by Cat Johnson
“She’ll find you if she wants to.” Jace sipped again on his coffee.
He let out a snort. “Oh, really? How?”
“You’re the famous state rodeo champion Tucker Jenkins. One quick search on the Internet and she’ll be able to find you.”
Tuck laughed, at both the famous comment and that she’d bother to search for him online. “Whatever. Enough about me and my night. What happened with you last night?”
“What do you mean?” Jace donned an overly innocent expression, which only made Tuck more interested.
“Coffee?” Finally, thankfully, a waitress walked over with a coffeepot. Though her timing wasn’t great since it interrupted his interrogation of Jace about his evening with Emma.
“Yes, please.” He pushed the empty mug sitting on the paper place mat toward her and then refocused on his elusive friend. “You know what I mean. You were at the hotel bar last night with Emma.”
“Yes, I was. Where you ditched me without so much as a call or a text or a screw you, buddy.”
He splashed cream into his mug and took his first blissful sip of caffeine before answering. “Becca texted Emma.”
“And that makes it all right? Humph. Some friend you are.” Jace looked away, playing up the role of insulted best friend a little more.
“You’re avoiding answering my question, which makes me think absolutely nothing happened with Emma. Which was why you were home, alone, this morning.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Then prove me wrong and tell me what happened,” he challenged.
“Hey, like you said. A gentleman doesn’t talk about a lady.” It sounded to him more like Jace had spent the night alone with his own hand and was jealous Tuck hadn’t, but he let it drop when Jace continued, “So, what you got planned for today?”
“I’ve got a run scheduled at OSU with the cadets.”
“A run in this heat?” Jace shook his head. “Better you than me. You wouldn’t catch me doing that.”
Tuck was sure of that, but he didn’t comment. The waitress was back, pad and pen in hand, ready to take their order. There were steak and eggs in his future, which always made the day better. And after the workout he’d had last night, he’d certainly need the protein.
Chapter Eleven
“Are you sure you’re doing all right there in Oklahoma all alone?” Emma’s voice conveyed her doubt.
“I’m good. I told you, everything’s great.” Becca tried to sound as reassuring as possible. Emma was best kept calm, for everyone’s benefit. Besides, it was true. Things were going fine so far.
Sure, her off-season clothes were still in big black trash bags waiting to be hung in the closet, but she wouldn’t need her winter coats and sweaters for months yet. She’d already unpacked the cardboard boxes full of kitchen stuff she’d moved from home, and she was making good headway on the few other boxes of assorted stuff. She had her favorite mug already in the kitchen cabinet. Her leather-bound Chaucer and Shakespeare collections were arranged on the bookshelf, with the framed pictures of her family scattered between the books. Her toiletries were in the bathroom and her own sheets and comforter were in her bedroom, even if they were on a strange bed.
She had only moved her personal items into the furnished apartment. She’d left everything else, furniture included, in New York. Anything she needed and hadn’t brought she could get at the store down the road.
A fresh start. That’s what she wanted. What she needed. So far, that’s exactly what she’d accomplished.
“Becca . . . are you lying to me?” Emma had that mommy tone in her voice again. She really should just get married and have kids. Then maybe she’d stop mothering Becca.
“Emma, I’m fine. I swear.” She laughed, picturing Emma frowning and trying to read between the lines during the long distance phone call.
She meandered to the kitchen and grabbed a diet soda from the fridge. For once, she wasn’t just saying what she knew Emma wanted to hear. It was true, but she had to convince Emma, and that could take a while. She popped the tab on the can and prepared for a long conversation. She truly was excited, even a little nervous about starting the new job, but it was all good.
It had been easy, too. Incredibly so. Getting the job offer. Taking it, of course. Renting her condo in New York to an IBM executive who needed a place quick and furnished for the next year meant she had income coming in to cover the mortgage. More important, she didn’t need to sell and risk taking a loss, and she didn’t have to pay to move her furniture. Knowing she had a place in New York to go back to made moving seem less frightening. A little bit anyway.
Cradling the phone on her shoulder, she grabbed a slice of pizza from the box on the counter and carried it along with her soda and a paper napkin into the living room. She plopped down on the sofa and put the can on the coffee table.
A furnished two-bedroom apartment an incredibly short distance from the OSU campus cost her about a third of what she would pay in New York. Sure, she was surrounded by kids—students who were also renting—but that was kind of nice. It made her feel less alone than if she’d rented in a residential neighborhood full of families. She’d take coeds as neighbors any day over happily married couples reminding her of what she didn’t have.
And, also on the plus side, there was certainly no lack of fast food places, all of which delivered. She bit into the slice of cheese pizza. All right, it wasn’t New York pizza, but it wasn’t bad. They’d acted like she was crazy when she asked if they had fresh spinach as a topping, but still, she could deal with it. Chewing, she waited for Emma’s next inevitable question.
“Have you called Mom and Dad yet?”
She swallowed the mouthful of food. “Yes, Emma. I talked to them this morning. And last night, too.”
“And . . . have you called anyone else?”
“Like who?” Becca sure as hell wasn’t going to call Jerry and tell him anything. Let him wonder how she was. How amusing would that be if he went to the condo and the six-foot plus executive she’d rented to opened the door? If only she could be there to see the expression on Jerry’s face then.
That bastard didn’t need reassurance she was all right after he’d left her high and dry. Then again, maybe rubbing it in his face how well she was doing would be sweet revenge. She’d have to consider that.
Becca reached for the can to wash down the pizza. She’d need to find a place that made a thinner crust. Too much dough in this one.
“I thought maybe you might have called a certain cowboy,” Emma suggested.
In mid-swallow, she choked on the soda bubbles. She cleared her throat. “What?”
“Come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about calling Tucker.”
“Oh, I’ve thought about it.” Becca laughed. “I’ve thought what a bad idea it would be.”
“Why?”
“Emma, he’s probably with a different girl every night. Or at least after every rodeo.” The way he’d strutted right up to her that night, who was to say he didn’t do that at every event? What did Becca know except that a man didn’t get that good in bed without a whole lot of practice.
She heard the telltale sound of Emma’s fingers on the computer keyboard. “Emma Madison Hart, I swear to God, if you Google him, I will never speak to you again.” It had been all she could do to stop herself from searching his name online during the past few weeks. She sure as hell didn’t need Emma undermining her resolve and doing it now.
“Becca, come on. What harm could it do to see if he’s listed in the local phone book? Ooh, maybe there’s a rodeo coming up. You could happen to stop by . . .”
“And see him there with another girl? Great idea, Em. Keep those helpful suggestions coming.” She scowled, remembering all the pretty young things hanging around behind the chutes with the riders. They had no problem drooling over Tucker even though he was standing right there with her. They certainly would be on him like flies on bull manure if he were alone.
/> At that thought, she let out a huff. One night with a cowboy and even her analogies were starting to sound Western.
Through the earpiece, she heard Emma sigh. “All right, but you should really consider giving him a call. Just to let him know you’re in town. You’re new to Oklahoma. Maybe he could show you around to all the local hot spots.”
Any spot where Tucker happened to be would be a hot spot. Becca pushed that errant thought aside. “We don’t even know if he’s local, Em. You saw the parking lot at the arena. There were license plates from all over the country.”
“Tucker’s truck had Oklahoma plates on it. So did Jace’s.”
Crap, when had Emma gotten so observant? “Well, Oklahoma’s a big state. He could be from western Oklahoma or something. I still don’t think it’s a good idea and I don’t have his phone number anyway.”
“He’s probably listed. I could just look it up for you—”
“No!”
“All right. Jeez. You don’t have to get loud about it. I’ll leave you alone. Anyway, what’s on the agenda for your first week of work?”
She seriously doubted Emma would leave this topic of conversation alone for very long, but at least for now there was a change in topic to her new job. This Becca could handle. “I have a meeting with the dean tomorrow, and then he’s hosting a faculty mixer in the afternoon to welcome me.”
“Aw. That’s really nice of him. See, I told you—”
“Yes, you did.” She rolled her eyes. “Can we put a date on when you’ll stop saying I told you so? You know, so I can put it on my calendar.”
“How about, um, I don’t know . . . Never?”
“Great.” She groaned. She could see it now. They’d be old and gray, living in an assisted living facility somewhere, sitting in matching rocking chairs, and Emma would still be reminding her how she was the one responsible for Becca getting the job.
“Anyway, back to the mixer. What outfit are you going to wear? You’ll be meeting your coworkers. First impressions are very important.”
Good old predictable Emma—always worried about fashion. Becca shook her head. “What would you like me to wear?”
Sometimes it was just easier to give in to her sister’s bossiness. Besides, she really didn’t know what clothes to wear—not that she’d tell Emma that. Did she dress in the typical New York uniform of all black? She had her good black suit. Or should she tone down the formality? Try to look friendly and casual.
Who the hell knew? Certainly not Becca. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore, except she wasn’t going to go to a rodeo to stalk Tucker. She wasn’t even going to Google him so she could call him . . . At least not right now.
Damn it. So much for her resolve.
“Okay, so what to wear . . . What to wear . . . Hmm, what’s the weather going to be like there tomorrow? Is it beastly hot? The university should have air-conditioning though, right? But where’s the mixer being held? Indoors or outdoors?”
Let the fashion consult begin. She sighed and got up from her comfy seat on the sofa. Knowing Emma, there’d be a lot more questions—some of them might even be about her wardrobe—so she might as well be standing in front of her closet for the discussion.
“So, what do you think of our little school?” Dean Ross steered the car at a crawl past the university’s sprawling manicured lawns.
His use of the word had obviously been tongue-in-cheek. Becca laughed. “I wouldn’t exactly call it little, but it certainly is beautiful.”
The place was huge—like five hundred buildings and who knew how many acres huge—but lovely. Much more so than she’d expected. From the university’s original building dating from the 1890s, to the Georgian styling of the library, student union, and the formal garden he’d shown her, it had all been a pleasant surprise. She hadn’t seen much more than one administration building when she’d blown into her interview, cutting it close and almost late, the morning after . . . She stifled the thought of what that had been after.
Dean Ross’s smile beamed with pride. “It can be a bit overwhelming, I know. Our student union is the largest in the world, but you’ll get the lay of the land soon enough.”
Becca made a mental note to allow herself lots of time, and comfortable shoes, to explore the student union. “Thank you. I’m sure I will.”
She glanced sideways at the man while he concentrated on a group of students crossing the road in front of the car. He’d worn a suit for her interview last month, but he’d gone for the casual look today��khaki pants with a blue button-down shirt and a slightly off-kilter red tie. No jacket.
It was nice to have a boss who wasn’t old and stuffy. Pretty much the opposite of Vassar, and right now anything different was good. She made a note of all the details about Dean Ross and his fashion choices, down to the fact there was no ring on his finger. Emma would most likely quiz her relentlessly on the phone later about everyone and every little thing.
Maybe she should turn the tables on Emma—invite her here for a visit and introduce her to Dean Ross. That would teach Emma to stop meddling in Becca’s love life. Though her sister dating her boss could be problematic. Or maybe it could help her career.
Hmm, this was something she’d have to consider later, because he’d turned toward her now. “So, are you ready for the mixer?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Now was as good a time as any to meet her new coworkers, she supposed. She had on the outfit she and Emma had compromised on last night—the black pants and jacket from the suit Becca wanted to wear, but with a periwinkle blue tank top underneath for a pop of color and a more casual feel to go along with the open toe shoes Emma had insisted on.
She could hear her sister now. You want to look professional, but you also have to appear friendly, and a little bit sexy wouldn’t hurt, either. Becca shook her head at the memory. Sexy, at a faculty mixer. What was she doing taking career fashion advice for her new job from Emma anyway? The woman worked as a graphic designer, not an English professor.
Too late now. She stared out the car window through her sunglasses as the dean parked the car. Two men dressed in camouflage from head to toe caught her eye as they walked down the path and toward the door of the building.
“Are those soldiers?” Becca frowned. She turned to the dean as the two men disappeared down the path and around the corner of the building. “Are we under attack or something?”
It was only partly a joke.
He laughed. “No, we’re perfectly safe. There’s an ROTC program on campus.” At her blank stare he continued, “Military studies . . . army officer training.”
“Oh.” Nodding, she tried to look like she had some clue as to what he was talking about, all while attempting to work out the letters in the acronym.
The officer training part fit the O and T, but she gave up on the task of deciphering the rest when what the R and the C could possibly stand for eluded her. Good thing she wasn’t in a cryptology military studies course. She’d fail.
“In fact, I expect they’re on their way to our mixer. The head of the program’s a friend of mine. I invited him and told him to bring whomever he wanted. I hope that’s all right.” With one finger, he pushed his wire-rimmed glasses higher onto the bridge of his nose.
She smiled at the dean. “Sure. The more the merrier.”
So Dean Ross hadn’t just invited the English department faculty. Hmm. Becca kind of liked the idea. A mixer that included the English and the military science departments. That certainly would be interesting.
Soldiers, in uniform, at her little mixer. And she’d dressed in her sexy yet professional outfit for it. Emma would approve.
Good thing she wasn’t here to play matchmaker. If history were any guide, if Emma had been here prodding her to do things she wasn’t sure she wanted to do, there’d be a very real risk of Becca waking up in the morning in a bed with combat boots beneath it.
She shook her head at the thought and released her seat
belt as Dean Ross did the same. Time to face the troops. Literally.
Chapter Twelve
Tuck shot the man walking at his side a less than happy look. “There are a thousand faculty members at this campus. Tell me again why I have to attend this tea party or whatever the hell it is?”
Logan Hunt, head of the OSU ROTC program and theoretically—all right, officially—Tuck’s boss, glanced over. His dark brows rose. “It’s not a tea party. It’s a mixer and I’m told they’ll be serving wine—”
“Wine. Oh, great. Will there be sherry, too? Or perhaps a nice port? Should I run home and get my smoking jacket and my—”
“—and you’re attending because I asked you, nicely, to come with me.” Logan continued as if Tuck hadn’t been speaking . . . or bitching. Whichever.
Asked him to. Sure. As if Tuck could have said no. Logan was his friend, yes. He had been for years, since way back when they’d grown up together, long before they’d both joined up. But Logan was his superior officer as well as a friend, and he’d done Tuck a huge favor during the crash and eventual burn of his marriage.
When Tuck’s deployment ended, Logan used every military connection he had and pulled all the strings he could to get Tuck assigned the billet in the ROTC program on campus.
Tuck had needed to be here in familiar territory, around people and places he knew, not in Germany, or Italy, or deployed again where his head not being in the game could cost lives. His own, or worse, those of the men around him.
He owed Logan plenty for that. When he’d joined up all those years ago, he’d never in his wildest imagination thought he’d end up being a teacher, even if it was as an instructor in OSU’s ROTC program. But he really never thought owing Logan a favor would mean having to sip wine with a bunch of librarians. Boss trumped friend today. Hell, probably any day. But an English department wine mixer? What the devil did this have to do with work?
