Marriage On His Mind. Susan Crosby

She realized how pathetic she sounded when the man dropped his attempt at humor and started speaking in soothing doctor tones.

      “He’s going to be just fine. No break, just a bad sprain. You can go see him, if you want. He’s having his crutches fitted, then he can leave.”

      She had to get out of here, away from the reminders, away from the past. “I...can’t stay. Tell him...tell him I’m glad he’s all right. And I’m sorry I caused him to be hurt.”

      “Why don’t you tell him yourself?”

      She could hear Jack’s voice as he called thanks to someone, then the sound of the electric doors swinging open. She took three steps back, turned and ran.

      Jack concentrated on negotiating the metal crutches through the door, and looked up only in time to catch a glimpse of Coach’s tempting backside. He glanced at Scott.

      “Stubborn as you, Jack, old buddy. Do you want to go to Chung Li’s or home?”

      Jack moved toward the glass exit door, but she was already out of sight. “Pizza, I guess.”

      “Sit down for a second while I pick up your prescription. Elevate that foot.”

      Jack maneuvered himself to a cushioned bench. Beside him on the low table laden with well-used magazines sat an L.A. Seagulls baseball cap. He picked it up and turned it in his hands. Coach’s? It had to be. He checked it for a name tag; finding none, he lifted it to his face and breathed in the sweet, subtle fragrance of shampoo that lingered in the fabric. His body reacted with lightning speed to the scent, to the remembered taste of her mouth and her uncontrolled response. If they’d just had a little more time alone in the car, maybe he could have convinced her to trust him, or at least to meet with him again.

      He spun the cap that his reluctant Cinderella had left behind. Folding it, he jammed it into his waistband, knowing he had to find her. Ignoring his long-trusted intuition, which told him he was inviting trouble by searching her out, he decided she was a woman in need of a happy ending. And he’d make a helluva Prince Charming.

      Four

      Mickey stood in the courtyard absorbing the beauty of the community college campus, an award-winning school praised for its overall design and lush landscaping. Climbing ivy and leafy trees cleverly screened concrete and stucco buildings; flowering shrubs edged brick pathways weaving through the campus grounds. No city sounds intruded. The college was a community unto itself.

      The frantic, disorganized first week of the semester was over; her second week of teaching had begun. Last Monday, she’d been able to look forward to the batting lesson with Jack at the end of her first day of teaching. Now all that faced her was her new Monday, Wednesday and Friday routine: four classes of algebra, followed by an hour for lunch, then two hours tutoring in the math lab. She would have papers to grade in the evening, lessons to plan and individual counseling where needed—nothing overly demanding, nothing that would too quickly awaken long-dead emotions, just a gradual return to life.

      She had forgotten how much she enjoyed teaching, had forgotten the pleasure of communicating with curious students, how satisfying it was to see awareness dawn on the face of someone who grasped a concept that a moment earlier had been a puzzle.

      “Hey, Ms. Morrison,” someone called, coming up behind her as she stared at the koi swimming in the fish pond, the showcase of the school’s courtyard.

      She lifted her head and turned, then recognized the young man she’d just tutored in the lab. “Hey, Greg,” she responded, smiling at the infectious grin on his face. “Good work today.”

      “It clicked, you know?”

      “Drop by again on Wednesday, if you can. I think you can catch up in a hurry.” Her gaze shifted to a man making his way on crutches past them. He looked up from focusing on the path before him and stared at her, surprised.

      “I’ll be there,” Greg said, walking backward. “Thanks a lot.”

      Mickey blinked, breaking the intensity of the gaze with the man who had haunted her dreams for days. Haltingly, she said goodbye to Greg and watched as he jogged across the courtyard. He had been out of sight for seconds before she reluctantly faced forward again. “Jack,” she whispered.

      Jack positioned a crutch on each side of her, trapping her between him and the koi pond. His head an inch from hers, he breathed in the now-familiar scent of her shampoo. His gaze took in her blond pixie hair and startled brandy-colored eyes. Even without touching her, he could feel the tautness of her body, clothed this time in a blue-and-white striped tailored blouse and matching blue slacks. “You work here,” he stated, noting the briefcase she carried.

      He saw her glance in silent question at his own soft-sided satchel tied to the handle of his right crutch. “I volunteer legal aid, and I occasionally speak to classes on topics that I have some expertise in,” he told her. “How about you?”

      “I teach algebra,” she replied, clearly uncomfortable at having to answer.

      He pulled back in surprise and studied her face, her identity becoming blindingly clear. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Mickey Morrison, would it?”

      Her eyes widened in obvious shock. “How do you know that?”

      His tenant! All these weeks, and she’d been living a hundred yards from him. Damn it all, what luck! He grinned. “I thought you knew my name.”

      “I know your first name.”

      “I’m Jack Stone.”

      “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

      “It should.”

      “Why?”

      “The name Jack Stone doesn’t ring any bells?” he pressed.

      “Tell me why it should.”

      Ignoring her demand, he slid a hand into his satchel and withdrew her L.A. Seagulls baseball cap. She started to take it from him, but he yanked it out of reach. “Not so fast. You stayed at the hospital for almost an hour. Obviously, you were worried about me. Why didn’t you at least stay long enough to talk to me?”

      “I told you. There can’t be anything between us. Don’t keep forcing the issue.”

      He used his most soothing voice, one he’d cultivated to pull information from reluctant clients and witnesses. “I know you’re in some kind of trouble. Whatever it is, let me help you.”

      Mickey dipped her head. Lord, spare me from chauvinistic men, she thought, suddenly finding her sense of humor now that the shock of his knowing who she was had settled in. “Look, you can’t tell anyone, okay?” she said, her voice hushed and deep.

      He leaned closer. “Of course.”

      She glanced around surreptitiously. “I escaped a white slavery ring.”

      “What?!”

      “There were twenty of us, being guarded by a eunuch. He fell in love with me.” She sighed dramatically. “He helped me—”

      Jack laughed, then plopped her cap backward on her head. “I get the message, loud and clear, Coach.”

      “Do you?”

      “Whatever’s bothering you isn’t criminal, right?”

      “What made you think otherwise?” she asked, genuinely curious.

      “Call it jumping to conclusions after years in a business where being suspicious is part of the job description.”

      “Yet you were willing to help me, even if I’d done something—”

      “I didn’t think you’d done anything. I just thought you were in some kind of trouble.” He backed up, providing her an escape route. “I can see you want to get on your way.”

      Mickey