Cinderella's Big Sky Groom

by Christine Rimmer

  She went. She got home at nine, took a long bath and went to bed. She stared at the shadowed ceiling for a long time, thinking of what might have been.

  Wishing…

  But no. Somehow, she would get over Ross.

  One day, one hour, one minute at a time.

  It snowed on Monday, the first snowfall of the season. Big, sloppy wet flakes that didn’t stay long on the ground. Ross looked out the window of his office, saw it falling—and thought of Lynn.

  Pictured her. Standing out in the schoolyard with her students, laughing, tipping her face up…

  He reached for the phone. He knew she wouldn’t be home. But maybe she’d bought that new answering machine by now. He could call.

  And what?

  Listen to the sound of her recorded voice asking for a message he had no intention of leaving?

  He swore and yanked his hand back, as if the phone could burn him. Then he got up and closed the blinds so he wouldn’t have to keep imagining her with her head tipped back and snowflakes melting on her tongue.

  Tuesday, the sky was clear. Ross got up in the morning and looked at the scummy rim in his big bathtub and decided to stay home until he’d talked to his housekeeper. When she came in, he fired her.

  Then he went to work and asked Mrs. Simms if she could recommend anyone to clean his house for him.

  Mrs. Simms said, “As it so happens, I have a cousin who runs her own little service.”

  Ross called the cousin. He met her at his house that evening at five. A solid, iron-haired, no-nonsense woman in overalls, a flannel shirt and heavy work boots. She looked around the great room and declared, “Mr. Garrison, you need help here.”

  They struck a bargain. She would start Thursday at seven in the morning.

  He came home Thursday evening to a spotless house—and Lynn’s red shoe, perched daintily atop a scrap of notepaper on the kitchen counter.

  The sight of that shoe almost finished him off. His briefcase slid from his hand, dropping to the floor with a dull thud.

  And that first night came flooding back to him.

  The red dress sprinkled with stardust. The sound of her laughter. The dancing bubbles in a glass of champagne.

  And later. When he’d carried her up the stairs to his room. The shoe slipping off her foot, hitting the stairs as it bounced down behind them.

  And later still, in his room, where she had called him her Prince for a Night.

  A torn laugh escaped him.

  Prince for a night.

  Carefully he reached out and nudged the shoe off the scrap of paper. He leaned closer, so that he could read the words written there in his housekeeper’s neat, square hand.

  “Mr. Garrison, I found this shoe wedged in that little crawl space under the stairs. It looks like a good one. The owner will probably want it back.”

  He stared at the shoe again.

  A week. A damn, interminable week he had stayed away from her. And he’d fully intended to stay away forever.

  To see her would be hell.

  But Mrs. Simms’s cousin was right. Lynn did want her shoe back. She had asked him more than once if he knew what had happened to it.

  What choice did he have?

  The damn thing had to be returned.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “So we get to have wings, Miss Taylor,” Sara said. “Wings and long white dresses. Like nightgowns.”

  “Just gowns,” Jenny corrected her friend. “That’s what they call them. Angel gowns.”

  “Yes,” agreed Sara. “Jenny’s right. Angel gowns. Everybody in the chorus gets one. Our moms have to make them—and the wings, too. And Jenny and me, we get special wings. With extra gold sparkles on them, because we have to do a duet.”

  “That’s what it’s called.” Jenny’s yellow curls bounced as she nodded her head. “A duet. When two people sing together. Like me and Sara get to do for the Christmas pageant.”

  “So you have to picture it, Miss Taylor,” Sara instructed. “In the multipurpose room, up on the stage, with all the pretty decorations all around. And all the kids in the chorus, the angel chorus, standing in rows in their angel gowns and their angel wings. And then me and Jenny step forward. Real slow. Real…floaty-like, the way angels would. Are you picturing it?”

  Lynn folded her hands on her desk and smiled at the two little girls, who had stayed after school to rehearse their parts for the Christmas pageant. “I am. I can just see it….”

  Sara and Jenny looked at each other. Identical grins bloomed on cherubic faces.

  “I think she can,” said Sara.

  “Me, too,” said Jenny. She glanced toward the windows that faced the playground. “Oh, look. It’s snowing.”

  Two pairs of blue eyes widened in delight.

  “I hope it keeps snowing,” Sara declared. “I hope it snows and snows and we can have a white Christmas. That’s the best kind.”

  “And then we can build a snowman,” said Jenny, “with sticks for arms and a carrot for a nose and a—”

  “Girls,” Lynn warned. “Stay on task.”

  Both girls sighed and faced Lynn again. As one, they stepped forward, leaving the rest of the imaginary chorus behind.

  “We’re going to sing our duet for you now,” said Sara with great dignity.

  “I’m all ears,” said Lynn.

  The two girls looked at each other and giggled. “It’s just an expression,” said Sara to Jenny.

  “I know that,” said Jenny, and the two giggled again.

  “Come on,” said Lynn. “Let me hear it. We don’t have much time.” She glanced at the clock. “Eight minutes, and then you have to be at your rehearsal.”

  “We know,” the girls chirped in unison. They both drew their shoulders back, tipped their cute chins upward. Their high, clear voices trilled out.

  “In the winter, in a manger, in a stable dark and drear.

  There’s a sweet baby sighing. Listen. Can you hear?

  There’s a donkey and lambkin, a shepherd and three kings.

  A mother and father and the one of whom we—”

  Three short, hard raps on the door cut the song short.

  Sara stomped her foot. “Oh, who’s that? We were just getting to the good part.” She frowned at Jenny. “And you messed up again. At that high part, the three kings part.”

  Jenny looked down at her shoes. “I know. I’m not as good as you. But I’m gonna work on it. I really am.”

  Sara relented and patted her friend’s shoulder. “That’s all right. You’re gonna do fine. We have plenty of time to get it right.”

  “It’s just beautiful.” Lynn was already out of her chair and halfway to the door. “And you two had better go on and get into your coats now.”

  “But Miss Taylor.” Sara put on her most pitiful expression. “You haven’t heard the whole thing.”

  “You can sing it for me Monday.” Lynn grasped the door handle and spoke over her shoulder at the girls. “Or Tuesday.” She pushed open the door, then turned to greet her visitor. “I promise we’ll find the time to—” The words died in her throat. There was only one word right then. It filled up her mind, her heart, her classroom, the world: “Ross.”

  He said something. Probably hello. But her heart was booming so loud, and her mind was a whirlwind. Every last bit of saliva seemed to have dried right up inside her mouth. All she could do was whisper his name. Again.

  “Ross…”

  “Hello, Lynn.” His voice. Deep. Rich. Too well remembered…

  He was real. Standing there in the shadows of the outside hall between the classrooms. Holding a shopping bag, wearing dark slacks, a charcoal-colored sweater and a heavy, gorgeous camel hair coat. Snowflakes clung to his broad shoulders, gleaming silver-white.

  “That’s my lawyer,” Jenny announced from her spot near the front of the room.

  “I know he’s a lawyer,” said Sara. “My mom told me.”

  “Hi, Mr. Garrison!” Jenny called brightly.
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  The air outside was very cold. Lynn shook herself. What a fool. Standing here gaping at him, with the door open.

  “Come in,” she said. He did. She shut the door.

  She turned to her students. “Come on, now. Coats, hats and mittens. Just leave your packs in the nook. You can get them later.” She clapped her hands. “Double time. You don’t want to be late, do you?”

  That got the girls moving. They darted for the coat nook. Lynn watched them, suddenly unwilling to turn back to the man who stood behind her. Blond curls bouncing, the two little angels disappeared beyond the open doorway. She could hear them. Giggling together—and probably slipping on each other’s winter jackets, switching mittens and mufflers and bright wool hats, too.

  “Lynn.”

  The sound of her name on his lips turned her inside out. Her silly knees felt like water. And her heart went on thudding, hammering out her foolish, hopeless longing against the wall of her chest.

  She turned to him. “I have to take Sara and Jenny to the multipurpose room.”

  “That’s all right. I can wait.”

  As he spoke, there was another tap at the door. He turned and opened it.

  It was Mrs. Parchly, wrapped up in a plaid coat, a trailing purple muffler under her chin and a stack of bright red papers in her mittened hand. Lynn ushered the secretary inside and performed the introductions.

  “Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Parchly. “You’re the lawyer, the one Trish used to work for?”

  “That’s me.”

  “She’s a good little worker, isn’t she? It must have been hard to let her go.” Ross made a noise in his throat, which the older woman apparently took as agreement. She turned a big smile on Lynn. “Actually, I’m giving her a chance to handle the desk by herself.” She peeled off a handful of the flyers she was carrying. “These are about the winter food drive. I could have left them in your box, I know. But Trish needs the practice, working on her own. And I like to get out and walk around, especially this time of day, right after lunch, when your kindergartners have gone home and the other students are all back in their classrooms. It’s so nice and quiet in the halls.”

  “I know what you mean.” Lynn took the flyers just as the girls emerged, still giggling, from the coat nook. As expected, they had switched jackets. Lynn gave them a patient look. “Ready?”

  “Yes, Miss Taylor,” said Jenny.

  “And we better hurry,” Sara warned.

  “And where are you two going?” asked Mrs. Parchly. “Rehearsal, I’ll bet.”

  “Yes,” said Sara with great importance. “It’s a private rehearsal, fifteen whole minutes with just me and Jenny and Mr. Beals, the director.”

  Mrs. Parchly glanced at Lynn. “Would you like me to walk them over?”

  “We gotta get going,” Sara insisted.

  “It’s no problem at all,” said Mrs. Parchly.

  Lynn murmured a thank-you as Sara shoved open the door. “Come on. We gotta go.”

  Mrs. Parchly laughed. “An eager little beaver, that one.” She gave Ross a quick nod. “Nice to meet you.”

  He dipped his dark head in response.

  The secretary followed the girls outside. The door swung shut behind them.

  And Lynn was left there, clutching her stack of flyers, her mouth dry and her heart aching.

  Alone with Ross.

  Questions tumbled all over themselves in her head. Why had he come here? Dare she hope he had changed his mind? Was he ready to believe? Ready to accept her love?

  The way he was looking at her—so intently. So…hungrily. As if he wanted to eat her right up.

  That was good, wasn’t it?

  A sign that he had missed her? An indication that he—

  The rest of that question flew right out of her head when he said, “I hired a new housekeeper.”

  “A…new housekeeper?” she parroted. It wasn’t at all what she’d hoped he might say.

  “She’s very thorough.”

  “Well. That’s good. Isn’t it?”

  “She found this. Under the stairs.” He extended his hand.

  The shopping bag. He was trying to give her the shopping bag he had brought in with him.

  She set the stack of flyers on a nearby desk and took the bag.

  “Open it.”

  Ross watched her as she carefully peeled the sides apart and peered inside. How would she react, he wondered, if he grabbed the damn bag back, tossed it away and pulled her into his arms?

  God, how he wanted that, to feel her against him. To taste her sweet mouth again, to take off her fluffy green sweater and her pencil-thin skirt and make love to her. He wanted to lay her down, right there, next to that stack of bright red flyers, on the nearest group of child-sized desks, which were pushed together in a semicircle just a few feet away.

  Yes. He wanted to make love to her, needed to make love to her. Now. With that row of paper Santas grinning down at them from a nearby bulletin board. He wanted, he needed to bury himself in her, and damn the price, damn whoever might walk in on them. Let that secretary poke her head in and see them. He didn’t care….

  She looked up. That sweet mouth was trembling. “Oh, Ross. My shoe? Is that all you came for—to give me back my shoe?”

  Lynn knew it was more than that. It had to be more than that. She could see it in his eyes, see how he wanted her. How he was keeping himself from reaching for her. His mouth was a grim, determined line. And he held his fists clenched, white-knuckled, at his sides.

  He said her name, “Lynn…” in longing and complete confusion.

  She let out a cry, dropped the bag to the floor and threw herself against him, lifting her mouth.

  He covered it, yanking her close, letting out a starved, needful moan of his own, one that sang through her body as his arms closed around her.

  He kissed her as if he would die if he didn’t. Joy seared through her, zinging along every nerve. She slid her hands up, over the lush wool of his coat, feeling the wetness of melting snowflakes, cold on his shoulders.

  She encircled his neck, pressed herself into him. His tongue swept her mouth. His hands clasped her waist and slid up, under her sweater. She quivered, cried out again.

  He murmured, “We can’t…it’s not right…” against her mouth.

  And she sighed. “I know….”

  Everything changed then, in the space of those few cryptic shared words.

  He smoothed her sweater carefully back in place and guided her head to his shoulder. For a moment he just held her, the embrace all tenderness now.

  And she gloried in that tenderness, drank it into herself, just as she had his savage, needful kiss seconds before. She might have stood there forever, cradled in his arms, listening to his heartbeat, to the ragged sound of his breath sighing in and out of his chest.

  But the sweet moment didn’t last long.

  It was shattered when the door flew back behind them and Jenny McCallum burst into the room.

  “Miss Taylor, Miss Taylor!” The child was gasping for breath, her cherub’s face dead white. “Bad men grabbed Sara. You’ve got to come quick!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jenny flew to Lynn’s side and grabbed for her hand. “Hurry, hurry. We have to stop them. They’re going to hurt Sara, and there’s a lady, she’s already hurt. She’s just lying there, on the cold ground. Oh, please, Miss Taylor. Hurry up now!”

  “Where?” demanded Ross. “Jenny, where are those ‘bad men’?”

  “In the parking lot. Mrs. Parchly was taking too long and Sara and me decided to go by ourselves and—” She let out a frantic cry and yanked on Lynn’s hand. “I can’t ’splain it all now.” She gave a low, terrified whimper. “We have to save Sara. We have to hurry—”

  Right then, Mrs. Parchly appeared in the open doorway. “Jenny, there you are. I turned my back for a moment and—where’s Sara? Oh, this is so up-setting. I had to make one stop, that’s all. I told the girls to stay with me, but they—”

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bsp; “Excuse me,” said Ross. He cut around the secretary.

  “What is going on here?” demanded Mrs. Parchly as Ross rushed past her. “Where is Sara? Will someone please—”

  But there was no time to answer Mrs. Parchly’s questions, and Jenny knew it. “Come on, with my lawyer,” the child begged, still dragging at Lynn’s hand. “We have to go now!”

  They ran out together, following Ross, Jenny leading Lynn, Mrs. Parchly falling in behind.

  “This way, this way,” Jenny kept chanting. “Hurry. This way…”

  They emerged from the shadowed open hall between the buildings. Save for the few rows of cars and the steadily falling snow, the parking lot appeared deserted.

  “They’ve gone!” Jenny cried out. “The bad men took Sara and ran away!”

  “What?” Mrs. Parchly blanched. “Bad men? What bad men? Oh, my heavens, what is going on here?”

  Ross stopped at the edge of the walkway and turned back to Jenny. “You said there was a lady…?”

  Jenny pointed. “Over there.”

  They fled together in that direction, off the curb and onto the blacktop.

  A few feet from the row of cedar trees that rimmed the outer edge of the lot, between a beat-up SUV that belonged to one of the teachers and another car Lynn didn’t recognize, they found the woman. She was lying faceup on the blacktop, unconscious. The snow had yet to start building up on the ground. But it clung to her pale, pretty face, gleaming silver-white in her dark hair, dusting her brows, catching in the crease between her soft lips.

  “That’s her. That’s the lady!” cried Jenny.

  “My goodness,” Mrs. Parchly gasped. “That’s Mrs. Sheppard….”

  Lynn had never seen the woman before. “Who?”

  “A new teacher. She was just in to see Mrs. Taggert for a final interview. Oh, my Lord, what is happening here?”

  Ross was already shrugging out of his coat and tucking it around the still form on the ground. He pressed two fingers to the woman’s white throat. “Her pulse is steady.” With great care, he used his thumb to raise one of the woman’s eyelids. “Out cold,” he said. “We’d better not try to move her.” He slid a hand inside his jacket and pulled out a cell phone. Flipping it open, he punched up a number.