by Mary Manners
What was wrong with her? She hadn’t looked at a man like this, well, since she’d met Steve nearly a decade ago.
“Is anyone there?” He jabbed the buzzer once more, hummed impatiently while he waited a few more moments, and then backed away from the door.
His retreat launched Rebecca to attention. She lunged for the intercom button, toppling her cup of coffee. The muddy brew puddled along the blotter, staining notes she’d scribbled in the generous memo squares.
“Hello? I’m here.” Her voice sounded tinny through the intercom, and she was surprised by the slight tremor. “May I help you?”
The man paused. He turned back to glance up. Finding a camera mounted above the entrance doors, he offered a slight wave. “Rebecca?”
“Yes, I’m Rebecca Gillespie. With whom am I speaking?”
“Cole Seibert here. I spoke with you this morning about enrolling my daughter, Kimmy. You said to drop by for some forms and an interview, as well. We had an appointment—”
“Nearly an hour ago.” The name was so familiar…Cole. Where had she heard it before? Rebecca slipped Marilyn’s letter back into its file and tucked it in the drawer. She over-enunciated her words in an attempt to hide the unsteadiness in her voice. Her belly did a somersault, and her quickening pulse made it difficult to capture a decent breath. She pressed her palm to her forehead and absently wondered if she was coming down with a fever. “Is tardiness a habit?”
“Excuse me? No.” He jammed his hands into the pockets of his dress pants and offered a half-hearted grin. “I had an emergency at work—a last-minute client.”
“I see.” Again, Rebecca’s gaze was drawn to the dark hair and steel-gray eyes. She was convinced she knew him, but how? “And, do you often have last-minute clients that will cause you to be late fetching your daughter?”
“No. Kimmy comes first.”
“Except for today—for now.”
His gaze narrowed, and his voice was a low rumble. “I know you’re the director, and this is your interview—and I use that term loosely—but you’re out of line.”
“I’m just doing my job.” She drew a chocolate Kiss from the ceramic bowl on her desk, unwrapped it, and slipped it into her mouth, savoring the flavor as it calmed her nerves. His name…she knew his name. “Forgive me if my bluntness offends you.”
“I’m sure you feel it’s necessary.” Cole shrugged from his suit jacket and slung it over one shoulder. “But, perhaps I can come inside before you continue your interrogation.”
“That would be lovely.” Rebecca leaned closer to the monitor as she drew a breath to check her temper. Cole was tall, his shoulders broad enough to fill the doorway—or a hockey net. A vague memory clicked in Rebecca’s brain as his gaze beckoned. “Have we met before?”
“I don’t know.” He shifted feet and shielded his eyes from the sun as he pressed his face to the door glass. “I suppose you have a pretty good look at me through the surveillance camera, but I can’t see you.”
“Oh, right.” Rebecca studied the curve of his jaw and the breadth of his shoulders that strained against a starched white dress shirt. The image was fuzzy, yet she was convinced—
“Mrs. Gillespie—”
“Miss.”
“Miss Gillespie—Rebecca—are you going to let me in?”
“Yes, sorry.” Rebecca’s throat tightened, and she stuttered through the words. If he was who she thought he was…
She reached for the door buzzer and pressed firmly—longer than necessary. “I think I’d better.”
****
Cole tugged the tie from his neck and stuffed it into his pants pocket as he made his way down the tile hall. The walls were plastered with painted murals and colorful displays of student work. A model of the solar system hung from the ceiling. Styrofoam balls danced in the breeze he cast as he rushed by. The wealth of creative presentations only served to heighten the tension Cole felt. What if he’d blown it and Kimmy couldn’t enroll here? It would take days to find an alternative preschool.
Patty would not be happy about that.
Tension bit into Cole’s shoulders and exhaustion pounded through his temples as he double-timed it down the hall. The last thing he needed was to spar with a riled woman. He must have logged a record time for ticking off Rebecca.
The aroma of coffee drifted. Maybe she had a pot brewing and would spare him a cup.
After she filleted and grilled him.
“Miss Gillespie—Rebecca?” Cole followed the coffee until he approached an open doorway. Perhaps a little humor would lighten things and get him back in her good graces. “Marco…”
“Polo,” she replied without missing a beat. “In here.”
The lilting voice drew him. He turned toward the sound, and the sight of her jolted his heart. Her abundance of hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, smooth at the top and spilling into a length of waves that kissed the small of her back. Her gaze, like polished emeralds, held his.
He’d seen the waterfall of burnished copper before, as well as the luminous green eyes. It had been years, but he still remembered.
“Becca.” He found his voice. “You used to skate at the arena at Mill’s Landing, right?” It was a statement more than a question.
“Cole…yes.”
Her gaze held his and, as her eyes widened with wonder and a hint of shock, he knew she remembered that carefree time, same as he did.
“And you played hockey.”
A smattering of freckles danced across the bridge of her nose as a wisp of hair escaped the tail.
“Goalie for the Hurricanes.”
“That’s right.” Cole’s mouth went dry. For a moment, all he could do was gape. Hurricane was right—a storm suddenly brewed in his gut, bringing with it a vision of Rebecca twirling gracefully to music in a wisp of a skating skirt and leggings, a smile of concentration plastered on her lips. After all these years, and all that he’d been through, how could he possibly…
“I remember you, too. But, you used to have a beard.” She cupped a hand to her chin to emphasize. “And your hair was a lot longer—shaggy over your eyes.”
“That’s right.” He ran a hand through the waves. “I’ve been scalped since then.”
“Hardly. You still have a generous amount.” She studied him as if he was a piece of abstract art. Could she read his mind? Did she have any idea how his world had just tumbled sideways? “You guarded the net like a papa bear policing his den. You were always the last one off the ice after hockey practice.”
“And you were always the first one on for your session.” He tossed his suit jacket over a chair back and leaned against the door jamb, crossing his arms as he waited for the room—and his heartbeat—to steady. “You practiced harder than anyone.”
“And you tried to trip me more than once with an arsenal of slap shots.”
“Because you always had something smart to say, kind of like when you had me waiting outside just now, talking into the surveillance camera.” Cole struggled to shake off the memory of Rebecca gliding over the ice, a song of strength and gracefulness. Something hot flickered inside him, like a spark plug firing in his chest. He gasped as heat pulsed up his spine and snaked along the nape of his neck.
“Me? You were the one who said figure skaters weren’t real athletes.”
“Has the definition changed?” Sweat dampened the small of his back. He tugged at his shirt collar, loosening the top button. Was the air conditioning on the fritz?
“Good one.” Rebecca’s eyes flashed. “See what I mean?”
“Whoa.” Cole raised a hand to put a stop to the verbal sparring. He drew a deep breath and wiped damp palms along the thighs of his pants. “I promised my sister I’d make a good impression.”
“Too late for that.”
“Can we start over, then?” He grabbed a sheet of copy paper from the printer beside her computer monitor and waved it as if it was a white flag. The slight breeze it created eased the burning at his te
mples. “I promise to behave.”
“I don’t think you’re capable.”
“Give me a chance to prove it.” Cole settled into a chair across from her. He pointed to the sputtering coffeemaker on a shelf behind her desk. “Can you spare a cup of that? It’s been a long day, and I can use a little pick-me-up.”
“First you’re late, then you insult me, and now you want to drink my coffee.” Rebecca reached for a foam cup and filled it with a splash of steaming brew.
Her necklace—a silver locket in the shape of two hearts—caught the light as she turned back to him. Cole wondered whose hearts the necklace signified. He checked her fingers for rings and found none. Good sign.
“I suppose I can share. Sugar?”
“No. Black is fine.” Cole took the cup she offered and drew a long sip. “Ah…perfect.”
“So, you have a daughter?”
“Kimmy.”
“I hope she figure skates.”
“Hockey all the way.” He smirked as he mimed a slap shot. “Do you know they make skates in a child’s size eleven?”
“I thought you were going to behave.”
“You’re making that difficult.”
“Let’s change the subject, then.” Rebecca handed him a file folder. “Welcome to preschool. Here’s some paperwork for you to fill out.”
“All of this?” Cole cringed as he flipped through the bulky packet.
“Yes, and I’ll need a set of fingerprints and a body scan.”
“What?” He glanced up and caught her grinning. “Oh, you’re kidding, right?”
“Of course.” One eyebrow arched beneath her curls. “But I had you going there for a minute, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. Shame on me. I should have remembered your facetious sense of humor.” He laughed softly. “This is all new to me. Kimmy—well, her mom used to…” His voice trailed off. No point getting into that now. He motioned toward the enrollment file. “Can I fill out what’s most important now and bring the rest back tomorrow?”
“You like homework?”
“No. But in this case…”
“Well, of course, it’s all important.” Rebecca leaned forward and thumbed through the papers, selecting a few. “But I need the medical release and family history the most. We’ll do a quick interview, as well.”
“How quick? Kimmy’s birthday is coming, and I have to order her cake,” Cole explained, glancing at his watch. “The bakery closes in half an hour.”
“Wow, you continue to astound me.” Rebecca reached for a pen and slashed a note in her memo pad. “Procrastinator, check.”
“Guilty as charged, but—”
“When do you want Kimmy to begin attending Precious Miracles?” Rebecca donned her reading glasses, the pen poised over paper, ready to slash once more.
“How about…tomorrow?”
3
“Tomorrow?” Rebecca dropped the pen and glanced up, the glasses slipping over the bridge of her freckle-dusted nose. “But I won’t have an opening until next week at the earliest.”
“I’m desperate.” Cole offered a weary grin and snatched a piece of chocolate from the bowl on her desk. “Please?”
“I won’t ask why.” Rebecca pushed her glasses up and retrieved the pen once again. She jotted a few careful notes. Cole imagined her voice had the same tone she used with disobedient children. “But perhaps I can work something out. We have a student leaving this Friday. I suppose a few days won’t hurt…”
“Please. I’m knee deep in a crucial case.” He drained his cup and stepped over to the coffeemaker to pour a second. The aroma of robust java offered an adrenaline jolt to his system. He gripped the cup between both hands and sucked a deep breath. “My client is depending on me.”
“You’re an attorney?”
“Yes.” He stretched kinks from his neck and leaned against the wall, unable to sit any longer. His nerves hummed as he got to work on draining the cup. “My sister’s pregnant with twins, and the doctor’s about to put her on bed rest. I have to work, and Kimmy needs a safe place to learn and play with other kids while I’m at the office.”
“What kind of attorney?”
“Does it matter?”
The glasses came off. She tossed them onto the desk. Her luminous eyes drew him like magnets. “I wouldn’t ask if it didn’t.”
“Family law.” He took a second chocolate Kiss. “It’s not Ivy League, but I give kids a voice when no one else will. That matters more to me than dollar signs.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks paled. “I’ve been to every attorney’s office in Mill’s Landing. Why haven’t I run into you before?”
“Maybe you weren’t looking hard enough.” Frustration laced Cole’s voice. He peeled the foil from the candy and tossed it into his mouth, chewing around his words. “Why were you hitting law offices, anyway?”
Rebecca waved him off. “Never mind.”
“Look, Rebecca, everyone says Precious Miracles is the best preschool in the county, and though the director seems a bit overbearing—”
“Would you like me to start you a caffeine IV?” she interrupted as he reached for the coffee carafe and poured himself a third cup.
“No, thank you.” He lifted the cup as if offering a toast before drawing the first heated sip. “Like I said, I’ve done my research, and your school seems like the best choice for Kimmy.”
“It is.” Rebecca grew suddenly quiet. She pressed an index finger to her forehead and massaged. “Did it just get dark in here?”
“No.” Cole’s voice softened as he took a step toward her. “Are you OK, Becca?”
“I feel a little woozy. It’s been a crazy day. I don’t think I ate breakfast—or lunch.”
“You mean you don’t know?”
“Just give me a little air. I’m fine.”
“Well, you don’t look fine.” Cole touched her shoulder, easing her back in the chair. “You’re pale as Zambonied ice.”
“Thanks for the observation.” She closed her eyes for a moment and drew a deep breath. Cole felt the quickening of her pulse as he grasped her wrist. “I’m just a little hungry.”
“It’s my fault. I’ve kept you here much later than you should be.” He dipped a hand into his pocket. “Here, have some fruit snacks.”
“Fruit snacks?”
“Uh huh. See?” He handed a pouch to her. “Go on.”
“Do you make it a habit to carry food in your trouser pocket?” She ripped open the foil packet emblazoned with colorful fish and tossed one into her mouth.
“Um…yeah.” Cole nodded. “Kimmy gets hungry, and a little snack works wonders to avoid a low-sugar meltdown.”
“Though I’d truly like to, I am not having a meltdown.” Rebecca emptied the gummies into her palm. “But that type of planning is very resourceful and pure genius. Any other tricks I should know about?”
“Yes, but they’re top secret.” Cole shrugged. “Highly confidential.”
“I see.” One by one, the snacks disappeared. “As for your child care predicament…I’ve worked hard to make Precious Miracles the best, and I employ only the most qualified teachers. I’m also careful to follow state guidelines to a tee.”
“I imagine so. Despite that—”
Rebecca glanced up, blowing a wisp of hair from her narrowed eyes. “Is it your standard procedure to ask people to break the law?”
“What?” He took a step back. “That’s ludicrous.”
“There are clear-cut student-teacher ratio regulations that are expected to be followed. Being an attorney, you should respect that.”
“I do, and I would never ask you to break the law. But, isn’t there anything at all...?”
“Let me see.” Rebecca sighed and turned to face the computer. A few taps on the keyboard and she nodded. “OK, there is one student who plans to be out the rest of the week for a family vacation. And, by the time he returns, another will have withdrawn because his parents are being transferred. So, I suppose we can wor
k something out.”
“Now, we’re getting somewhere.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Rebecca jotted a note. “But I won’t break the law, Cole. I’ve experienced firsthand the devastation that leads to.”
“And so have I.”
She gave the keyboard a few more taps. “What other preschools has Kimmy attended?”
“None. My wife was a stay-at-home mom.”
“Was? She’s gone back to work?”
“No.” Cole shook his head slowly, and then drained his coffee cup for a third time. “It’s not that.”
“Well, I’ll need her signature on some of these forms, as well as yours, before we can begin the enrollment process.”
“That won’t be possible—to have my wife’s signature, I mean.” Cole brushed a hand across his stubbled jaw. “She died last fall.”
“Oh.” A flash of heat raced up Rebecca’s spine. The room teetered once again. She squeezed her eyes tight against the glare of the computer monitor, drew a deep breath, and worked to steady the tremor in her voice. “I’m so sorry. That explains…things.”
“Thanks. It’s been tough. I took a leave from work for a few months, and then, when I finally went back, my sister offered to help with Kimmy. But Patty’s due to give birth in a few months, and she needs to take care of herself—and her husband—now. So, you see, this is an emergency of sorts.”
“I…yes.” Rebecca removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. A quick glance at the clock over the doorway told her it was nearly six-thirty. No wonder she was starving. Exhaustion settled deep in her bones. “I suppose it is.”
“Tomorrow would be a godsend.” Cole took the empty snack packet from her desk and tossed it into the trash. “I’ll feel terrible if something happens to Patty or the babies. I’ll beg if I have to.”
“Though I’d enjoy seeing a bit of that, it’s not necessary.” Rebecca held up one hand and waggled her fingers. “You build a very convincing case, Counselor. Tell you what. Take all the papers with you and just get them back to me in the morning when you drop off Kimmy.”
“No fingerprints?”
