by Julie Miller
After that horrible phone call, she’d wished he’d never left. Her momentary suspicions of him had been unfounded—borne of momentary panic instead of rational thinking. Josh Tanner was no villain. Something about his presence seemed to keep her fears at bay. Even if those electric-blue eyes and broad shoulders made her hormones dance in an illicit game.
If only she were ten years younger.
If only he were ten years older.
“Rache?” Curt’s voice, mature and concerned, whispered close to her ear, dragging her from her speculations. “Are we on?”
She’d figure out her car later.
She’d put distracting thoughts of Josh Tanner completely out of her mind and focus on the more appropriate relationship she shared with an old school friend.
“We’re on.”
But somehow, it proved much harder to dredge up a smile for Curt now than it had been to conjure one for Josh last night.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER Rachel was laying claim to an empty table, while Curt stood in line for cappuccino, herbal tea and scones at the Bookstore Coffee House. She hung her coat over the back of her chair stool and tried to find a graceful way to climb up to the high table. The coffee shop was a hive of activity this early in the morning. Hopefully, the other patrons were too busy waking up or running to work and school to pay any attention to the awkward way the pregnant lady hooked the heel of one leather boot over the bottom rung, braced her hands on the table and chair, and lifted and twisted and plopped onto the vinyl seat.
By the time she had adjusted her slip, had pulled her dress down to her knees, and had crossed her feet at the ankles, she realized she was about ten inches away from the table, leaving a large enough gap to spill food or drink on her lap and belly. And she had no way of moving herself closer, short of climbing down, moving the chair and repeating the whole ungainly process all over again.
She also realized Curt had been standing there for several seconds, holding a tray in his hands and watching her squirm and situate herself in the chair, while he smiled with amusement.
She harrumphed in frustration. “You try negotiating the world with an extra twenty-five pounds of boobs and baby stuck on the front of you.”
“No, thanks. You do it so well.” He set the tray on the table and climbed easily onto the seat across from her. “Pregnancy makes you even more beautiful than you were before. If that’s possible.”
Rachel’s embarrassment at the outrageous compliment manifested itself in a blush that warmed her from her face to her toes. “C’mon, Curt. Flattery was never your style.”
He set her tea in front of her and handed her a paper napkin. “No, but I always thought that of you. Even back in grad school when you were dating Simon.” He pushed a plate of scones and jam packets across the table. “He always did pick the lookers.”
“Even after we were married.” The sarcasm in her voice reflected more humor than bitterness. She’d enjoyed a few solid, happy months with Simon. And now her life—for the most part—was on an even keel once more. Still, those years of doubt and insecurity in between had been pure hell, leaving her with no desire to take a trip down memory lane. She spread a napkin across the front of her and picked up a packet of strawberry jam. “So, why don’t you explain this morning’s meeting to me. Why on earth would you recommend Simon as my replacement?”
Her nostrils and taste buds stirred as Curt opened his fragrant cappuccino and took a sip. “Marquee value. His reputation in the counseling world could bring lots of free press to UMKC.”
She spread the jam on a scone. “His reputation in other areas could be a huge embarrassment, as well. Does Jeffers know why we got divorced?”
“It’s not set in stone yet, Rache. Bill asked for recommendations. Simon told me he’s been looking to get into education. The coincidence was too good to pass up.”
“Isn’t his private practice lucrative enough? Are you sure he’s not just looking for a ready supply of young babes to hit on?” She leaned forward, straining her neck in an effort to get her mouth as close to the tabletop as she could before taking a bite. She sat back and chewed slowly, savoring the sweet taste and looking forward to the renewed energy the snack would provide.
“Give the man a break. I know he treated you unforgivably. But he is a good psychologist. His track record with patients is impeccable.” He set his coffee on the table and frowned into its milky depths before looking up at her again. “Simon told me that he’s going through some financial trouble. I don’t know if business is dropping off—”
“Or his reputation is catching up with him?” she countered.
Curt smirked, acknowledging the gibe. Then his mouth formed a grim line. “He closed the Livesay Center Clinic, Rache.”
She stared into his rueful eyes as the shock sank in. “He closed the clinic? We worked so hard to get that up and running.”
Years of graduate research. Years of scrimping and taking chances. Years of young clients they’d worked with and fought for and fought with—all gone. The most successful chapter of her life that she’d signed over in the divorce settlement. Gone.
All she could ask was “Why?”
Curt shrugged. “He didn’t elaborate. But the steady job at UMKC would look good on his résumé, as well as tide him over until he joins another practice or research staff.”
Rachel sipped her tea and pondered the news. “I understand your wanting to help out an old friend. But Simon’s never taught before. Do you really think it’s a good idea to hire him?”
“Sure. Even without classroom experience, donors and students both will flock to see him. Increased revenues are always a boon for the college.” Curt seemed sold on the idea of welcoming his old friend to the faculty. “Jeffers can hardly wait to sign him up.”
She nibbled another bite of scone, wondering at the suddenly bitter taste on her tongue. “It can’t hurt you, either. Landing Simon would be a big plus for you with the selection committee.”
Curt choked on his sip of coffee. He coughed, set down the cup and flattened his hand over his heart, completing the picture of wounded ego. “Rachel. You know I have nothing but the college’s best interests at heart.”
She scoffed at his mock humility. “You can’t tell me you don’t want the assistant dean’s job as badly as anyone else on the short list.”
“Fine, I won’t tell you.” He laughed, their old camaraderie firmly back in place. “It wouldn’t do you any harm, either, to prove you can work with your ex. I’ll bet you’d cinch the promotion if you persuaded Simon to accept Jeffers’ offer.”
Rachel groaned at the suggestion in his tone. “What, you want me to prostitute myself for the college just so my lying lout of an ex-husband can get the glory of taking my place?”
“Temporarily take your place.”
“Temporarily.” She conceded the point with a wry grin.
She took a long sip of tea and cradled the warm cup between her hands. Closing her eyes, she tried to convince her palate that the flavor was just as rich and pungent as Curt’s cappuccino. The jingle of the bell over the coffee shop’s front door intruded on her taste buds’ reverie.
A sudden prickling of hyperawareness across the back of her neck muted the bustling cacophony of chattering customers, hissing coffee machines and clinking glassware around her. Twin bores of imagined heat crept along her nerve endings, raising goose bumps on her skin beneath the warm knit of her dress.
The creeping sensation could only be explained one way.
She was being watched.
Instinctively, she slid her hand to her belly and shielded her baby from the unwelcome perusal. Since she was a woman of intellect and intuition, and not given to fanciful imaginings, she demanded a rational explanation. Keeping her face downturned, she glanced around the shop. Students. Faculty. Wait staff. Neighborhood patrons. Some she recognized. More were strangers.
Everyone seemed preoccupied with conversations and newspapers and customers. No one seemed to be
focused on her. And yet…
The bell above the door jangled again, drawing her attention like a magnet to the tall, broad-shouldered man who came in with a rush of cold air and filled the doorway.
Josh Tanner.
Like a burnished beacon of light, he captured her attention. Their gazes met and locked. He tugged off his gloves and acknowledged her with a slight nod.
Her breath seeped out in an unconscious sigh of relief. The sensation of being watched faded beneath a very different type of awareness that flushed her skin with heat. Sir Galahad had arrived—minus the white charger and suit of armor, though looking no less imposing in worn denim and black leather.
Maybe she stared too long. Maybe her longing for a safe haven was reflected in her eyes. Almost imperceptibly, his bright-blue eyes narrowed, silently questioning her.
What’s wrong?
Chapter Six
“Rache?”
Rachel blinked, reluctantly breaking the connection with Josh. Reluctantly pulling her wishful heart away from the safety he promised.
So, she was being watched. It was probably some student, amazed to see a teacher outside of the classroom. Or maybe someone had witnessed her comical climb onto the stool and he or she was still laughing at her.
Or maybe it was Daddy.
She shivered and glanced at Josh again. His assessing gaze was still locked on her, as if she was transmitting her fear to a tiny receiver inside his ear that he alone could hear and understand. When he took a step toward her, though, she shook her head. An imperceptible movement. But Josh Tanner read it and understood.
This was a public place. She had a reputation to consider. She couldn’t allow a handsome student to walk over and sweep her into his arms and hold her until the chill of her own paranoia receded.
Still, she was disappointed when he dismissed her with a nod and went about his business. She didn’t want to analyze the sudden thrill that had coursed through her at his arrival, nor her deflated energy when he walked away—leaving her feeling as abandoned and vulnerable as she’d been each time she’d discovered one of Simon’s new infidelities.
“Rachel.” The sharp voice called to her a second time, finally pulling her attention back across the table. Curt repeated the question he must have asked a moment earlier. “You don’t still have feelings for Simon, do you?”
“No, of course not.” Her hasty reassurance sounded false, even to her ears. She looked down into her cup of tea, not wanting Josh or Curt or anyone else to read the apprehension that had tightened her expression.
It wasn’t that her heart still had any connection with Simon that she needed to justify. But she’d have a hard time explaining her fears about a nameless, faceless stalker. She’d have a harder time explaining away this inexplicable bond she shared with Josh Tanner.
She didn’t even understand it herself.
“You know, you’ve never talked about the father of your baby. I thought, perhaps, you and Simon—” She watched from the corner of her eye as Josh got in line at the counter. She noted how he held himself stiff and erect, despite his easy stride, and wondered if he’d gotten that X-ray. She’d moved on to wondering whether he’d sustained any broken bones on her behalf, before she fully tuned in to Curt and realized where his conversation was leading. “Sometimes divorced couples reconnect—”
“Simon is not the father of my baby.”
He held her pointed look. “Then, who is?”
93579. Daddy.
Rachel flinched as if the baby had just kicked her.
Instead of giving in to the urge to wrap protective arms tight around her belly, she flicked away the crumbs that had caught in the wool there. “Why don’t we change the topic while you’re still my friend.” Hint, hint.
“I just don’t want to see you hurt. I worry about you. A woman alone, bringing a child into the world.” Curt was starting to sound almost…intimate. Less like the buddy she’d crammed with during final exams and more like a…date. “You know, if there’s ever anything I can do, I want to help.”
Oh, no. This was not a complication she needed right now. She twisted in her chair and leaned forward. She could stretch her fingertips just far enough to reach his where they rested on the tabletop.
Squeezing his hand, she smiled and appeased him in a clear you-and-I-are-just-friends tone. “Okay. I’ll forgive you for bringing Simon back into my life. But my baby’s parentage is my business. She and I will be just fine on our own.”
Curt nodded, then leaned back in his chair, slowly pulling away from her touch. “Dean Jeffers would like to see you married.”
“Dean Jeffers needs to get in touch with the new millennium. There are a lot of single mothers out there.”
“Yes. But if you know the father, he should play a part in the baby’s life. A part in your life.”
Was he accusing her of sleeping around? Questioning her morals? “If I know the baby’s father?”
“I’m just sharing the dean’s concerns. It doesn’t look—”
“Dr. Norwood.” A young man, wearing a white apron and carrying an empty tray, dashed over to their table. With almost manic efficiency, he cleared Curt’s empty cup and wiped the table in front of him. Still stewing from Curt’s insinuation, Rachel snatched her cup of tea when he reached for it. Thwarted by that task, he straightened the basket that held packets of sugar and sweetener, and centered the plate with the last scone in the middle of the table. “We need to talk. When would be a good time to talk?” His gray eyes darted toward Rachel. “You’re Dr. Livesay, aren’t you? I know you.”
On a winter’s day when the temperature stood in the single digits, this twenty-something waiter had a sheen of sweat that made the tendrils of his short brown hair stick to his forehead. His skin had a pasty pallor beneath pink, chapped cheeks. He seemed familiar, though she didn’t recognize him from her classes. Perhaps she’d seen him around campus or here at the coffee house.
Her temper cooled as her curiosity grew. “Yes, I’m Dr. Livesay. And you’re—?”
“Kevin.” Curt’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “We’re having a private conversation. Now isn’t a good time.”
The young man seemed visibly shaken by the rebuff. “But we need to talk. Last night didn’t work out like you said. I need some money—”
Curt cut him off with a stern voice. “You’re fine. Call my secretary and make an appointment for this afternoon or tomorrow morning. I’ll fit you onto the list if I can.”
“But, the money—”
“Hang tough, Kevin. You can handle this.”
The young man named Kevin opened his mouth again, but spluttered into silence at Curt’s uncompromising expression. He blinked his wide gray eyes several times in rapid succession and then nodded. “I’ll call.”
Then he disappeared from their table as quickly as he had arrived, zipping over to clear another table before carrying his tray back behind the serving counter. Curt’s grim mouth dimpled into an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that.”
“I take it he’s one of your students?” Now that it was safe to do so, she set her tea on the table. Curiosity had given way to concern. Clearly Kevin was in some kind of distress. “Are you counseling him with tough love?”
“He’s dealing with some issues. But it’s time he moved past them.”
“Doesn’t the patient decide when he’s ready to move on?”
“I’m his advisor, not his shrink.”
Rachel sat back in her chair, feeling the sting of his sarcasm. “He didn’t look well. Physically, I mean.”
Curt shrugged off her observation. “He’s been battling the flu. Missed over a week of classes. He’s having a hard time catching up and is worried about losing his scholarship.”
Maybe. Rachel studied Kevin’s frantic pace as he waited on a customer. A person with the flu would be battling fatigue, not imitating the Flash.
He jumped, then froze as someone called his name. Rachel’s gaze drifted to the customer
who had spoken. Josh. Though she couldn’t hear the words, she could detect the low hum of his voice. Almost like a lullaby, the bass-deep words calmed her worries. The soothing intonation seemed to be having a similar effect on Kevin. Rachel smiled at the kindness. Go, Josh.
“While we’re on the subject of troublesome students—” Curt cleared his throat. “I’d like to talk to you about David Brown.”
The name alone jolted her from her silent observations. She must have given some sort of tangible reaction—a soft gasp, perhaps, or a shifting in her chair—because she immediately felt Josh’s eyes on her again. Their gazes met and locked. That psychic connection between them sizzled. There was no question in his eyes now. For an instant, something distinctly predatory and utterly protective glittered in the blue depths.
“Oh God,” she murmured, tearing her gaze away. Maybe she did have an overactive imagination. Seeing things that weren’t there. Wanting things she shouldn’t. She was shaking her head in disbelief when she zeroed in on Curt’s dull gaze. “You’re David’s advisor?”
“’Fraid so.” There was no softness to his tone. This was no old friend talking. This was the criminal psychologist, the expert negotiator who worked as a consultant from time to time with KCPD. Rachel set her cup down and raised her guard. “He says you’re going to report him for plagiarism.”
“I am.” She wasn’t interested in negotiating.
“David’s really not a bad kid. But he’s got nothing at home to support him. Maybe he did make a bad choice with his paper.” Curt gave a bare-bones version of what could have been a sob story about David’s past, and how he was trying to “save” David by steering him toward police work. “With his background, I think he could make a real difference in law enforcement.”
Rachel felt the warmth behind her before the large shadow fell across the table.
“I didn’t realize this was a recruiting office for KCPD.” Josh Tanner invited himself into the conversation, setting his coffee down and pushing Rachel’s chair up about six inches to a spot where she could comfortably reach the table. The subtle courtesy this morning touched her as much as had his heroic rescue last night.
