more attractive than the baggy clothes she had been working in. Nothing too much, just a more attractive blouse with a pair of reasonably new jeans. Another brushing of her hair, a tiny—just tiny—dab of makeup around her eyes and some gloss on her lips.
Then she started a fresh pot of coffee, since somehow she had managed to drink most of it while working this morning. That much caffeine? It struck her that that might have caused the stomach flips as much as the phone call.
She threw open a window to let in some of the fresh, chilly air, then tried to return her attention to her planning. It didn’t work. All she could think about was Lincoln Blair coming here. Imagining him walking through her door. Wondering how he would be able to keep up that shield he seemed so determined to place between them while they were working on a project.
God, was she really thinking like this at the age of thirty? That man had truly gotten to her, yet what did she really know about him? That he looked good enough to model on a magazine? That he was popular with both faculty and students?
That meant nothing, really. Nothing. She gave herself a firm mental shake and told herself to remember that she was simply going to be meeting him to work on a project, something she had done countless times before with teachers she found attractive or not-so attractive. So what the hey?
Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t help being a little nervous anyway. If he arrived here packed in his personal brand of refrigerant, she didn’t know how she would manage. Yes, she had worked with difficult people before, but there was difficult and then there was difficult.
Cussing silently, she waited for her doorbell to ring, giving up hope of focusing on her work. Instead she looked around her little office, the house’s one spare bedroom, and decided she liked what she had so far been able to do with it. Little by little she was transforming the place into a home that reflected her love of bright color and handmade crafts. Some items she had brought with her, and some she had discovered since arriving here, at a little hole-in-the-wall place that seemed left over from an earlier century.
Finally Linc arrived. Butterflies fluttered wildly in her stomach as she went to open the door.
Her memory had not exaggerated his Celtic-warrior good looks, not one bit. He stood there in a light jacket, jeans and his usual chambray shirt—it was almost a uniform. On his head sat a felt cowboy hat that looked as if it had seen better days.
“Howdy,” he said.
His deep voice seemed to pluck a string inside her and make it vibrate. She very nearly forgot to invite him in, then realized she was in danger of standing there like a starstruck kid.
“Come on in,” she said. “You didn’t have to race over here, you know.” Not that she was exactly objecting.
“Probably not, but we needed to meet anyway.” He stepped inside and looked around her cozy living room. He surprised her with his choice of words. “Very inviting,” he said approvingly.
“That’s what I hope,” she said as she closed the door behind him. “Coffee?”
“Love some.”
He followed her into the kitchen, and as naturally as if he belonged here, he pulled out a chair at her dinette and sat. She filled two mugs, vaguely remembering from school that he liked his black.
“We could go to my office in the back,” she suggested.
“This is fine for now.”
As if he didn’t want to get any deeper into her life or her house. Feeling a bit stung, she placed his coffee in front of him and sat facing him.
“So I started thinking about this program,” she began.
He shook his head a little. “In a minute, Cassie. First I want to hear more about that phone call.”
As if a switch flipped in her head, she heard that angry, deep voice again. “What’s there to say? I told you what he said. He sounded angry, and threatening, but it was just a phone call. It’s easy to make anonymous threats.”
“It may be easy, but it’s seldom pointless. Somebody’s angry with you, and I doubt that many people know yet about what happened yesterday. The boys involved, maybe their parents if Les has already called them all. Maybe a few people they talked to.”
She shook her head. “Nothing has happened. Nobody has been suspended. If this stops, nobody gets suspended. Scholarships are protected and so is the almighty state championship. If anyone hoped for anything from that call, it’s that I wouldn’t push this into a suspension.”
He set his mug down. “I agree. Essentially. What’s troubling me is the way you got treated yesterday. Your authority was ignored, you were pushed, not just brushed by, and now today a threatening call. That incident yesterday was unusually aggressive for students that age. I’m not saying they never get past name-calling and the occasional spat, but like I said yesterday, by this age they’re mostly past ganging up and getting physical. Add that to the way they treated you and I’m concerned, that’s all.”
She thought it over for a moment. “Then maybe I’m not the best choice to help with this antibullying campaign. If I’m seen as just a troublesome outsider, the message may be lost.”
“You’re not doing this alone,” he reminded her.
No, she wasn’t. She had tried to avoid meeting his gaze directly, but now she did, and felt as if she were falling into the depths of the incredible blue of his eyes. An almost electric spark seemed to zap her.
Then he broke eye contact, returning his attention to his mug. “I spent some time this morning exploring the subject,” he said. “Unfortunately, I have a dial-up connection out there and the internet moves like molasses.”
“I’ve got broadband. We can use my computer.”
“Or go to the school.”
She sensed he wanted to be out of her house and into a more neutral environment as quickly as possible. Again she felt that sting, but did her best to ignore it. No point creating a Shakespearean tragedy in her own mind.
“Sure, if you want,” she said quickly. “Let me get my jacket.”
Five minutes later, with a couple of her travel mugs filled with coffee for the two of them, they stepped outside into a brisk morning. Fluffy white clouds raced overhead in a cerulean sky.
“God, it’s beautiful here,” she said.
“Really?”
She glanced at him. “Don’t tell me you don’t notice.”
“Well, I actually do, especially out at my ranch.” For the first time he cracked a genuine smile.
It almost took her breath away. Of course she’d seen him smile on occasion around school, but never had the full wattage been directed her way. Warmth drizzled through her all the way to her toes, and she had to fight to collect her thoughts.
“What do you raise?” she asked as he helped her into his battered pickup, a truck that might have once been a bright red, but now was dulled with age and liberal applications of touch-up paint.
“Actually
