A Flower for Angela

by Sandra Leesmith

  "Angela," he murmured.

  All arguments in defense of her teaching vanished. Awareness that she was even a teacher disappeared.

  For several minutes, Ricardo hadn't heard a word she had spoken. Oh, he’d been listening and he had filed away her comments for future consideration. But at this moment, all he could think about was fire.

  She reminded him of a white-hot blaze. In a flash, she would flare up in defense of her students or her teaching. But when he whispered her name just now, her eyes smoldered. Underneath her professional demeanor and her angry protectiveness, there burned a passion that he wanted to know intimately.

  Now was not the moment. Here was not the place. Not in her classroom. But watching her move and speak with such fervor had disturbed him. He'd wanted to stop her restless motion by pulling her into his arms. That he’d been able to resist that urge at all had amazed even him. But when she had placed her slender fingers on his arms, all adherence to the rules of propriety and timing was lost. He wanted—no, needed—to touch her.

  "You drive me crazy," he whispered.

  Wrapping his fingers around her hands, he pulled her body closer to his. Her weak struggles were easy to overpower. She gave in and stopped inches from him. Not daring to move, he stood still, breathing in the fragrance of her perfume.

  "We can't do this." Her voice reached him, breathless and quavering.

  "I know. Just stand here—close—for a moment," he promised, giving her hands a gentle squeeze. He wondered if she could hear the way his heart pounded.

  "The students…” Her voice trailed away.

  "Maybe Carlos will whisk us away in his magic spaceship." He heaved a wistful sigh before he let her go.

  "It would be our luck that he'd whisk the whole class away with us."

  "Ugh. What a cruel turn of mind you have."

  She smiled. The tinge of pink that flushed her skin revealed that she was as disconcerted as he was. He reached out a finger to touch her cheek, wanting to feel her heat, but she turned aside and walked toward the door.

  "It's time to pick up the students. I'll be back," she assured him.

  Stunned by the powerful effect she had on him, Ricardo didn’t move for a moment after she left. He imagined lazy afternoons beside the pool in her courtyard—the sun would warm their bodies while the look in her eyes would inflame his senses.

  He began to pace about the classroom. Traces of Angela were evident everywhere. Why couldn't he stop thinking about her? Why did he desire her so strongly?

  Other women had never affected him to such an extent. They had attracted him, often. But they had never distracted him from his work. Whereas thoughts of Angela drifted into his mind even while he was immersed in a story.

  That hadn't happened with Yvonne. In the years he had lived with her, she hadn’t invaded his thoughts as Angela had these past few weeks. Yvonne had been a reporter and they had decided it would be unrealistic for them to marry. The decision proved wise after Yvonne received an offer to anchor a newscast back east. In all honesty, he had to admit that he hadn't really missed Yvonne—and especially not now.

  Angela had somehow managed to capture his heart and mind. One smile from her wreaked more havoc on him than any woman ever had, Yvonne included.

  The door opened and his heart pounded with anticipation. He turned, expecting to see Angela, only to be greeted by Lupe Cartagena and Cathy Jones. His gut reaction to the two women was dislike. He hadn't cared for the questions they'd asked when they'd stopped by the news station just before his trip to Copperville. Their interest in his impression of the whole language program had seemed phony to him. He hoped they didn't want to talk now.

  "Angela's not here," he told them. "She went to the music room to get her students."

  "We know." Lupe, the taller woman, stepped forward. "We came to talk to you."

  He groaned inwardly.

  "Angela hasn't told us what you think about her program."

  He was sure she hadn't. He doubted anyone would go around advertising that his or her teaching methods were suspect. The women were fishing for information, but he wasn't going to get caught on their hook.

  Lupe glanced over at the door and then in a confidential tone asked, "Is Angela being investigated?"

  His eyes narrowed as he studied the woman. There was something calculating about her. Or was he suddenly feeling protective of Angela?

  He stated the obvious. "We're here simply to observe the whole language methods and tape them."

  "Are you going to air them?" Cathy asked.

  "I'm not working for the station on this. I told you that before."

  "We thought since the video equipment—"

  "Which is privately owned," he pointed out. All he needed was for the program director to get on his back for using their equipment during off hours.

  "Are you doing this for the board?" Lupe asked.

  He supposed it would seem that way since he'd been on the board last year. "Look. I'm a concerned citizen, interested in the continuing educational programs, that's all."

  "We'd be happy to show you our classrooms." Lupe's voice had gone sugary now.

  So that was their game. They wanted all his attention for themselves. If they only knew why he was observing Angela so closely, they wouldn't be in such a hurry to invite him in.

  "Be sure to come and see us," Cathy added as they headed toward the door.

  Ricardo gave a noncommittal nod, relieved when they left. He wondered how close they were to Angela. His working relationships with his colleagues were tight. But traveling all over the Southwest with them had helped cement the bonds of friendship. Perhaps the working conditions in a school were different.

  Yet he'd noticed the closeness between Angela and Maria. He didn't get that feeling with Lupe and Cathy.

  Before he could contemplate the matter further, his thoughts were interrupted by the return of his cameraman.

  "Daydreaming?" Ken paused from adjusting his camera to peer at Ricardo.

  "Planning a follow-up story on the Copperville strike for tomorrow's broadcast,” he lied, shrugging his shoulders in a futile attempt at nonchalance.

  "She's gotten to you, huh?" Ken gibed with certainty.

  "What're you talking about?" Ricardo stiffened, knowing it was useless to hide anything from Ken. They'd worked together for too many years.

  "They didn't have teachers who looked like that when I was in school," Ken observed. "And I've seen the way you watch her."

  "Lay off." Ricardo scowled at him. The fact that Ken's ribbing was getting to him only proved how close to the mark he was.

  "Be careful. You're walking a fine ethical line."

  Ricardo didn't respond. He knew Ken meant the warning as a friend. They watched out for each other. It had always been that way, ever since he and Ken had exposed the Simpson Textile Company in East Los Angeles for his first investigative report. It hadn't been hard for Ken to figure out that Ricardo’s involvement went beyond just getting a story.

  Ken had probed until Ricardo finally admitted his vendetta to avenge his father's death. They'd ended up with an objective report—thanks to Ken's constant monitoring of his motivations.

  He could trust Ken. He wouldn't bring up issues that could damage his reputation—or Angela's. Nor would Ken pass judgment.

  "We're not on the job here," Ricardo reminded him. "This is off the record as far as the station goes. I'm simply a concerned citizen interested in the schools."

  Ken grinned. "Like I said, school was never like this."

  Deciding that getting back to business was a prudent course to follow, Ricardo explained, "Angela told me during lunch that a group of her students are going to dramatize a story. I want you to film the entire production."

  "Sure thing." Ken positioned his equipment around the area designated as a stage by Angela. "Is it something special?"

  "I'm not sure." He helped Ken adjust the lights. "She said that the students act out a story and the
n she writes it in sequence on a chart. The kids observe the process and are supposed to learn from watching her do it."

  "Sounds fun for the kids," Ken commented.

  "But does it do any good?" Ricardo muttered under his breath.

  Ken raised his eyebrows. Ricardo squirmed under his scrutiny, knowing he deserved the criticism.

  "Here they come," Ken announced.

  Ricardo looked up in time to see thirty bodies stampeding toward him. With a quick step, he moved out of the way. Didn't these youngsters ever slow down?

  He watched Angela direct a small group of nonreaders. The other students sat in various locations around the room and began reading to themselves. He noticed, though, that several of them watched the proceedings instead of reading their books.

  It took ten minutes for the group with Angela to decide what characters they wanted in their play and what the play would be about. The children made their decisions with very little input from Angela. But, by now he was aware that one of the essential elements she taught them was self-direction. The only involvement they asked of her was to take part in the skit.

  "Come on, Miss Stuart," they begged, in their lilting Spanish. "You're biggest—you be the dragon."

  She gazed at Ricardo with obvious appeal. Ricardo shook his head. There was a limit to how far he would go with the students—and playing a dragon stretched beyond it.

  He could see she was sorely tempted to coerce him. He cast her his most stern look and dared her to try.

  "Jose would make a great dragon," she relented and Ricardo breathed a sigh of relief.

  "No. No. You, Miss Stuart,” Fernie insisted.

  From their eager faces, Ricardo could tell that they expected her to participate and that she had done so before. Her look of dismay spoke volumes. She wouldn't let her students down, but clearly she didn't want to perform in front of an adult male audience. Ricardo couldn't control his laughter when she bent down on her knees and slashed her arms about, trying to look fierce. She looked about as threatening as a kitten.

  The romping and laughter brought back memories of his childhood. His father used to tussle in a similar fashion with Ricardo and his brothers when he returned home from work. Watching Angela play with her students made him long for sons of his own.

  Wouldn't his sisters love that? They had been insisting that Ricardo needed to settle down and have a family. But his work was too hectic and time-consuming now to allow for a stable home life.

  The children squealed with delight. Ricardo was half-tempted to join Angela and the children on the floor. Ken's chuckle brought him up short.

  ¡Madre mio! he swore to himself. That woman could make him forget everything else but her.

  "Save the princess!" the children chanted.

  It happened so fast, Ricardo couldn't have prevented it if he'd tried. Caught up in the drama, Jose had grabbed a baseball bat and wielded the club in a pretend attack. But he miscalculated, and, before Ken could react, smacked the end of the camera. The piece of equipment crashed to the floor and the lens shattered. Everyone froze. A ghostly quiet filled the room and Ricardo glowered at Angela.

  Angela knew she was in for it now. How much would one of those lenses cost? She groaned aloud, the sound reverberating in the silence.

  Jose's dark eyes widened with fear when he realized what he’d done. Angela stepped toward him, responding to the panic she saw on his face. But he moved faster than she could. In a flash, he dropped the bat and tore past his classmates. The door slammed before Angela could reach him.

  Angela barely glanced at Ricardo, unconcerned with him or the camera. She had to get to Jose. "Call Maria! She can take the class to her room."

  She rushed out the door, aware that Ricardo was herding the children away from the broken glass.

  CHAPTER 6

  IT DIDN'T TAKE HER LONG to find Jose. He'd headed straight for the nurse's office where Mrs. Adams held him against her ample bosom, murmuring comforting words in Spanish. His body shook with sobs.

  Angela knelt in front of them. "It's all right, Jose. It was an accident."

  Finally, Jose calmed down. Angela slid into the chair next to Mrs. Adams and explained what had happened.

  "Probrecito,” Mrs. Adams said. "Poor little one, you'll be fine now. Miss Stuart won’t let those men be mad at you."

  "We aren't angry." The softly spoken Spanish words startled all three of them as Ricardo entered the office. It was his turn to kneel in front of Mrs. Adams and Jose. "You were such a brave dragon slayer. And Señorita Stuart was such a fierce dragon."

  A smile began to curve Jose's lips as Ricardo continued to speak. Angela smiled, too, charmed by the gentle way Ricardo was handling Jose. He'd make a good father, she thought, understanding and fair.

  Then Jose shook Ricardo's hand and both agreed to forgive and forget.

  "The school day is almost over. Maybe I'll just take him on home and explain to his mama,” Mrs. Adams offered.

  Angela agreed and thanked the nurse for making the trip.

  As they left, Angela turned to Ricardo. "Jose will be fine. Mrs. Adams has a way with people. She can smooth over all the touchy situations."

  "So I gather. She reminds me of my grandmother.”

  "She's everyone's nana. The students, the parents and even we teachers go to her with our hurts and our troubles."

  In fact, Angela envied Jose now. She'd give anything to be the one going home with someone murmuring soothing words of comfort. It had been a doozy of a day.

  "You okay?" Ricardo shifted. For a brief second, she fantasized about Ricardo taking her home and easing the stress of the day away. Unexpectedly, he brushed cool fingers against her cheek. His eyes filled with tenderness and his glance caressed her face. Angela smiled.

  "Now there's some color. I thought for a minute I'd have to call the nurse back."

  Her anxiety returned. Ricardo was the source of it, after all. She looked at him, wondering if his reassurance to Jose applied to her, as well.

  "We'd better go across the hall to the office and fill out an accident report. If the school doesn't have insurance for this, I'll cover the cost. Jose's family won't—"

  "Don't worry about it." A frown replaced his tender expression. "The camera is insured. Like you said—it was an accident." His frown deepened as he brushed back a loose strand of her hair. "There's one good thing that came of this."

  "Hmm? What’s that?" She looked into stormy eyes and should have been forewarned, but the feel of his fingers had entranced her.

  "You cannot continue this way. You're going to have to change your teaching methods and bring more order to your class. This kind of thing cannot be allowed to happen again."

  "How can you say that?!" she exclaimed, her heart racing in alarm. "After the understandings we’ve reached recently, you can still insist on that?"

  He grasped her shoulders. "I have to insist on it. The way your kids act is unacceptable. It's dangerous.” Irritation sharpened his tone.

  "Dangerous? No one has ever been hurt in my class."

  "Someone could have been today."

  "The children were absorbed in the play."

  "Absorbed? I'd describe them as unmanageable."

  "You're being closed-minded again." Hadn't he observed enough these last weeks to change his opinion? Or was his problem with her, personally?

  Dismayed, Angela slumped her shoulders. He didn't care enough to give her a chance.

  "Angela." He stroked her cheek again and she jerked away, trying to ignore the tingle his touch created. "Don't do this. I'm on your side."

  "Are you?"

  Brushing his hand aside, she backed away. "I have data and research to back up my methods. I'll make you understand," she swore. "Nothing is going to change. You promised me this month, and we're going to see it through."

  "Nothing's so important that you should risk your well being.”

  "Are you saying these children aren’t important?" She cast him a censori
ous look. "These children have never been given a chance. People often assume that because they live in the inner city, are poor and are from Mexico, that they will fail or—worse—that they are stupid. Why I've—"

  "We're not discussing sociology here. I'm concerned about your class."

  "Then look at my class. The students are performing above grade level and defying society's expectations. And do you want to know why?"

  "I'm sure you'll tell me."

  "My teaching methods, Mr. de la Cruz. The whole language process."

  His wince pleased her. "These kids are smart. We've just stifled their intelligence by using the wrong methods and materials."

  "I thought you disapproved of self-righteous statements."

  "It sounds conceited, I know." Placing fingers to her throbbing temples, she sighed. Exhaustion washed over her. "But I'm right and I can prove it."

  But could she prove it to this man? At the moment, everything seemed so overwhelming—the shock of the accident, the emotional turmoil of dealing with Jose and now this new threat to the continuance of the program. Tears of frustration spilled down her cheeks.

  "You're not going to prove anything like this,” he soothed. "You're upset and…"

  "I will. Those kids need me. There are so few who care to…" Her voice quivered and then trailed off as emotion tightened her throat.

  He pulled her against him. She tried to push away, refusing the comfort he offered.

  "Stop it,” he ordered softly, his voice full of concern.

  "Let me go."

  He tightened his hold. "You're wrong. I do care for those kids."

  The fight went out of her. She sank against his chest and let the tears flow.

  "I care, Angela,” he murmured into her hair. "For those kids—and for you."

  But did he, really? How could she have feelings for a man who didn't recognize her efforts as a teacher? She had to maintain her integrity and purpose, even though she couldn't gain his respect. The thought saddened her.

  "Don't do this to yourself.” Ricardo drew back in order to see her face.

  Angela kept her lashes lowered. "I'm sorry." She fought to stop the flow of her tears. "I'd better go back to class."