by Donna Fasano
She shook her head, trying to clear the dark stranger from her thoughts. She needed to plan for her meeting with Mr. Scott.
"Miss O'Connor," Sylvia Green, the school's secretary, called over the intercom in a harried whisper. "Would you come to the office... right away?"
That's odd, Andrea thought, the woman sounded upset. Nothing flustered the indomitable Sylvia. Even when her boss was on the warpath, Sylvia remained calm and composed.
Glancing at her watch, Andrea frowned. Something must be up. There were still more than ten minutes before her scheduled appointment. And if there was anything Mr. Scott stressed, it was punctuality—not two minutes early or two minutes late was his maxim.
Andrea ran a hand over her cap of silky blond hair as she strode toward the office. The heels of her shoes tapped hollowly in the empty corridor. Just before reaching the door, she smoothed the bodice of her blouse and absently checked the centering of her belt buckle.
She wondered what was stewing in the office. Rats! she thought. Mr. Scott's probably going to give me a tongue-lashing because Sally was hurt in class yesterday. Andrea knew that if he became too preoccupied with raking her over the coals, they would never get the chance to discuss the new track equipment. She wouldn't have put it past him to have planned it that way. Well, she was determined that he would discuss the track equipment with her this afternoon, whether he wanted to or not!
"Hi, Sylvia." Andrea smiled brightly as she entered the office. Noting the woman's stark coloring, she felt intense stirrings of unease flutter in her stomach.
"He in there?" Andrea asked, pointing at Mr. Scott's closed door.
Sylvia nodded.
"Is everything all right?"
Sylvia slowly shook her head.
As Andrea turned the handle on the door, she heard Mr. Scott's usually forceful voice take on an extremely accommodating quality that was almost a whine, something she'd never heard before.
"You can be assured that everything will be put right," Andrea heard the principal say.
"You're damned right it will!" a deep threatening voice boomed.
Andrea took a breath to calm her jittery insides. What could this possibly have to do with her? Knocking twice, she pushed into Mr. Scott's office.
"Miss O'Connor." Mr. Scott stood, greeting her with an icy glare. "Come in."
She took one step into the room. She'd never seen him in such a state. Mr. Scott's usual brash cockiness had disintegrated completely. A curving line of sweat had gathered over his top lip.
The atmosphere in the room was thick with strain. Andrea's eyes flew to the other occupant of the office, wanting to know what kind of person could turn her pompous boss into a whipped puppy.
"You're Coach O'Connor?"
Andrea never knew whether it was the man's sarcastic tone or the sight of the "dark stranger" himself that made her stop dead in her tracks. She was momentarily stunned into silence. Who was this man? And what could he want with her? She swallowed the questions and took another step toward the two men.
"I'm Andrea O'Connor, yes." She extended her hand. "And you're...?"
"Ian Powers," he said.
His big hand enveloped her small one. Heat shot through her fingers and palm, past her wrist and right up her arm. Shocked by the sensation, Andrea jerked her hand from his grasp and absently rubbed it against her thigh.
Powers, Powers. She knew that name. Why couldn't she think straight?
"Denise's father," Mr. Scott emphasized.
Her foggy brain cleared instantly. How dare this man go over her head to the school's principal before speaking to her first!
"Denise's father," Ian Powers repeated when she didn’t immediately respond. His eyes gleamed with a hint of humor. He was laughing at her! Andrea's throat tightened with familiar anger, the same anger she'd felt when he'd given her that identical smirking look in the hall.
"You dropped Denise from the track team," Mr. Scott accused. "Mr. Powers wants Denise put back on the team. I told him you'd comply."
Andrea stared at Mr. Scott. A sheen of perspiration had now erupted on his high forehead, making it shiny and slick looking. Andrea's eyes narrowed as she realized that Mr. Scott was intending to bully her into doing as he said.
This is so wrong, she thought, her nails digging into the soft flesh of her palm. A principal was supposed to assume his teachers were in the right and back them up, not turn on them just because a parent applied a little heat. Mr. Scott hadn't even bothered to find out why she'd dropped Denise from the team in the first place.
"I'm sorry, but that's not possible." She was pleased at how self-assured her words sounded, because she definitely didn't feel that way.
"Miss O'Connor!" Mr. Scott's voice cracked with surprise.
She looked from the principal’s wide, shocked eyes to Ian Powers's granite-hard ones. Mr. Powers wasn’t laughing any longer. Taking a deep breath, she spoke with as much authority as she could summon. "I'd like to remind both of you that I am the coach of the track team, and I am the one who decides who will be on the team and who will not. If either of you had bothered to ask, you would know that I had a perfectly valid reason for doing what I did."
The tension between the three of them was so heavy, Andrea could almost feel it pressing against her. Neither man spoke. Glancing back at Mr. Scott, she watched his Adam's apple bob frantically. He's pitiful, she thought. He struts around this school like he's king, but let a parent come in and complain and he turns into a lump of warm clay. It was no wonder the teachers called him Fainthearted Franny. Even though Andrea had never experienced this side of him before, she now knew without doubt that Francis Scott was a fraud.
She focused on Ian Powers. It was not so easy to meet his hard, threatening stare. Who was he that he thought he could come in here and push everyone around?
When she first knew she might have to meet with Denise's father, she had decided that, as a teacher, it would be best to use tact and diplomacy when she explained the situation. But after the way he'd barged in, demanding his own way of things, she no longer felt she was under that obligation. This man needed to be set straight, and she was glad to be the one to do it.
"Mr. Powers, if you'd like to follow me to my office, I'd be happy to explain exactly why I refuse to let Denise run with the team."
"Miss O'Connor—" Ian Powers's voice was cold, his steely eyes fierce "—you are in no position to refuse my daughter anything. As I've already pointed out to Mr. Scott, I pay this school a staggering amount of money each month, and I will not stand by and see Denise denied the opportunity of participating in any activity this school has to offer. Especially one she thrives on."
It was as though a rage-filled balloon exploded inside her. Andrea's fingernails dug deeper into her palms and her eyes narrowed ominously. This idiot macho creep didn't even know his own daughter.
"I'm going to let you in on a little secret, Mr. Powers." Andrea knew her face was red with fury, she could feel the heat. "It's pushy, obnoxious parents like you that—"
"Miss O'Connor!" Mr. Scott checked her before she could continue.
"It's quite all right," Ian Powers remarked. "I'd like to hear everything Miss O'Connor has to say. It's much more satisfying when I get what I want after the opposition has thoroughly embarrassed themselves stating their opinion of why I can't have it."
She looked at his smugly confident expression and seethed inside. He's intolerable! Andrea thought. A first-class jerk!
"There's no need for you to suffer through any opinions Miss O'Connor might have." Mr. Scott straightened his tie, trying to regain some of his battered dignity. "I've already assured you that everything will be set right, with or without Miss O'Connor's approval."
Ian Powers gave the principal a thin, icy smile. "I don't think you understand. I insist she have her say."
They were talking about Andrea as though she were invisible. Or worst yet, some mindless bubblehead. She wouldn't have it!
But, before
she could even open her mouth to speak, Ian Powers had grasped her by the elbow and propelled her toward the door.
"Be assured, Mr. Scott, I'll get back to you." Ian Powers opened the door and practically dragged Andrea from the room.
As she was being pushed through the secretary's office and into the hall, she saw Sylvia ooze down into her chair so as not to be noticed. Andrea had seen students take the same action a thousand times as they tried to avoid being called on for an answer during class. This whole situation was ridiculous!
"Which way?" he asked.
"I must say, it's pretty sad." Andrea yanked her elbow from his grasp and smoothed the wrinkled material of her sleeve. "Your daughter has attended this school for three and a half years and you can't even find the gymnasium, the biggest room in the building."
"It's not important that I be able to find it. Denise is the student. It's important that she be able to find it."
His cavalier attitude toward the point she was trying to make only fanned the flame of Andrea's anger. She started down the corridor at a brisk pace, the hope of leaving him behind dashed by the beloved stilettoes she wore. The fact that he quickly caught and matched her stride made her wish for her running shoes.
"The first thing I'd like to say right up front—" Andrea kept her eyes straight ahead "—is that there was no reason for you to go over my head on this. We could have avoided all this unpleasantness if you had only come to see me instead of Mr. Scott. He doesn't even know the situation. I would have been more than happy to explain every—"
"Whoa, whoa." Mr. Powers stopped short, forcing Andrea to stop, too, and then turn to face him. "It was never my intention to go over your head. And I'm sorry if you got that impression. I just returned from a business trip, and I have to leave again tomorrow."
Andrea couldn't help but shake her head. Just like Robert, she thought. Her father had traveled, too, breezing into town just long enough to dictate how she would live her young life, but never long enough to establish a loving father-daughter relationship. She had never felt close enough to him to call him Dad, or even Father. He had always been Robert. And Ian Powers seemed to be treating his daughter in the same enforcing-yet-detached fashion.
"Robert? Who's Robert?" His surprised question snapped her back to the present.
Had she really spoken her father's name aloud?
"No one important, Mr. Powers. Just a busy man I know who's a lot like you. A traveling businessman, so to speak." She heard the condemnation in her voice and she raised her downcast eyes to see his reaction. A tiny twinge of guilt sparked inside her when he cocked his head in an offended manner.
"It's because of my business and all the traveling I do that Denise has the opportunity to attend this school at all."
"I didn't mean to be rude, Mr. Powers. How you live your life and conduct your family affairs is none of my business. Not, that is, until it interferes with my job. I can't help but ask one burning question. Why are you pushing Denise so hard to participate in something that she has no desire to do? It's not healthy. It's not—"
"Pushing?" he interrupted, clearly incredulous. "That's the second time you've used that word. You want to explain what you mean? My kid loves—"
"Open your eyes, Mr. Powers! Your 'kid' is a sixteen-year-old young woman. A young woman who's only just beginning to discover the person she wants to be."
She watched a deep frown crease his brow.
"Are you telling me that I don't know my own daughter?"
"I'm telling you that you can't live life through Denise. If you have a desire to run, then arrange your busy schedule so you can do it, and let Denise live her own life, follow her own dreams."
Her comments clearly took him by surprise.
Finally, he asked, "What kind of father do you think I am?" His face contorted with disgust. "Never mind, I can see by the look in your eyes." He straightened suddenly, his shoulders squaring. "I have never in my life pushed Denise into doing anything she didn't want to do." His eyes gleamed with bitterness. "What makes you such an authority on parenting, anyway? I can see by that bare ring finger on your left hand, Miss O'Connor, that you've been married a decade and have a brood of kids of your own at home."
Andrea's whole body tensed under his attack. "Mr. Powers, I spend more time with these kids than most parents. And I'd be more than willing to bet my best pair of running shoes that you haven't spent half as much time with your daughter as I have."
"I spend plenty of quality time—"
Andrea cut him off with a harsh, humorless laugh. "'Quality time.' That is the catch phrase of the day, isn't it? If you ask me, it's the cop-out excuse of the day, too."
"You can't know what it's like to be a parent until you are one."
"Mr. Powers." Andrea kept her voice as calm as possible. It was time this man was told the truth. "I can prove to you that I know Denise better than you do." She stood there staring at him a moment before changing direction abruptly to stalk off toward the art room.
Chapter 2
Where was she going, now? Ian watched in bewilderment as his daughter's track coach stormed past him.
Damn it, he thought. He was going to get Denise back on that track team if it was the last thing he did. And after colliding head-on with this vivacious fireball, he thought it very well may be!
As he followed her along the hall, his eye caught the rhythm of her hemline swishing above her flexing calf muscles. In spite of his angry determination to see that his daughter was given her due, he couldn't help but appreciate the sway of the trim body in front of him. He'd never come up against anyone quite like Andrea O'Connor. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time someone had stood toe-to-toe with him the way she had.
He had learned that in the business world it was necessary to be assured and forceful to succeed. And those same traits, he had found, came in handy in circumstances such as this, when he had less time to deal with a problem than he might like.
His most tyrannical glare, the same one that had intimidated the school's principal, hadn't begun to faze Miss O'Connor. Her chin had raised determinedly, and she'd even had the audacity to insult him right there in front of her boss. And her eyes—the way they'd turned to icy-blue shards of cold determination.
But he'd been stunned by the sparks that arched between them in spite of their angry confrontation, the same shock of electricity he'd felt when they'd encountered each other for the first time in the hallway. He had never been so sexually attracted to a complete stranger.
He took a deep breath, determined to push the intrusive thoughts out of his mind. This woman was standing between him and his daughter's happiness, and he wouldn't have it.
How could she possibly claim to know Denise better than he? Granted, he was away on business quite often. But Denise was his daughter. And while he was away, his father was always there for her. Miss O'Connor, Ian decided, was talking out her butt. And what a cute butt it was, too, he though as he continued to follow her.
I can prove it. Her words reverberated in his head, warring with the physical attraction that kept plucking at his attention. And here he was following the woman like a lamb to slaughter. What was she up to? He wouldn't be railroaded! He knew what Denise's rights were and he intended to stand up for them.
His thoughts drifted to this afternoon, when this whole mess had started. He'd just gotten in from Chicago when his distraught father had met him at the front door.
"That crazy teacher kicked Denise off the track team," his father had shouted. "You know she wants to run track more than anything. Now, you go in there and see that things are set right."
Denise had been at the mall with friends, so Ian hadn't had a chance to talk with her. And since he had to leave for Boston in the morning, he felt he had to go to the school immediately.
Soon after meeting Mr. Scott, Ian knew the problem wasn't as big as he had first imagined. In fact, the school's principal agreed to his demands almost at once.
But u
pon meeting the feisty track coach, Ian found the problem swelling out of proportion again. He could see right away that Andrea O'Connor was not going to be nearly as yielding as Mr. Scott had been.
Still several steps behind her, Ian recognized her set state of mind from her brisk pace and her clenched fists.
He played follow the leader around two more corners before Miss O'Connor disappeared through what he thought was a classroom doorway. When he followed her through, he was confused. This isn't a classroom, he thought, this is some sort of storeroom. Why would she bring him here? He was amazed at the vast array of junk strewn about.
As he scratched his head and looked around, he inadvertently kicked two garbage can lids, sending them clattering across the floor.
"Be careful!" Miss O'Connor snapped. "Some student has worked hard on that art project."
Ian gaped at the mess he'd made of the supposed structure. "Art project?" he asked, trying to set the lids back into position. "This is the art room?"
His eyes were drawn to the ceiling, where a tired old Mardi Gras dragon was hung, its tissue paper wrinkled and torn. Blobs of clay were lining the gray metal shelves. Ian squinted at a vase that was covered with small squares of masking tape. This was art?
"Over here." She directed him toward an easel covered with a white drop cloth. He stared at the painting she uncovered for several long seconds. From what he'd seen, it was the only piece in the room that could be classified as art. He was surprised at the apparent talent of the painter. The dark stormy sea depicted on the canvas was turbulent, powerful.
"It's beautiful," he finally said.
"It's Denise's."
He looked at Miss O'Connor. "You're kidding, right?"
"No. I'm not."
His eyes traveled back to the canvas. "I can't believe it." He took a step closer. "Are you sure?"
"Positive."
He couldn't pull his gaze away from the painting resting on the easel.
"It's really good."
"It's better than good," she remarked.
"You're right," he said as the two of them stood staring at the painting. "I had no idea." He shook his head. "I know I shouldn't be so surprised. Denise's mother was a talented painter." He shrugged his shoulders, not taking his eyes off the canvas. "It's just that Denise never hinted..." His voice trailed off.
