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cause he was sure she was the punctual sort, he figured he'd arrive half an hour or so early. He couldn't be positive, of course, as he'd left both his planners at home that morning, so couldn't confirm the exact time they'd agreed on. Nine-thirty, he thought. He'd slept through his alarm and been pushed just to make it to his 8 a.m. class before everyone figured him for a no-show and cut out. Under the circumstances, he could hardly be blamed for forgetting a thing or two. Anyway, better to get there early.
"Hi, sorry I'm late," she said, out of breath as she slid into the booth across from him. "Ashley's school called. She fell and they thought it might be more serious than it was."
"She's okay?"
"Fine." Jamie smiled, shrugging her overcoat off her shoulders. "A bruised chin, but with all the attention she's getting, I'll bet she thinks a bruise is a small price to pay."
"You've seen her?" He didn't even need to ask. Jamie was that kind of person, would be that kind of mother. Her kid would never have to wonder if there was going to be dinner on the table or clean clothes for school. Jamie's daughter would never go without a warm hug when the boogeyman reared his ugly head.
"Just came from her preschool." She glanced at her watch. "It's after ten—I'm sorry. But that's why I'm almost half an hour late. I didn't think you'd still be here."
Kyle shrugged. "Shows you how desperate I am." Looking his fill, loving the rosy flush on her
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cheeks, the slight tilt of her lips, the way her bulky sweater all but hid her generous breasts, Kyle knew there was more truth than he'd like in that remark.
After they decided what they wanted to eat, Kyle went up to the counter and bought breakfast. And then, without even trying, he spent the next half hour showing her what a complete ignoramus he was when it came to party planning. But he was great at taking suggestions, and they soon had a basic plan for the reception.
Because it was scheduled for mid-February, she was going to build it around Valentine's Day, using romantic literature as a theme for the evening. She suggested they blow up book covers—classics like Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, Pride and Prejudice. They'd attach the covers to Styrofoam and use them for wall decorations. She discussed renting additional tables and chairs, tablecloths, dishes. They'd need floral arrangements and candles. And what about a basket of books on each table? Her thoughts flowed so fast Kyle couldn't keep up with them. But he enjoyed listening to her just the same.
"We can use the books for food ideas," she said, finishing off the last of her cheddar-cheese bagel.
"Okay." Whatever.
' 'If we do Bronte, we can serve English tea cakes, maybe miniature shepherd's pie pastries, stuff like that."
Fine. If she thought cakes and pastries went together, then he was sure they did. "I'd like to meet your daughter."
Her face froze. "Why?"
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He probably shouldn't have pushed. But the woman was driving him crazy. When she smiled at him, she touched parts of him no one else had ever touched, and yet at other times, like now, she held him at arm's length, as if he were a complete stranger.
"She's obviously an important part of your life."
"Of course she is."
She wasn't going to make this friendship, as she'd called it, easy—for either of them. "So I'd like to meet her."
Jamie looked away, completely separated from him. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why not? I don't bite."
"No, but you're a man."
"Last time I checked." He shrugged lightly. "But I don't see the crime in that."
"Ashley's obsessing about her father right now. I don't think it would be wise to bring home a man."
There he was again. This mystery man Jamie had known, intimately, since that incredible night Kyle had made her his. Kyle was really starting to hate the guy. "Where is her father?"
"Out of her life." Jamie wouldn't look at him. "That's all that matters."
"Is he out of your life, too?"
Her gaze flew back to him, her eyes pleading for—he didn't know what. And then she nodded. "In any way that matters, he's more lost to me now than ever."
"The guy's a jerk."
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Through the pain in her eyes, Kyle saw the beginnings of a smile. "How could you possibly be in a position to know that?"
"First, because he left you."
"Maybe I left him."
"Second, because he left his daughter."
"Not all men want to be fathers."
"Like 1 said, he's a jerk."
"What about you?" she asked, searching his eyes. "How would you feel if you suddenly found out you were going to be a father?"
"It would depend on how I felt about the mother."
"You'd judge a child based on her mother?"
"Of course not," he said, staling into the most beautifully expressive eyes he'd ever seen. "My delight would only intensify if I happened to love the mother, as well."
He wasn't sure of her reaction to his answer. She continued to speak to him with her eyes, but there were so many messages—mixed messages—he couldn't decipher what she meant. And she wasn't saying a word.
"You remember me telling you about my lack of closeness to my mother?" he asked, waiting for her confirmation before he went on.
"When I was growing up, there were many nights she didn't come home, and I used to lie in my bed and dream about the family I'd be part of someday." Her eyes filled with the same compassion that had attracted him the night of his mother's death. "From the time I was a very young child, I knew what kind
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of parent I wanted to be, what kind of parent I will be if I ever get the opportunity."
She blinked. And looked away. He couldn't figure her out at all. Why did he get the feeling that his wanting to be a good parent was a bad thing? "I will never have a child of mine wondering who his or her father is, and never will he or she have one second's doubt about how much I love him." He paused, took a breath. "Or her."
Jamie remained silent. Studying the napkin she was folding neatly in front of her.
"And why is it that you have such an intense effect on me?" he asked, only half joking. "I go thirty-two years without spilling my guts to anyone… except once."
She glanced up.
"With you, five years ago."
Pushing her napkin aside, she continued to watch him. "So why have you never married if children mean so much to you?"
"I couldn't find you," Kyle said, more serious than she'd ever know.
"What's the real reason?"
He'd just given it to her. "I never met a woman I was thrilled about spending the rest of my life with."
"So you're looking for a big thrill, huh?" She smiled at him, teasing, but the glow was gone from her eyes.
"Sure. Aren't you?"
"I'm not looking."
The words were meant as a warning. A warning
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Kyle had no intention of heeding. Not because he was some kind of stalker jerk, set on pursuing a woman who didn't want him. But because he had a very strong suspicion, an intuition that wouldn't be ignored, that she needed him, maybe even more than he needed her. He couldn't explain the feeling. He just knew there was something very special between him and Jamie. Something he couldn't walk away from.
CHAPTER NINE
Ignoring her conscience wasn't something Jamie did well, but she was giving it her best shot. Still busy with her extra tax clients, plus all her year-round accounts, trying to take on a little extra where the care of the girls was concerned, she'd also signed Ashley up for dance lessons. The child was to have her first class that next week and was so excited she could hardly fall asleep at night.
And whenever Jamie's conscience managed to yell loudly enough to be heard through all that ruckus, she muffled it by immersing herself in plans for Kyle's party
. The dean and his wife v*ere going to be there. Some of her other tax clients were gr)ing to be there, too. She wanted them all to be very impressed.
Of course, it wasn't as if they were going to know about her part in the shindig. Or as if she'd even be attending. Still, she didn't want the people she was fond of not to have a good time. Or so she kept telling herself as she ran around town shopping and looking for ideas. She'd hired the caterer—one of her clients—chosen the menus, been to the florist and visited the craft store more times than she could count. Her desk was currently sharing space with
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piles of books and various Styrofoam-backed posters of blown-up covers. By Wednesday afternoon, the only thing left to plan was the program. And for that, unfortunately, she needed Kyle's help. He should've been out of class almost half an hour earlier and hadn't yet returned to his office, where she'd been waiting for him. Jamie had finally asked the division secretary where Kyle's class was held and, having trekked across campus, was just reaching the room. Sure enough, just as she'd suspected, he was still there. She recognized his voice, despite the closed door.
Slowing her approach, she listened to determine whether it would be appropriate to interrupt. To see whether they were discussing Poe or basketball scores.
"So you've got this linebacker…" Okay, so she'd had the wrong sport. Jamie headed toward the classroom door. "What's his name?" Kyle asked, but he didn't sound nearly as casual as his words implied.
"Number eighty-five. Jim, just Jim, no last name."
Whoever he was talking to didn't sound casual, either. Was this some kind of test?
Stopping just short of the door, Jamie leaned against the wall and listened a little longer.
"Right," Kyle said. "What else can you tell me?"
The question was met with total silence.
"Jim's got this manager…" Kyle prompted.
"Uh, right, a manager, and she's a woman."
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"What's her name?"
"Miss Watson." The answers were flowing a little faster.
"What do you know about her?"
"She's like this Bible-totin' do-gooder broad who's always goin' around preachin' about doin' right."
Didn't sound like any sports manager Jamie had ever heard of.
"Okay."
"Except she ain't so right 'cause Jim's good— best linebacker anybody's ever seen. He's got the chance to make something of himself, and she won't let him."
"Why not?"
"She's a two-faced bitch."
"Maybe so." Kyle didn't seem put out by the reply. "But there's more to it. Why doesn't she want to sign Jim to a contract?"
"'Cause he's black. She makes deals for the white boys."
"Is that fair?"
"Hell no, it ain't fair!"
"Why not?"
Mesmerized, Jamie continued to listen. She didn't recognize the other male voice at all, but there was no mistaking the seriousness of this odd conversation.
'"Cause Jim's a guy just like the rest. What matters ain't the color of his skin but how many guys he can cremate so they don't score."
"So why doesn't somebody can her?"
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'"Cause the people where she lives feel just like she does. They think blacks are lesser citizens."
"Where do these people live?"
"In the South?"
"Yes. When?"
"Jim, linebacker, number eighty-five," the student recited so quietly Jamie hardly heard him. ' 'In 19…no, 1885?"
"Right." Kyle obviously meant business. "And does Jim have a particular team he wants to play for?"
"This is a dumb one, Professor."
"Who cares. You're learning, aren't you?"
"He plays for the Huckleberry Finns. Ain't no football team ever going to call themselves 'the Huckleberry Finns.'"
Jamie grinned. She had to agree with the guy.
"Who's the owner?" Kyle wasn't lightening up a bit.
"Mark Twain?"
"And how does Mr. Twain feel about Jim's plight?"
Sliding down to sit on the floor, Jamie listened intently, waiting to hear the student's response.
"He knows it ain't right, that those people are evil for wanting to keep the blacks down that way, but the people are his fans who pay for tickets and if they don't want to see Jim, he can't make them."
"So how does he view those people?"
"As hypocrites."
"And?"
"They're filled with lovelessness." The word was
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said so slowly Jamie could almost have spelled it as it was being said.
"Okay." Kyle sounded relieved. "Do we know anything else about Jim?"
"Yeah, he ain't givin' up."
"Anything else?"
Silence.
"Think, Brad," Kyle encouraged. "What's the name of the team?"
"Oh, yeah," Brad said, sounding as if he were really expending some mental energy. "Jim's got one friend, a white boy, Huck," he said. "The team's named after him."
"And?"
"Huck helps Jim get free from his old biddy manager. He gets to play ball, but then they can't be friends no more 'cause the fans just ain't ready for that."
"And that, my boy, is the story of Huckleberry Finn." Kyle sounded inordinately pleased.
"You're somethin' else, Professor," Brad said. "The guys are never going to believe this—the Huckleberry Finns."
' 'What matters is that you remember this stuff for the next essay quiz."
"Right."
Jamie heard books and papers rustling, zippers zipping and stood up.
"Oh, and Brad?"
"Yeah?"
"Be sure you drop the football stuff when you write your answers."
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"Will do, sir, and thanks."
"No problem," Kyle said, his voice coming closer. "As long as you're willing to try, I'm happy to do everything I can to help."
If Jamie hadn't already been half in love with the guy, she'd have fallen hard right then. He was a good man. A caring, giving man. A man who'd make a wonderful father.
Suddenly she had to hide, get away before Kyle saw her. There was no way she could discuss the reception with him right now. Or anything else for that matter.
Her conscience gave an uncomfortable tug, but she had to fight it. And keep fighting it. Or lose everything that had ever mattered.
Spying a women's rest room across the hall, she ducked in just before Kyle and his student reached the classroom door.
"Goodnight, Mommy. I love you."
Ashley's little voice washed over Jamie as she bent down to kiss her daughter good-night that same evening. Even through the angora sweater she wore with her jeans, she could reel Ashley's little hands clutching her.
"I love you, too, Ash, so much," she said. God help her, she couldn't do it. Couldn't risk losing this. Ashley was all zipped up in her Little Mermaid blanket sleeper, tucked under her Little Mermaid quilt. The picture of sweet innocence.
"I know, Mommy. You love me enough for a mommy and a daddy, huh?"
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"That's right, baby." But the words stuck in her throat. What was she doing to this child?
Standing in Ashley's doorway as she watched the little girl snuggle down to sleep, Jamie had never hated herself more.
Ten minutes later, buried in her office in an attempt to find a moment's rest from her tortured thoughts, Jamie heard a knock on the front door.
It was Kyle.
"My secretary told me you'd stopped by earlier today," he said, stepping into her small foyer before she could invite him in.
Dressed in what she'd come to recognize as his usual work uniform of faded jeans, long-sleeved shirt and corduroy jacket—didn't the man ever wear an overcoat?—he looked wonderful to her. Reassuring.
Yet his presence there scared her to death.
"You could have
called instead of coming all the way over."
"So could you." He had her there. He was looking past her into the living room.
"I, uh, just wanted to discuss the program for the reception, but we can do it another time."
"Why not now?" he asked with his hands in his pockets, the very picture of an innocent bystander. "I'm already here."
Jamie had a feeling he knew just how uncomfortable he was making her. Just as he probably knew how glad a very contrary part of her was to see him.
Far too aware of Ashley sleeping right down the
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hall, she stared at him. "Well, then—" she crossed her arms in front of her "—come on into the living room."
Needing no second bidding, Kyle quickly settled himself in the middle of her couch. "Where's Ashley?' ' He was disappointed to see that the room was empty.
Stiff and unyielding, Jamie stood in front of the fireplace. "In bed asleep."
"At 7:30? Isn't that a little early?"
"Not when she's up at six."
"I remember you telling me that you're a night person."
"I used to be."
Kyle grinned, picturing an irritable and oh-so-lovely Jamie up at the crack of dawn with a two-year-old dynamo.
She shifted from one stocking foot to the other, looking toward the door.
'So what ideas do you have for the program?" he asked. He wasn't about to be dismissed when he'd just gotten inside.
"I don't."
A moment's panic ensued. "You don't?" Was she ditching him? He couldn't believe it. Jamie wouldn't do that.
"You're the English guy, Professor, and this is a meeting for the National English Honor Society. I figure you're just the person to hit up for ideas."
Kyle tried. He really did. But all he could think about was hauling Jamie into his arms and kissing
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her until she remembered, in complete detail, how close they'd once been.
"We could do a fashion show," she finally said, frowning.
A fashion show. Kyle blinked. He wasn't sure how impressed the dean would be with designer fashions taking the stage at an honor society meeting.
"There are groups who specialize in period costuming," she explained while he was trying to figure out a way to tell her he didn't much want a fashion show at his reception.
' 'We could have male and female models dressed as characters from some of the novels," she said, coming closer as she grew more excited about her idea. "You know," she said, "Scarlett O'Hara could appear in one of her famous gowns."
Her Secret, His Child: A Little Secret Page 10
