swept his gaze over the noisy crowd.
And Joe Dillon? he mused. He came from a far different upbringing. His family was wealthy and he’d had every materialistic whim met and then some. He’d taken it all for granted. He wanted it, he got it, no questions asked, and the image of it all in his mind made him cringe.
Ten years ago he’d decided it was payback time. He’d walked away from the world of money, except for the occasional appearances at megabucks events to keep his parents happy.
He worked in the ghetto. Lived in the ghetto. Breathed the air in the ghetto. It was the only way to really relate to these kids, be the kind of teacher he was determined to be. He lacked Mark’s firsthand knowledge of this life, but he was making up for it in his own way.
Sacrifices? Joe mentally wandered on. Yeah, sure, he’d made sacrifices. The biggest one, he supposed, was the fact that he would never marry and have a family. He couldn’t ask a wife and children to live down here and he had every intention of staying. So be it.
As the years went by, he had less patience and tolerance for the idle rich, the jet-set crowd, those who refused to address anything beyond their selfish pleasures. They pretended that neighborhoods like this one, kids like these, didn’t exist. Damn.
Enough, Dillon, he told himself. The vet had obviously gotten cold feet. It was time to get this show on the road.
The two-block walk back to the school seemed more like twenty to Polly as the weight of Jazzy’s heavy cage began to make her hand, arm and shoulder ache.
Arriving at last outside the wide double doors of the Multipurpose Building, Polly stopped to catch her breath and regain her composure. She blew a puff of air up over her face, ruffling the curls on her forehead.
“Well, here we go, Jazzy,” she said.
She pulled open one of the doors and stepped inside to hear an amplified man’s voice say, “...who put in many hours to make this career day at Abraham Lincoln possible. Ladies and gentlemen, please show your appreciation to our own Coach Dillon.”
Polly took another step, then stopped dead in her tracks with a gasp of shock as the student’s appreciation erupted at full volume. They applauded, hooted and hollered, stamped their feet in a rumbling rhythm on the bleachers and whistled shrilly.
“Good grief,” Polly muttered, then frowned. Heavens, she thought, she had to cover the entire length of the building to reach the ever-famous and much-appreciated Coach Dillon and the other people, who were seated on folding chairs. With a chatty bird in a cage, she was about to parade in front of several hundred students.
“Thank you,” Joe said, raising both hands for silence.
Polly started tentatively forward.
The students quieted slowly, then silence fell.
Polly lifted her chin and kept moving.
“The purpose of this first career day at Lincoln,” Joe continued, “is to give all of you the opportunity to...”
“Call the cops,” Jazzy squawked, loud and clear.
The students whooped with laughter.
“No way, Bird Lady,” a boy shouted. “The cops come calling on me more than I want to see them.”
Polly felt a warm flush stain her cheeks as she quickened her step, mentally clicking off ways to murder Jazzy.
What in the hell... Joe thought frowning, as the noise level increased to full volume again. Who was this? It sure wasn’t the Dr. Robert Dogwood he’d spoken to on the telephone. It was some kid with a talking bird, who had managed to totally disrupt the program before it had hardly begun.
No, wait a minute. The girl had to have been sent by the vet. Otherwise, it didn’t make any sense for her to be here. He didn’t envy her the walk she was marking, that was for sure. Well, she was getting closer now and...
Whoa, Joe thought. That wasn’t a kid, it was most definitely a woman. A very pretty—in a fresh, wholesome way—woman. She was wearing pale blue slacks that defined her feminine curves and a dark blue blouse that hinted at womanly breasts beneath it.
Oh, yes, she was young, but she was a woman, no doubt about it. He was going to take pity on her and escort her past the remaining students.
Joe came from behind the table and strode toward the woman carrying the birdcage, his long legs covering the distance in short order.
Polly stopped and looked up at the man she now knew to be Coach Dillon.
“I...” she began, then forgot what she was about to say.
My stars, she thought. In the midst of this embarrassing chaos she was in close proximity to one of the most ruggedly handsome men she’d ever seen.
Oh, yes, one certainly should appreciate Coach Dillon. He was tall, with wide shoulders, his chiseled features were tan, his dark brown hair thick and in need of a trim, and his yummy eyes were the color of fudge sauce.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Polly said, amazed she had enough air in her lungs to speak. “I couldn’t find a place to park and I had to walk a couple of blocks. This cage is heavy, so I had to set it down once and...”
“You’re not Dr. Dogwood,” Joe said, frowning. Very, very pretty, now that he was close enough for a full perusal. But how old was she? Twenty? Twenty-two? Twenty-five? He really couldn’t tell. “I’m assuming he sent you, though?”
“Yes. Robert had an emergency surgery to perform. His wife, Dr. Nancy Dogwood, is covering the appointments at the clinic. I’m Ms. Polly Chapman, a veterinary technician.”
“I see,” Joe said.
“I’ve never done anything like this before. I have no idea what you want me to say, Coach Dillon. Robert didn’t have time to explain things to me.”
“It’s Joe...Polly. You won’t be first on the program, so you’ll have a chance to hear some of the others speak before it’s your turn. May I carry your bird for you?”
“What? Oh. Yes, thank you.”
Polly lifted Jazzy’s cage and Joe slid his fingers through the brass ring at the top, brushing Polly’s fingers as she released her hold. A sudden and startling heat exploded from the feathery touch, shooting up both Polly and Joe’s arms.
Their eyes collided with matching confusion; summer-sky blue eyes and eyes of fudge-sauce brown.
“Wanna snuggle, bunny?” Jazzy squawked.
Polly snapped her head around to glare at the bird.
“Jazzy, for heaven’s sake,” she scolded, “hush.”
Joe spun on his heel and strode back to the area containing the table and chairs, Polly following more slowly behind him.
Gracious, she thought, what a strange sensation that had been when her hand had met with Joe Dillon’s. She could still feel the heat tingling
