heat between them intensify until, by Friday night, they’d both be ready to burst into flame with a mere look or touch.

  He was sweating now, his chest tight from the effort to breathe normally. Taylor frowned at him. “There’s no need to wait.” She moved toward him, her voice low, enticing. “We only have a few weeks left. I don’t want to waste one second of it.”

  He swallowed hard, and put his hands behind his back to keep from reaching for her. “Believe me, this will be worth the wait.”

  She stopped, her gaze considering. “So you have something planned?”

  He nodded. “Something special.” He had no idea what that would be yet, but he’d come up with something. He had two days to think of a plan. Something worth enduring this slow torture of wanting her and not being able to touch her.

  TAYLOR CHECKED THE CLOCK on her bedside table. Twenty minutes until Dylan would be here. She went back to fussing with her hair. Did the left side look too poofy? She kept trying to smooth it down, but it wouldn’t cooperate. She hit it again with a blast of hair spray, then glanced at the clock again. Eighteen minutes until Dylan would be here.

  The past two days had been torture. Dylan had resisted her attempts to get him to drive out to the gravel pit—or anywhere else—with her. Then he’d added to her misery by having his secretary call her to ask mysterious questions. What was her favorite flower? Red zinnias. Who did she think was sexier, Cary Grant or George Clooney? Cary. No doubt about it. Which was more romantic, classical music or the Beatles? Close, but classical got the edge.

  What was he up to? Half a dozen times she’d picked up the phone to call to ask, but had fought back the impulse. There was something to be said for waiting, even if it did mean she spent most of the week edgy with frustrated desire.

  The doorbell rang and she jumped, her hairbrush clattering into the sink. Her gaze flew to the clock. He was ten minutes early. Did that mean he was as anxious as she was?

  She replaced the brush on the shelf, smoothed her black cocktail dress over her hips and took a deep, steadying breath before walking to the door. All that carefully martialed composure was lost, however, the minute she opened the door and saw the man standing there.

  Dylan was dressed in an exquisitely tailored black dinner jacket and trousers, a maroon paisley cummerbund emphasizing the slimness of his waist, a blindingly white shirt calling attention to his broad chest. Her mouth went slack. He looked good enough to eat. She had half a mind to lock the door behind him and drag him into the bedroom this instant.

  He held out a small, square, plastic florist’s box. “They didn’t have zinnias. I hope red roses will do.”

  She scarcely glanced at the corsage of red roses and white baby’s breath before dragging her gaze back to him. “You clean up very nice,” she said. “I can guarantee you’ll win more than a few female votes tonight.”

  “You look gorgeous.” His eyes raked her, sending the definite message that he intended to take the dress off of her at the first opportunity.

  Too bad they had at least four hours of chaperoning the dance to get through before that would be possible. There were some times when adult responsibilities were a definite drag.

  “Would you like me to pin it on?”

  She blinked and stared at him, her one-track mind making it difficult to think about anything else at the moment.

  “The corsage.” He nodded to the florist’s box. “Do you want me to pin it on?”

  “Oh! Sure!”

  She handed him the corsage and he moved closer to pin it to her left shoulder. She sucked in her breath sharply as he slid his fingers under the neckline of her dress. Her nipples contracted and she leaned toward him. She’d spent a week anticipating his touch. This brief contact wasn’t nearly enough.

  Corsage in place, she collected her purse and her wrap and followed him out onto her front porch. Once again, she was struck speechless when she saw what was waiting at the curb. Instead of Dylan’s red pickup, a gleaming black stretch limo awaited them.

  “A limo?” She searched his face. What was he up to?

  “That’s what all the kids do these days, isn’t it? We might as well be as stylish as they are.”

  The driver opened the door for her and Taylor discovered firsthand how difficult it was to climb into a limousine while wearing a short, tight skirt. Inside, she arranged herself on the back seat as Dylan slid in next to her.

  She looked around at the plush interior, aware that she was gaping like a schoolgirl but unable to stop herself. Everything about the interior of the automobile, including the roof and the wet bar along one side, was upholstered in quilted black leather. Discrete bars of light ran along the side and front and a blackout window separated them from the driver.

  “I heard on the radio on the way over here that the Cyclones won the game. So this dance will be a real celebration.” Dylan reached for the bottle that was chilling on the wet bar. “It’s nonalcoholic champagne,” he said as he popped the cork. “I figured it wouldn’t look good for the chaperones to show up at the dance with alcohol on their breaths.” He poured a glass, his dark eyes fixed on her. “But I do have the real thing for later.”

  Later. Her temperature climbed another notch and she shifted in her seat, trying to ease the tension between her legs. He handed her a filled glass, then leaned over and kissed her lightly, his lips barely brushing hers before he pulled away again. “I don’t think we should arrive with your lipstick smeared.”

  She sipped her champagne and smiled. “Sounds to me like a good way to get a rumor started.”

  They joined a line of limos disgorging giggling couples under the portico outside the school gym. When they emerged from their car, squeals and more giggles greeted them. Taylor saw a few students pointing and waving at them.

  “You two sure know how to make an entrance.” Alyson rushed up to them. She was wearing a shirred white-satin minidress with an enormous bow balanced atop her butt. She looked as if she’d escaped from a Barbie doll convention. “Things are liable to be extra rowdy since the Cyclones won the game, so don’t let those high spirits get out of hand. You know what to do, right?”

  Taylor nodded, remembering the instructions Alyson had given her earlier. “Take our turn at the door, keep an eye out for suspicious behavior, quietly diffuse any troublesome situations and report any illegal or inappropriate activity to you and to security.”

  “You forgot one thing.”

  Taylor frowned, mentally reviewing the list. “What did I forget?”

  “To have a good time.” Alyson slapped her on the arm so hard she rocked back on her heels.

  “We won’t have any problems.” Dylan slipped his arm around her.

  In keeping with the homecoming theme, the gym was decorated with crepe paper s
treamers in the school colors of blue and gold, pom-poms and strings of colored lights. A local band occupied the stage at one end of the room where the DJ would spin records between sets. A concession stand in one corner offered soft drinks and snacks and there were tables and chairs set up along one side.

  Taylor spotted Mindy near the door that opened into the school parking lot. Clay stood opposite her at the end bank of doors. The two were pretending not to notice each other and doing a poor job of it. While Taylor was watching, Mindy didn’t even notice the parent who stopped to talk to her because she was too busy staring at Clay as he talked to another parent—a tall, buxom blonde in a too tight sweater. Taylor smiled. Mindy ought to know she had nothing to worry about. Every time she looked away, Clay’s gaze fixed on her.

  “Ms. Reed, you’re lookin’ good.” Berk popped up beside them, making his own fashion statement in red high-top sneakers, black jeans, tuxedo jacket and red cummerbund.

  “Hi, Ms. Reed. I love your dress.” Patrice Miller looked decidedly un-bookwormish in a red sequined dress, her hair was upswept and pinned with sparkly clasps.

  Taylor realized Patrice was holding Berk’s hand and smiled. So, the class clown and the class brain had found something in common after all. “Thank you. The two of you look pretty nice yourselves.”

  Berk nodded to Dylan. “Some of us are coming to help out at your headquarters tomorrow night,” he said.

  “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

  “No problem.” The band began a new song and Berk waved as he dragged Patrice onto the already packed dance floor. Music throbbed through the room and the scents of perfume and aftershave mingled with the buttery aroma of concession-booth popcorn.

  “It’s warm in here, isn’t it?” Dylan tugged at his tie.

  “It is.” She started to slip out of her wrap and he reached to help her. His fingers grazed the back of her neck, sending tremors of awareness through her.

  “Why don’t I get us something to drink?”

  “That would be great. I’ll go say hello to Mindy.” At least a drink would give her something to do with her hands, when all she really wanted was to pull Dylan into some dark corner and touch him. All over.