The Oldest Virgin In Oakdale. Wendy Warren

without disturbing their makeup. Eleanor cried like a woman who hadn’t had a lot of practice—with big, hiccuping sobs.

      Cole shook his head. Eleanor, a virgin? After all these years it was hard to believe. It was difficult to conceive of anyone remaining innocent that long, even in Oakdale.

      Raking a hand through his hair, he swore silently. So much for a simple evening.

      Comforting people was not Cole’s forte. He’d already stretched his capacity. Charming, intimidating, manipulating—those were the skills he’d put to good use since he’d seen Eleanor last.

      Wondering where to go from here, he reached out tentatively to place a supportive hand on her back. He and Teach had gotten along famously in high school, but as far as he could recall, they’d rarely touched. Half expecting her to recoil or release a cascade of fresh sobs, he was caught off guard when she turned toward his arms without the slightest hesitation. It was almost a reflex reaction.

      He wound her in a light embrace.

      Eleanor was tall, five-seven, at least, to his six feet, but reed slender and with a certain fragility about her. Her arms, legs and fingers had a willowy length he’d always admired. He recalled watching her fingers curve around a pen as they studied. She’d frown lightly as she scribbled notes, her scantily freckled skin and hair the color of a caramel apple reminding him of a Southern school-marm—genteel, methodical, comforting.

      Cole smoothed a hand over the hair she still wore straight and all one length to her shoulders. A half smile creased his cheek. She had virgin hair, too. No spray, no stiff mousse, just the fine silkiness of the real thing, with a scent that was baby fresh.

      “You have nice hair, Teach,” he murmured. Her snuffles stopped abruptly. Cole smiled and continued to hold her.

      He’d been selfishly pleased to find her still single on his return home. His response had surprised him at first. He never dated women like Eleanor—women with whom emotional entanglements were part of the terrain. And romance in general was the last thing on his mind right now. It was his intention to take care of the business he had in Oakdale, then get out of town again as swiftly as possible.

      The wet spot on his shirt, where Eleanor’s tears soaked the material, grew larger. She had her nose buried in the crook of his neck. He smiled. “You okay in there?”

      She nodded without lifting her head, but arched her body slightly away as if she’d just become aware she was pressed full-length against him.

      Removing her glasses to wipe her eyes, she said, “You’re probably wondering what I meant when I said I was the, um… You know…”

      “Oldest virgin in Oregon?” Matter-of-factly, Cole filled in the blank.

      “No!” Eleanor protested. “Not Oregon! I never said all of Oregon! Only Oakdale.” Her eyes widened. She put a hand to her mouth, struck by the awful possibility. “Oh, my Lord. I hope not in all of Oregon!”

      Cole couldn’t help it, he laughed. “As long as there’s a nun in the state, you’re probably safe.” Eleanor’s eyes filled with reproach. “I’m sorry. But you seem to regard this as some sort of dilemma.”

      “Dilemma? Try ‘disaster.”’ Wiping her eyes, Eleanor replaced her glasses. “I’m twenty-eight.”

      “Hmm. You must have had a boyfriend at some point.” Cole studied her, his eyes hooded and difficult to read. “You’ve dated, haven’t you?”

      Acutely aware of the difference between dating and having a boyfriend, Eleanor shrugged. “I went out with Sheldon Kuznitsky in college.”

      “And?”

      “And nothing,” she admitted. “We were in premed together at Davis. He doesn’t count.”

      “Why not?”

      Feeling fidgety, Eleanor decided that as she’d already gone this far, there was no point in hiding the truth. “We went out three times, and he never even tried to kiss me.”

      “Ah, Teach.” Cole wagged his head. “The first thing you’ve got to learn about kissing is not to wait for someone else to do it. There are times when a man wants the woman to make the first move.”

      His voice was laced with humor, rich with warmth. Eleanor felt the familiar weakness steel over her. “Really?”

      “Yeah.”

      To save her life, Eleanor could not have wrenched herself from the tenderness in Cole’s blue eyes. Tenderness was a far cry from sexual attraction, she knew, but coming from Cole, it wasn’t half-bad.

      “The first move.” She sighed. “I suppose I could have made the first move with Sheldon. Except for one thing.”

      “What’s that?”

      “I don’t think he would have liked it. He had this thing about germs.”

      Cole’s expression turned suspiciously straight-faced. “Sheldon had a germ thing?”

      “A phobia.” She nodded. “Germs, body fluids.” Her brow furrowed. “Actually, any fluid. He had to drop out of premed because saline solution made him feel faint. I think he became a librarian.”

      Cole attempted to maintain a sober demeanor. She could see him trying, but the twitch of his lips gave him away. Ruefully Eleanor smiled, too.

      “I think you can do better than Sheldon Kuznitsky,” Cole assured her. He reached out, brushing his knuckles lightly along her cheek. When he grazed her jawline, he paused, his hand—and time—hovering, suspended. “You can definitely do better.”

      “Can I?” she whispered.

      He nodded, his magnetic eyes turning darker and more serious.

      Cole leaned toward her then, or maybe, Eleanor thought, it was merely wishful thinking. Either way, longing swelled inside her, and with it a corresponding ache that felt strangely like grief.

      Why wasn’t courtship something a person could study, like chemistry or physics? She’d always been an excellent student. If there was a textbook on basic romance, maybe then she would know how to bridge the yawning gap between what she had and what she wanted—

      The thought stopped her cold. A course in basic romance.

      “Oh, my,” she whispered. “Oh, my.”

      With a suddenness that stole her breath, the answer to her present dilemma emerged, crystal clear. While memories of her past with Cole had been flooding her mind for two days, there was one moment, one critical memory of a promise between them that had eluded her until now.

      “You can help me.”

      Cole had let his hand return to his side. He cocked a brow. “Help?”

      Eleanor nodded. “It’s possible,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “It could actually work.”

      “What could work?” Cole regarded her warily, as if he knew instinctively he wasn’t going to like what was coming.

      She blinked at him. Her idea was outrageous, not at all something she was likely to follow through on. Which made it that much more appealing.