Authors: Brenda Minton
“Four inches of my jeans are wet,” she pointed out, pushing past him to carry the dripping poncho and helmet down the hall.
“Your shoes are wet,” he said accusingly, and so they were. The rubber soles squeaked on the concrete.
“I'll take them off.”
“And go barefoot on cold concrete?”
“It won't kill me.”
“It might.”
She wasn't going to argue that point with him. Instead, she turned, sighed and conceded. “All right. It was foolish of me to ride the moped over here in the rain. I should've taken a taxi.”
“You should have had Chester drive you.”
“No,” she said before she could think better of it.
“Why not?”
“Doesn't matter. I shouldn't have ridden the moped in the rain.”
“You're never going to let Chester drive you, are you?” Morgan demanded, folding his arms. He seemed to take up a lot of room there in the narrow corridor.
She tried to think of a safe, plausible answer, and when she couldn't come up with one, she simply turned on her heel and walked away, flipping on light switches as she went. Pausing at the double swinging door to the large, gymnasium-style meeting room, she fixed him with a curious gaze, and asked, “What are you doing here, Morgan?”
“I couldn't get anyone else to come out on a night like this, and I knew you were going to need help.”
As if to prove that statement, the door opened and two boys stumbled in. Both were drenched and looked to be in their late teens.
“Nasty night,” one of them said.
“I'll get some towels,” Morgan muttered. “Wait there.”
Before he got back, there were two more. Simone would get one placed and another would show up, and so it went until they locked the door. Rina, the chunky blonde with the eyebrow ring and oversize clothes, arrived just as Morgan returned with a small pickup truck and a trailer. She had obviously been crying, but her clothes and hair were dry, so she'd been in out of the rain. Simone was too busy trying to figure out how she could help the girl to bother about Morgan rolling the moped up onto the trailer.
“Do you need a place to stay?”
“Naw,” Rina said, “I was just bored. Thought I'd see if there was anybody around.”
“Do you need a ride somewhere?”
The girl shook her head, her gaze darting away. She waved a hand at the moped, asking, “What're you doing with that?”
“Taking it to storage in my garage,” Morgan answered, prompting Simone to scowl.
“I didn't agree to that.”
“It's late,” he said. “We can argue later.”
Rina snickered. “Y'all sound like my folks.”
Simone rolled her eyes, hoping no one noticed the flush of color across her cheeks. How could anyone mistake her and Morgan Chatam for a couple? Oddly enough, though, it sometimes felt that way.
* * *
“This pickup is yours?” she asked as they bounced across the rutted parking lot.
“Yep.” Morgan grinned. He'd had this conversation repeatedly over the years.
“Just how many vehicles do you have?”
“Several.”
“How many do you need?”
“Several.”
“Whatever for?”
“Various reasons.”
“Such as?”
“Sometimes you need to haul something, and sometimes you need to race something, and sometimes you just need to drive something slick and fast. Other times you need to haul around a whole carload of people in comfort.”
“You
need
to race and drive something slick and fast?” she asked drily.
“
I
do,” he told her unrepentantly.
She rolled her eyes, which made him grin.
“You know, of course, how absurd that sounds,” she said.
“I know that what I drive is my business,” he told her, “and has been for a good many years.”
She drew two fingers across her lips, turned them as if turning a key in a lock and flipped them as if throwing away the key. Morgan laughed.
“Good girl. You'll give me no argument then when I add the moped to my collection.”
She opened her mouth to do just that, but he wagged a finger at her. “Uh-uh-uh. Your health comes first. Okay?”
She took a deep breath, frowned and said nothing. Morgan smiled grimly. He should have done this right at the beginning, but he kept trying to keep his distance. He couldn't have her riding mopeds in rainstorms, though. Both of them needed their heads examined.
He drove to his home. The sturdy, graceful redbrick house with its stone chimneys and arched doorways had been built in 1928. He loved the clay tile roof and multipaned windows, as well as the terra-cotta floors and paneled walls inside. It had no garage, just a two-bay carport on one end. He drove straight through the second bay, past the Beemer and on down the lane to the building at the back of the property, which was less garage than warehouse. He punched the automatic door opener attached to the visor and waited for the second of three doors to rise.
Her jaw dropped as he pulled into the clean, tidy, well-lit space.
“Oh. My. Word.”
“We all have our vices,” he told her. “I don't just like to own vehicles, I like to tinker with them.”
“My dad would have loved this,” she said, looking around. “He was a tinkerer. He'd work on any old motor, even a lawn mower.”
“Was?” Morgan echoed.
Her smile faded. “Yes. Deceased.”
“Was it sudden?” Morgan asked kindly.
“No,” she answered. “He was ill a long time.” She opened the truck door and got out then.
Well, if she was going to keep secrets, she couldn't blame him for trying to uncover them. He got out and walked over to the little silver coupe parked in the far left bay.
“Come over here,” he said, “and let me see your driver's license.”
She reached into the truck for her backpack and dug out her wallet. After she carried it over to him, he photographed her driver's license and opened an app on his smartphone.
“What are you doing?”
“Adding you to my insurance.”
“What?”
He looked at her over the edge of the phone. “Do you have any tickets on your record, any accidents you want to tell me about?”
“No.”
“All right, then.” He finished the transaction and slid the phone into his pocket before going to the lockbox on the wall. Opening it, he took out a set of keys and tossed them to her. She stared at them as if she'd never seen such things. “For the time being, you'll drive the coupe. When Brooks says you're well enough and strong enough to go on your way, we'll figure out some other transportation for you. Something safer and drier than a moped. Agreed?”
She gulped and blinked. “I, um, I've already put on some weight.”
“Yeah?” He had noticed. He wished he hadn't, but he had.
She rubbed her nose and blinked some more. “You know, I sometimes think you are the most insufferably high-handed, arrogant, bossiest... Then you go and do something so kind and generous.” She looked up, her gray eyes large and luminous and brimming. “Thank you.” Before he knew what was happening, she'd thrown her arms around his neck.
She went up on tiptoe and pulled his head down to kiss his cheek, right at the corner of his mouth. Then he did something incredibly stupid. He turned his head just a tad, and she pressed her lips to his.
He felt poleaxed, stunned. It was a wonder they didn't both just topple over backward. As it was, he stumbled slightly.
No longer the cool, urbane college professor, he hadn't felt so stupid since...ever. As if he'd just had his first kiss at the ripe old age of forty-five. Horrified, he leaped away.
“You can...give it back...later,” he managed, trying for an authoritative tone.
She showed him her apple cheeks. “I'll be very careful, I promise.”
“Yes.” He fought the urge to clear his throat. “See that you are.”
He loped down the length of the building and punched the garage door opener on the other end. She got into the car, tossing her backpack in ahead of her, started the engine and pulled up level with him. The window rolled down, and she regarded him solemnly.
“I don't know how to thank you.”
“It's late,” he grumbled. “Get on.”
She gave him a slow smile, as if she knew that his heart still pounded like a jackhammer, before carefully easing the car out into the night. He hit the button and watched the door slide down behind her, then he bent at the waist, grabbed his knees and gasped for air.
What was wrong with him? He had to get a hold of himself. Simone had been through so much, and he felt sorry for her, but that was all it was, all it could be. She was a student and too young for him. Much too young. It was absurd for him to get so worked up over a little kiss of gratitude like this.
Which didn't make him feel any less like a heel.
Chapter Seven
S
imone still couldn't quite believe that Morgan had just handed over the keys to a sweet little coupe to her. And to think that he'd put her on his insurance! It couldn't have cost muchâcould it?âand it was better to be safe than sorry, but she hadn't been able to sleep that night for thinking about what an incredibly generous thing he'd done. At least that was what she tried to tell herself.
What she kept picturing, what she kept reliving, as she lay there in that comfortable bed in that lovely, quiet room in Chatam House, was the kiss.
She'd only meant to hug him, and then on impulse she'd kissed his cheek, and somehow their lips had met. The feeling had somehow caught her off guard. He was so solid. So...manly. Aaron, her ex, seemed like a rather pathetic child by comparison, and that saddened her, made him, her and their marriage seem like such a farce.
All during class on Friday morning, she found it difficult to concentrate. Her gaze kept straying where it should not go, and she found herself fascinated with the cleft in Morgan, rather,
Professor
Chatam's chin. It was embarrassing, really, and she couldn't help wondering how many other female students were as captivated by that little indentation as she was. She practically ran from the lecture hall at the end of class, aware of his silent gaze tracking her.
She felt more than a bit odd driving over to the mission in Morgan's car, but though Hub surely recognized the vehicle, he said nothing. His comments all concerned the news that an Arlington theme park had donated a dozen tickets and meals for a special promotion a week from the following Saturday. The church would provide a fifteen-passenger van, but at least two people, a driver and a monitor, would have to go along with the teens.
“Oh, Hub. These kids never get to do things like this,” Simone said excitedly. “What fun they would have!”
“I know, but I almost didn't mention it,” he told her. “I'm too old for this sort of thing, you know, and I'm not sure you have the stamina for it.”
She wasn't sure, either. A venture like this would require a whole day, twelve hours from open to close of the park. Still, she could imagine the joy on the faces of those teenagers. She could also imagine what Morgan would say if he found out. Unless...
“You don't suppose that Morgan would agree to help out, do you?”
Hub folded his hands and smiled. “Well, now, you never know until you ask. And I might have a way to twist his arm a bit.”
* * *
“Roller coasters,” Morgan repeated, standing on the terra-cotta floor of his small foyer in his bare feet the next morning, his hair still damp from a shower and his cheeks still smarting from the aftershave he'd splashed on. His Saturday jeans felt as comfortable and familiar as his collared knit shirt, the tail of which he hadn't yet stuffed into his waistband. He'd been quite surprised to find Simone knocking at his door, but the proposition that she had poured out had him reeling.
“The longest, highest and fastest in the world,” she confirmed eagerly.
“And you want to ride them?”
“No, not me,” she said, shaking her head. “You. And the kids. You know, teenagers. Young people. From the mission.”
It started coalescing. He'd heard something in there about donated tickets and special promotions and
fun.
“Aha. You want to palm off your homeless kids on me.”
“No! Not at all. I'll go along. It's just that I can't do this for them by myself.” She gave him the most woebegone, puppy-dog face. “And your dad isn't up to it, not at his age, and, well, everyone else I know is busy with work or other assignments, and I certainly can't ask your aunts.” He chuckled at the thought of Odelia, Hypatia and Magnolia shepherding a flock of world-wise teenagers around an amusement park, and that seemed to embolden Simone. “The kids would so love it. You can't know what this would mean to them.”
He knew without a doubt that he should turn her down flat. The last thing he ought to do was spend an entire day in her company, but he didn't really see that he had any other choice. If he didn't do this, she'd just find someone else or try it all on her own. He supposed he could tap a couple of students to help out, but he couldn't trust them not to let her overdo. He wondered if Brooks might be available and instantly nixed that idea, uncomfortable with it for reasons he didn't want to ponder. Besides, he did love a good roller coaster.
“You're not to overdo,” he dictated, folding his arms.
A wide grin split her face. “I won't. I promise. I'll pace myself. I'll sit at every opportunity. I have several books on my phone so I can read. It won't be a problem.”
He shook his head, which needed a thorough examination, and asked, “How many young people are we expecting?”
“I don't know. As many as ten, maybe.”
“I'd better see if I can round up a couple extra sets of eyes and ears, then.”
“Could you?”
“I do know a few graduate students.”
“Oh, Morgan, you're wonderful. You're just wonderful. Forget all those things I said about you being bossy and high-handed and autocratic.”
He frowned. He didn't mean it, but he frowned. “I don't think I heard autocratic. I did hear arrogant and insufferable.”
“Well, those still apply,” she teased, all but dancing across the foyer. “You can forget the rest, though.”
He chuckled. “We'll see what you say after I drag you onto the roller coaster.”
Her eyes grew round. “Oh, no.” She wagged a finger at him as she backed through the door, pulling it closed behind her. “No, no, no.”
He just grinned.
Yes, yes, yes.
* * *
“No, no, no.” Simone shook her head.
She was glad that they'd heeded the gate attendant's advice to head clear across the park to the Big Daddy roller coaster at the back. He'd promised them that the wait would be shortest if they started at the back of the hundred-acre park and worked their way forward rather than the other way around. He'd warned that wait times per ride could exceed two hours otherwise. Because they'd been waiting in line when the gates opened, they were first in line now, and their party of fourteenâshe suspected Morgan had shelled out the nearly two hundred bucks for the two extra ticketsâcomprised of nine males and five females, was raring to go, all but her and Rina, who had disappeared into a bathroom.
“Winded already?” Morgan asked, watching the others run ahead to get in line.
It had been a long walk, but she wasn't going to admit to weakness already. “No, I just don't care for fast rides.”
He cocked his head. “Really? I thought you were a skier.”
“Yes, but on the slopes, I'm in control.”
“Control freak, huh?”
Ouch. If she'd learned one thing during her illness, however, it was how little control she actually had in life. “No. That would be you.”
He lifted a shoulder, gave his head a shake. “Don't see me sitting on the sidelines.”
She squelched a sigh, admitting, “I distrust large mechanical contraptions.”
“Huh. Never rode a ski lift, then. Odd.”
“Of course I've ridden ski lifts.”
“I guarantee you they're far less safe than this thing is.”
“You can't know that.”
“I can, actually. I've read the studies.”
“You are exasperating.”
“You are illogical,” he retorted. “You zip around town on a fragile little two-wheeler that any nearsighted granny or distracted teenager can easily cremate, then worry about getting on one of the engineering wonders of the modern world. Come on. I'll hold your hand.”
“Bully,” she grumbled, casually letting her hand fall at her side as she trudged to the entry.
“Coward,” he replied cheerfully, catching her palm against his as he matched his stride to hers. “You'll like it.”
“Ha.”
She didn't look at him, pretending displeasure as he tugged her up the ramp to the covered platform, where they negotiated a maze of roped-off lines to finally file into narrow spaces between numbered pipes at the edge of the rails. Vaguely aware of the hissing and clashing of hydraulics and metal parts, she didn't really see or feel anything that wasn't centered on the hand that he clutched in his, until suddenly a long line of sleek, linked cars painted a fiery red shot past them and came to a screeching, jarring halt.
With a whoosh of steam and the clank of metal, a padded bar popped up, revealing two molded seats below. They looked like something out of a space capsule, without nearly enough capsule to protect them. Simone instinctively pulled back.
“Oh, I don't think so.”
“Honey, you're holding up the line,” Morgan said close to her ear. Then he simply picked her up and stepped down into the car with her. She didn't even have time to grab hold of his neck before he deposited her in the outer seat and dropped down next to her. Sputtering, she gaped at him, but he just pulled down his three-point harness and snapped it closed, saying, “Buckle up, sweetheart. We're about to ride.”
Before she could tell him what he could do with his ride, buckles and all, an attendant swept by and checked her harness. Then the padded bar came down over her head, and the same attendant used his foot to lock it tightly into place against her thighs. The car lurched and slowly rolled forward, gradually picking up speed as it came toward a first precipitate drop.
Simone cut her eyes at Morgan and promised, “I am going to get you for this.”
He clasped her hand in his, grinned and said, “Okay,” just as the bottom dropped out from under them.
She screamed like a lunatic and couldn't seem to stop. He laughed, loud and long and heartily, and not once did he let go of her hand.
After what seemed an eternity, or perhaps three minutes, of rolls and flips and mind-boggling drops and curves, they arrived right back where they'd started. The car came to a screeching, jarring halt, and she had just enough time to catch her breath before the padded bar whooshed up. Morgan released his belt and let go of her hand in order to release hers. They had to exit on her side, so she started to push herself up, but then she felt Morgan's hands under her arms, lifting her. The others of their party, in cars ahead of them, had already exited, laughing, down the covered ramp to their right.
“My legs are like jelly,” she complained, stepping up onto the platform.
Laughing happily, he hopped up beside her. “I'll carry you, then.” He swept her off her feet and spun with her before heading down the ramp.
She set her arms about his neck, smiling. He seemed so open and happy, his cinnamon eyes completely unguarded today. “You make it awfully difficult to stay angry with you, but you can't always carry me.”
“Yes, I can,” he refuted gaily, but reality waited at the bottom of the ramp, and it smacked her hard in the chest. It wouldn't do for the other graduate students to see them like this. She'd already read the policy in her student handbook and heard it giggled about by the girls on campus.
“What a shame the professors can't date students.”
“If ever you were going to break the rules, that not-fooling-around-with-the-professors thing would be it, wouldn't it?”
“A professor would have to really be in love with you to risk his job for you.”
“No,” she said softly, dropping her gaze, “you can't.”
He stopped and, a heartbeat later, let her down.
“You're right,” he said, the professor again. “Good call.”
Nodding, she adjusted the hem of the little mint-green T-shirt that she wore over lightweight olive cargo pants and her most comfortable athletic shoes. Then she turned and calmly walked down the ramp and out into sunshine that seemed to have lost some of its luster.
As the day wore on, everyone appeared to have a great timeâeveryone but Rina. Simone wondered why the girl had even come. She refused to ride any of the rides and sat morosely during all the shows. Only as they were leaving a particularly crowded musical, while killing time before their dinner reservations, did Simone realize the problem. It happened because two of the guys were clowning around, hopping back and forth on the carpeted, backless concrete benches where they'd sat to watch the stage show. One of them bumped into Rina from the back, knocking her forward into Simone. It was with shock that Simone felt Rina collide against her. Rina's was not the soft, mushy body of the overweight but the hard, distended belly of the pregnant.
In a flash, Simone realized the problem. Rina wasn't tubby; she was expecting a baby, and the oversize clothes were meant to disguise that fact, which they had done fairly successfully thus far, aided by Rina's round face and sullen expression. Simone suddenly recognized how small and delicate the girl's hands and feet were compared to her girth. She saw, too, the flash of fear in Rina's blue eyes. Slumping, the girl muttered something unkind to the boys and slung an elbow at one of them.
Simone did her best to remain impassive, saying calmly, “No harm done. But you probably ought to cool it, guys, before they kick us out of here.”
Morgan, who was two or three bodies ahead of them in the line trying to push out into the crush of the aisle, looked back over his shoulder and asked, “Everyone okay?”
“Sure,” Simone said. “Hungry.” And tired. She was abruptly weary. All of a sudden, it seemed that every other female she met was going to have a baby. She tried not to think about it.
They eventually made their way out of the theater and across the way to the restaurant where they had vouchers. By the time they were finally showed to their seats, she was absolutely exhausted with waiting and not thinking. Night had fallen, and with it came a cool, light breeze. Simone pulled a rumpled beige powder jacket from a communal backpack toted by the guys in the group. It sported a hot-pink oversize zipper and cuffs and collar. With the collar turned up, it kept her quite cozy, so she didn't mind that the table to which their party was showed stood in the open air. They were served a decent meal of grilled chicken, rice, green beans, salad and apple cobbler, a definite improvement over the dry, cold hamburger and fries she hadn't had much interest in at lunch, but she was too tired to really do the dinner justice. She caught herself nodding off over a cup of cocoa, and when she looked up, Morgan was sitting on the bench next to her.