“I can give you a ride. I don’t think you should drive on this ice without all-weather tires,” he said, as if coming to a decision.
He checked her tires? Shelby fought her fear by reminding herself she was inside, and he was outside.
“Thank you, but I can’t accept a ride from you.” There, that was direct. She smiled a little, hoping to look confident but friendly. Or at least like she knew some self-defense.
He straightened up for a moment. He gazed toward his car, like he was thinking, and then leaned down again.
“And why not?”
The nerve She wished she could see his face. Shelby felt like rolling the window up and speeding away. Well, trying to speed away.
“Because,” she said slowly, “you are a stranger. I am a woman alone. It would not be prudent for me to get in your car.” Shelby knew she was being rude, but honestly, the man was thick.
Somewhere between his coat collar and his hat, she saw movement, something like his lips quirking up. “Oh, that’s all? Stranger danger?”
Shelby nodded mutely, wincing when a piece of ice hit her in the eye. Who said ‘stranger danger’ anyway? The rain was pelting through the crack in the window and the top of her head was cold and wet. Sirocco made unhappy sounds in the back seat, where the heater didn’t quite reach.
“And of course, you could bring the attack cat,” he said.
As if on cue, Sirocco crept up to the front and stuck her nose into the window, paws on the wet door. Shelby impatiently batted at the fluff of her tail and plopped her in the passenger seat, where she continued to peer toward the deep voice.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to get her out of the car in this weather, period. My car is fine, I’m going to start driving now.”
Now, get out of the way before I run over your foot. She put her hand on the window handle, hoping he’d take the hint. There was something familiar about his voice, it seemed to her, the longer they talked... or shouted. It was hard to hear over the rain.
The sleet was gathering in little heaps inside the window, near the door handle. Shelby shook her head and ice fell off her hair onto her sweater. She kept her voice polite, but she was gritting her teeth.
“You got a cell phone?”
Shelby’s eyebrows rose up under her bangs. Why would he ask that? Maybe he wasa murderer She gestured to the phone on the seat next to her. To her horror, it beeped the low battery sound, at that moment.
“Run out of charge?”
Shelby sighed dramatically. The man was impossible!
“Yes, it ran out of charge I left my aunt’s house far too late, I didn’t know there would be a storm, and my cat is mad at me. I was dry and warm, at least, and now I’m wet and cold,” she said. “I do appreciate your stopping but I’m not in any need of assistance.”
And that should do it, just roll up the window. But a Southern upbringing runs deep and she just couldn’t force herself to do it.
“Wait here,” he said and trudged back through the wind to his vehicle. Shelby rolled up the window and waited, berating herself for every second that passed until he returned.
When he reappeared out of the darkness , he motioned for her to crack the window and he slipped a thin, black phone through the inch at the top.
“Take this. It’s charged and will last till Spartainville.”
Shelby didn’t reach for the phone. “And what will you do if you get stuck and I have your phone?”
“I have OnStar.” He glanced meaningfully at the dash of the old Jag. “ I’ll follow you and we can stop at the Piggly Wiggly there on Beau Bridge Road.”
He was holding down his hat with one hand. “It’s getting wet,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.
Shelby reached up and took the thin flip phone, drying it off quickly on the edge of her sweater, the side that wasn’t already damp and cold. “Thank you,” she sighed.
The brim of his hat dripped sleeting rain and he raised a hand to wipe his face.
Shelby had a brief flash of something, recognition or deja vue. She opened her mouth, wanting to ask where he was from but he disappeared from view, retreating back into the rain, and she started her car, slowly pulling back into the road way.
Sirocco meowed pitifully and circled, looking for a warm spot in front of the heater.
“I swear he was going to drop that phone in my lap. At least we can call for help....” She glanced at the phone and almost drove off the road when it rang.
What if he had other people in his car and he was using their phone to call? She reached out tentatively and flipped it open.
“Hello?”
There was a sharp intake of breath, then a woman asked quite loudly, “Hello? Who is this?”
Shelby thought for a moment and then flipped the phone shut.
It rang again, but she had already known it would. He would have to take care of it. Shelby ignored it, or tried to, as it rang and rang. Tucking the thin phone under Sirocco’s blanket, she sang loudly to herself as the cat glared.
“Sirocco, they say no good deed goes unpunished, and here’s proof. That woman didn’t exactly sound like the understanding type.”
“You expect me to account for opinions you call mine,
but which I have never acknowledged.”
-Mr. Darcy
Chapter Six
They made steady progress until finally the highway signs announced Spartainville. Shelby let out a deep breath and said a fervent prayer of gratitude.
The Piggly Wiggly parking lot was deserted, the store windows completely dark.
Shelby waited as the Good Samaritan pulled up alongside. It was a newish SUV, the cream color smeared with mud and dirt. Her ancient black Jaguar seemed to shrink in comparison. “Gas guzzler,” she whispered to herself, although deep down she knew her car probably had worse gas milage.
Again the dull thud of a door slamming shut and a tall shadowy form made its way to her side of the car.
She rolled the window down and said, “Thank you so much for the phone and the escort.” She held the phone out half way through the crack and felt her warm smile slide from her face in shock.
He was wearing the brimmed hat again and his collar was still turned up to his ears. But what was hidden out on the highway was illuminated now in the sickening pumpkin-orange glow of parking lot lights. Underneath the hat was none other than her nemesis, Ransom Fielding.
“Why did you stop?” she blurted.
“You had my phone,” he said, eyes narrowing.
“Yes, I know that” She let out a breath of exasperation. “But why did you stop when I was on the side of the road?”
He didn’t respond, but only raised his eyebrows. He took the little cell phone and slipped it in his pocket.
“Right, of course. How were you to know who was in the car,” she said.
“It wouldn’t have mattered. It is what a Southern gentleman does,” he said clearly, and turned to go back to his vehicle.
“Wait” she called out and unrolled the window a little more. He stopped and swiveled to face her.
“Your girlfriend called. She doesn’t sound too happy about another woman answering your phone in the middle of the night.”
His brow furrowed and he seemed about to speak but Shelby rolled the window all the way up and angrily started the wipers.
***
“Unbelievable,” Ransom muttered, slamming the car into gear. He stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders, attempting to ease some of the tension. Of course she couldn’t just thank him. And he rose to take the bait. All of his good intentions weren’t worth squat when he let her affect him that way.
She acted like he was the sort of person who wouldn’t help someone in need. He was good guy, a lot better than those church-going types. Like he used to be, before Lili died. In fact, he’s probably a nicer person now with all the fund-raising he did and that small percentage of the proceeds from his book sales going to help orphans in Afr
ica.
Why did he even care what she thought, anyway? That was the real question. Ransom whipped off the dripping hat and flung it to the side of the car, then slammed on the brakes, seeing the red light at the last moment.
He rested his forehead on the wheel and let out a long breath. Plan B: avoid her. Forget trying to be friends, or even apologizing for his part in that stupid departmental feud. Finch had taken it up as his personal cause, trying to freeze her out even after he himself had made it known she didn’t bother him. Well, she didn’t bother him academically, he frowned.
Ransom lifted his face and smiled grimly as the light turned green. Anyway, time to stay the heck away from her. And no more stranded motorists.
“You appear to me, Mr. Darcy, to allow nothing for the influence of friendship and affection.”
-Elizabeth
Chapter Seven
After a night filled with dreams of ice and strangers and an office door that wouldn’t unlock, Shelby had never felt less ready for a day of teaching. All she really wanted to do was pull the quilt back over her head and never come out again, but Sirocco was howling for her breakfast. With a deep sigh she relinquished her hold on the idea of staying in bed forever.
Standing in the shower, the spray cranked as hot as she could stand, she willed her muscles to relax. There was an unrelenting dull throb near the crown of her head. Every movement felt like she was fighting through mud and she wished with all her might she could call in sick. But she wasn’t the type to give up so easily.
Once the smell of brewing coffee had filled the tiny yellow kitchen, she sat in the sunny spot next to the window and gazed outside, sipping at the scalding liquid. Her Bible study for the morning was about letting the Word ‘dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another.’ She smiled a little at the teaching part, and the fact that she tended to ‘admonish’ more freely than she needed. But to dwell richly? Shelby closed her eyes and let the words settle in her, imaging them taking root. And across her field of vision swam Ransom’s face, shadowed and stern, rain dripping from the brim of his hat.
Shelby rubbed her eyes and wished for the twentieth time that she was sitting across the table from Rebecca, ready to spill all the torrid details but she wouldn’t be home from her trip until late in the afternoon.
The storm had passed as quickly as it had arrived, with just a bit of leftover frost in the shady places of the lawn. The sky was clear and the lightest blue, perfect for walking to campus. The thought filled her with dread. How many of her colleagues would ignore her today?
She slid on a pair of deep blue wool slacks and a creamy white shirt, tiny blue flowers embroidered at the cuffs. It was simple and understated, but the fabrics made her feel feminine. She decided not to fuss with her hair, instead she let it fall in soft curls past her shoulders.
The sidewalks bustled with students as she strode through the last block before the academic buildings. The bike racks were full and the bookstore doors were in constant motion. Friends hugged and exclaimed over each other while a middle aged man tried to maneuver around them while carrying a large cardboard box. Despite the chill in the air, little groups of people gathered here and there to chat.
Shelby felt her spirits rise as she made her way closer to campus. All the bustle and noise reminded her of everything she loved about the place.
Midland wasn’t half as large as some of their state universities, or even a quarter as large as University of Georgia in Athens, with its tens of thousands of students and an on campus bus line. But its reputation for a first class liberal arts education brought students from all over the nation, and the world.
Stepping past a group of young men who had stopped to compare schedules, Shelby looked up at Chapman Hall. Its graceful entryway was framed by stone steps curving outward toward the grassy quad, where students would sit and read in the sunshine. The double front doors were heavy, carved oak with large glass panels inset and covered with a wrought iron overlay. The craved marble around the doors and above the entrance declared the name of the building in unpretentious letters. There were older and prettier buildings, but Shelby thought Chapman Hall was perfect for the history department. Stately and charming, adorned without being flashy, the whole building exuded dignity.
Shelby ran lightly up the front steps and pulled open the door. It was dark inside and she stood for a moment, letting her eyes adjust. Her head pounded softly from the exertion and she rubbed her temples. As she quietly slipped by the office she could hear Jolee in animated conversation. She passed Finch’s office, noting the door was closed but the lights were on and she could hear someone speaking. Strange, he was never here on Mondays, or really anytime he didn’t have to be.
Stepping inside, she let out a sigh of relief. Her office was more than her refuge and workspace. It was a sign of the grit and determination she had to make it in the academic world. In this place, academic prowess only counted for so much, the rest was show. And Shelby had learned at her mother’s knee the importance of making an impression.
The first year after she was hired as a teaching fellow, she mustered up the courage to ask Finch whether she could switch her tiny basement office with the janitor’s closet. An enormous room, the ceilings were at least ten feet tall, the windows stretched from a few feet above the floor to near the ceiling, and beyond them was the large oak whose limbs gracefully arched up into the sky. Finch had waved a hand at her impatiently and told her to sort it out with Marcus, the janitor. Shelby almost danced out of the building that day, because she knew Marcus would jump at the chance. That floor was the only one that was carpeted, and since the old building had no elevator, he lugged the vacuum cleaner up the stairs every morning.
She found an antique braided rag rug in the local second hand shop, a comfortable chair for guests, and set up a whole wall with floor to ceiling bookshelves. The only drawback came a few days later. Finch popped in, took a long look around and sniped, “if people didn’t know better, they’d think by the size of this place that you ran the department.” She had kept a straight face, but that’s exactly what she was wanted. Finch would retire in a few years and she hoped to be one of the youngest departmental heads ever.
In the late afternoon, when the shafts of bright sunlight filtered through the oak leaves and she watched the movement of shadow and light play across her desk, Shelby knew true contentment.
Today the office seemed darker than usual, even though the sky was clear. The morning light was watery and cool. Shelby shivered and checked the thermostat. With the tall ceilings and windows, it certainly was hard to keep warm. It was too chilly to remove her coat, so she grabbed the syllabus and headed down the hallway to the office.
“Shelby, honey” Jolee’s face lit up as she saw Shelby walk into the mail area.
“Hi, Jolee. How’s the new term going?” A little high strung, but Jolee was the perfect office secretary, with never a paper mislaid or a copier run out of toner.
“Oh, girl, you’d think we were Grand Central around here” She shook her head of gray curls and waved her arm behind her at a large stack of boxes. “ These arrived on Friday but you know Mr. Fielding’s office is in a completely different building. Now we have to get them sent over to Agate Hall.”
Shelby peered at the pile and grimaced as the painful throb in her skull intensified. He must have brought his whole library.
The secretary leaned close and whispered, “He’s sure a tall drink of water! Ron DiGuardi told me he’s a widower and that’s probably why he doesn’t smile much. Ron said he lost his wife in a terrible car accident.”
“That so?” Shelby said. She didn’t want to remember what Fielding looked like and she really didn’t want to spend any part of her day discussing why the man didn’t smile.
She continued in a normal tone, obviously a little disappointed in Shelby’s lack of enthusiasm, “Then Marcus got his key stuck in the lock of the front door on Thursday and we had to call a locksmith to get it out.
I’ve been telling Professor Finch that we needed a new front lock. That costs a mint. Now, they had to put in some cheap replacement until the order comes in.”
The machine whirred comfortingly and the copies slid with a whisper into the bottom tray. “We have to go to lunch when things calm down around here. In a few weeks?” Shelby gathered up her copies and gave her a hug.
“You betcha,” she beamed, returning the squeeze.
She was almost directly across from the Finch’s office when the door abruptly opened. Ransom Fielding stepped out.
A word faded on his lips. His eyes widened when he saw Shelby, and then narrowed as his gaze wandered lazily down to her toes and back again.
She was struck again by how tall he was, and how different he looked in the sun-filled hallway. His white shirt was open at the collar and his skin looked very tan in contrast. Shelby struggled to shift her gaze to his face. Not even ten hours ago, they were arguing in a dark parking lot, an ice storm raging around them.
“Miss Roswell.” There was something indefinable in his deep voice, something that made her heart stutter in her chest.
“Elizabeth, having rather expected to affront him, was amazed at his gallantry...”
- Pride and Prejudice
Chapter Eight
Shelby blinked, and hoped her smile didn’t look as dazed as she felt.
George Finch followed Ransom through the door and said, “Shelby Glad I found you. We were discussing some departmental issues in here.” The smell of stale cigars and cinnamon gum wafted into the hallway.
Pride, Prejudice, and Cheese Grits Page 4
