Nola tried for a light response. “I had a terrific mentor in high school. He helped me believe I could do anything I wanted.”
Mason’s one-sided smile acknowledged the compliment. “A very smart man.” He gestured toward the stairs, walking beside her as she set her feet on steps worn into curves by decades of student use. “I’ve read your papers. Brilliant, of course. Your Domino corollary, alone, would have secured you a place in the mathematics hall of fame. If there is one.”
She gave an embarrassed laugh. “I’m glad there’s not.”
They reached the top of the stairs and moved into the north wing, along a hallway leading past literature and language classrooms toward the library.
“I have to admit I’m puzzled,” Mason said. “Most graduates of Hawkridge send money as their contribution to the school. Very few return to do the work themselves.”
He stopped and turned to look at her, his head cocked to one side. “What really brings you back, Nola Shannon? Why are you here?”
Nola kept her chin up, holding his gaze with her own. But she couldn’t answer his question.
Because, at that moment, she couldn’t remember what she’d come for—or what she’d planned to do when, after twelve long years, she once again stood face-to-face with Mason Reed.
MASON WINCED as he heard his own words. “And I sound like a nosy old geezer,” he said, watching a rosy blush flow across Nola’s cheeks. “What I should have said was that I’m really proud of you, and I appreciate your willingness to help out.”
The girl he remembered would have stared at the floor in embarrassment. But this new Nola didn’t look away, though the tint in her cheeks deepened. “I’m glad. I…I’ve thought about you often.”
He had forgotten the color of her eyes—a pale blue-gray, like shadows on fresh snow. She’d been thin as a teenager and remained so, but the ash-blond hair he remembered hanging halfway down her back was now cut into short, tousled wisps that revealed the shape of her head and set off her delicate pearl-pink ears. The transformation—and his visceral reaction to it—completely confused him.
“I guess the last time I saw you was graduation day.” He paused at the door of the library, aware of the teachers inside waiting to meet their new colleague, aware that he wanted to keep her all to himself. “You’re not eighteen anymore.”
“No.” She looked away for a second. “I’m sorry about Ms. Chance…Your wife. Garrett told me.”
Mason took a deep breath against the familiar twist in his gut. “That’s right. She taught here your last year, didn’t she? I wish she had known you better. She was very good for the girls.”
Before Nola could reply, a coffee-colored hand with long red, white and blue nails clamped on to her arm.
“Mason Reed,” the owner of that hand said, in a loud, rich voice, “you cannot monopolize our new teacher. You bring her in to meet the rest of us right this minute!”
“Alice Tolbert,” Mason said, making an introductory gesture toward the short, plump chair of the literature department. “She serves as unofficial faculty den mother.”
Alice gave a decisive nod. “Somebody has to keep this crowd in line. Poor Tommy can’t do it all herself.”
Nola’s brows drew together. “Tommy?”
Mason grinned. “That’s the girls’ nickname for Jayne Thomas. Pretty much everybody calls her Tommy now, though not usually to her face.”
“Come on,” Alice insisted, drawing Nola after her into the library. “We’re all dying to talk to you.”
Following Alice and Nola into the library, Mason found a place in the back row of study tables and took a seat. Alice managed to present Nola to every member of the faculty, taking her from group to group with the kind of efficiency an army general would admire. As the headmistress stepped up to the podium, Alice pulled out a chair for Nola at the front table, offered her a notepad and pen, then sat down beside her with an air of satisfaction.
Nola looked shell-shocked, Mason thought, but anybody would, running a gauntlet like the Hawkridge faculty in under ten minutes. Thoughtfully, Jayne made the official introduction her first order of business, and she didn’t expect Nola to say anything beyond the standard “glad to be here” before moving right into the business of the meeting.
Mason let his mind wander, but not far for a change. He watched as Nola gradually relaxed her shoulders and spine against the chair, saw her doodling and taking notes. He observed the elegant angles of her elbow and wrist, the graceful crossing and uncrossing of her legs. Gazing at her profile, he saw her lips curve into a smile and caught himself smiling in response.
Damn. He wrenched his gaze from Nola’s face to the agenda sheet lying on the table in front of him. The words blurred, focused, blurred again. “Vandalism…spring dance…graduation list…” He should care about these issues.
But all he could think about was Nola Shannon. She’d been a senior when he arrived at Hawkridge for his first teaching position, an orphaned teenager from Boston with a lot of money and no one there who really cared what happened to her. He’d recognized her potential immediately and pushed her toward college, advising her as she prepared the applications. In the process, they’d become friends.
More than friends, to be strictly accurate. In fact, he had almost fallen in love with Nola Shannon.
Fortunately, he’d managed to get control of himself before his job, his career and his good name had been threatened by an inappropriate relationship. The weeks before graduation were always filled with chaos and excitement in equal measure, and he doubted Nola had even noticed how he’d backed off. In a matter of days, it seemed, she’d chosen to attend Harvard, had received her diploma and then—poof—vanished from his life.
Now she was back, and he had a hollow feeling in his belly, as if he’d been tackled by an NFL pro. He hadn’t cared about a woman’s curves since Gail had gotten sick four years ago, but he sure was noticing Nola’s narrow waist, defined by a slim black belt, and the swell of her breasts under a soft gray shirt.
Mason didn’t like thinking about a former student this way. As the only male teacher in an all-girls’ school, he walked a very narrow line. He’d been careful to keep his balance, since the near miss with Nola. His tutoring sessions always were conducted with at least three girls present, his office door remained open at all times. Any kind of involvement with a student, even a former student who’d returned as a fellow teacher, might endanger twelve years of work.
Especially now, when he’d just sent out applications to a dozen different schools across the country, looking for a new job.
More important, he was a man in mourning for his dead wife, with a son who still called out for “Mommy” in his dreams and talked to her when he said his prayers. Garrett wasn’t ready to see his father with another woman. Hell, until this afternoon, Mason would have sworn he, himself, wasn’t ready to talk to a female about anything more personal than work. Or maybe baseball. Nola’s presence didn’t—shouldn’t—change his situation in the least.
When the meeting finally broke up, Mason left the library without a word to anyone. He would treat Nola as a colleague,
