The Irresistible Mr Cooper

by Roslyn Carrington

  “Paul Bunyan lives,” Jenessa murmured to herself.

  Mitchell grinned. “First time I met him, I started looking around for a blue ox. That’s Reverend Clark,” he explained. “Catarina Baptist Church, six blocks east. Used to work on an oil rig before he found the Lord.”

  “I’ll bet,” she responded, but her brain was still buzzing with the idea of Mitchell in a teaching role. He didn’t give her much time to think about it. He led her to the kitchen. The smell of damp and crumbling sheetrock was overpowering. She coughed discreetly.

  “Rent’s not too bad,” he told her as they walked. “A couple of us rounded up enough cash to cover the first and last month. Which might be next month, if we don’t get funding fast. We’re asking Bianchi’s to commit to it for at least four years.”

  He and a group of friends had paid the rent? With their own money? She remembered something he’d told her earlier that morning. “Did you spend your bonus on this?”

  “Well, not all of it.” He laughed. “I don’t have anything against a few creature comforts.”

  Mitchell had unselfishly pumped a good bit of money into something he believed in, to benefit women he hadn’t even met yet. Apart from writing out the occasional check to the ASPCA and the Red Cross, she’d never been big on charity. Her neck curved in shame.

  He was still talking. “Whole kitchen needs to be ripped out. The countertops are rotted, and the pipes are made of lead.” As if to give credence to his words, a woman in gray coveralls and a baseball cap was having a go at the laminate countertops with a crowbar.

  The moment she heard Mitchell’s voice, she spun around. Her face, already pink from exertion, lit up like Day-Glo. “Hey there, Prof!”

  Again with the ‘Prof’ thing, Jenessa thought.

  “Hey, Monique.” Mitchell caught her smile and beamed it back at her. He left Jenessa’s side and rested one hand lightly on the woman’s back as he planted a kiss on her cheek.

  Monique was five-foot-nine if she was an inch, making Jenessa feel like an Oompa-Loompa, even in high heels. She was a bit on the plus-size side, but her curves knew what was what. For no discernible reason, the woman grasped the bill of her cap with a gloved hand and whipped it off, letting a strawberry-blond swirl cascade down. Then she did that girly-flip with her hair, and wrinkled her nose at him.

  Jenessa felt the short hairs on the back of her neck prickle.

  Mitchell hadn’t moved away from Monique’s side, but introduced them. “Monique, this is my . . . colleague . . . from Bianchi’s, Jenessa Sterling.”

  What had she expected him to say? This is my girlfriend? This is a woman I’ve slept with only once?

  “. . . Jenessa,” he went on, oblivious, “this is Monique. She teaches at Tech, too.”

  Monique studied her carefully. Jenessa stiffened in her tailored suit. “You our new sponsor?”

  “I guess so,” Jenessa said, but the ‘our’ wasn’t sitting too well with her.

  Her smile revealed perfect teeth. “Well, then, God bless you. We need the money.” She twirled the crowbar around her fingers idly, like a drum majorette’s baton. “Don’t we, Mitch?” Her lashes lowered and lifted, light as goose-down. Then she flipped her hair again.

  Jenessa was glad her hair was neatly confined in a French roll, or she’d have done something childish, but inside she was brisling like a hedgehog. Oh, I patented that hair-flip, sister. And that little nose-wrinkle? It’s so Holly Hobbie. . . .

  Strawberry was talking. Rather, she was speaking to Jenessa, but looking at Mitchell, touching her crowbar lightly to his bicep in a playful caress. “Did Mitch show you around our place yet?”

  “We just got here,” she replied evenly. What? Didn’t you see us walk in the front door?

  Monique lifted her blue-gray eyes to the kitchen ceiling as if it were made of glass. “We’ve got room up there to sleep twelve women, plus a den mother and an in-house nurse. Each resident will have permission to live here for six months.”

  Mitchell finished her thought. “If they’re off the drugs, and working to stay clean, that should give them enough time to get back on their feet and get jobs. We’re hoping by then they’ll be able to go back to their families.”

  “It’s a wonderful project,” Jenessa said sincerely, reminding herself this was about the project. That was why she was here. Not to get riled up because some woman with more curves than a Monaco racetrack was acting as if she owned—

  “It is,” Monique agreed. She gave Mitchell a warm, sidelong smile. “And it’ll take a strong man to pull it off.” With that, she punched Mitchell affectionately on the shoulder, yanked her daisy-patterned cap back on and returned to the job of whacking the hell out of the counter.

  They exited the kitchen and headed for the stairs. Jenessa resisted the urge to loop her arm through his. Largely because 1) it would be sophomoric, 2) Mitchell would have a hearty laugh if he knew she was being territorial, and 3) Strawberry wasn’t watching, anyway.

  What he said next reminded her how serious this all was for him. “My sister hasn’t turned up yet,” he told her with the merest quiver in his voice. “But she will.”

  Immediately, her priorities were straight again. “Why do you say that?”

  “She wants Ruby. She wants her daughter back.”

  “Does it scare you?”

  “A little.”

  “Think she could be dangerous?”

  At the top of the stairs, he gave her a sober look. “Possibly.”

  “So what’re you going to do?”

  Instead of answering, he told her, “There are four bedrooms on this floor.” He pointed them out. “And one bath. The tub’s one of those old-fashioned ones. Copper. It’s in excellent condition.” Then he went on as if he hadn’t interrupted himself. “Not much I can do, until Coral turns up. If she does, she’s likely to get arrested. She could be facing jail time for ditching rehab, unless my lawyer can hammer out a deal.”

  She felt for him. In spite of his outward calm, he must have been in anguish. It was obvious he loved his sister, but he loved his niece more. It made her feel inadequate and inconsequential. “I wish there was something I could do.”

  He smiled wryly. “You could back this.”

  Before she could express her commitment to the project, he was moving again, up the next flight of stairs. “More bedrooms up here, and a room we plan to turn into a recreation area.” They entered the large room. With the windows boarded up, it was as dark as everywhere else and smelled musty and dusty, but through Mitchell’s eyes and the infectious magic of his imagination, she could see a TV in one corner, bookshelves in another, couches and armchairs, maybe a ping-pong table.

  “It’s lovely,” she said, for the first time seeing what he saw.

  “It will be,” he agreed.

  There was the thump of footfalls on the stairs and the two young men squeezed past them again. “Two more boxes in the truck, Prof.”

  “Bring them on up,” he said agreeably, “then scram. I’m guessing you fellas haven’t finished my assignment yet.”

  With sheepish grins the boys gave him a thumbs-up and thundered downstairs.

  “You got your students to volunteer?”

  “Most of them put in two or three hours a week. I threatened to flunk ‘em otherwise.” He laughed, but then he was serious again. “In case you were wondering, I taught full time at Arlo before I came to Bianchi’s.”

  “Why’d you leave?”

  “Most of my classes were evenings. Added to that, with all the time I spent preparing lessons and grading papers, I didn’t have enough to be with Ruby. She’s going through a rough patch. Best thing I could do for her right now is be there.”

  The love on his face for the lonely, confused girl made Jenessa want to reach up and touch his cheek. But good sense prevailed. Instead, she listened.

  “So I gave it up. I don’t mind; I’ve always preferred working with my hands. It’s relaxing. Almost like going to church.�
� He added with a smile, “Besides, it gives me time to work on my book.”

  “Book?”

  “A textbook I’ve been ruminating on for seven or eight years. Started out as notes for my students, then it grew. Publishing was Wendy’s idea, but I never had the time to put the final touches on it—until now.”

  “Do you have a publisher for it?”

  “I’ve been offered a contract, but they’d like to see the full draft before they put anything in writing. I’m trying to get it done in a month or so, but with all that’s going on at work. . . . ” He shrugged expressively.

  Jenessa was glad she was clinging to the banister, or she was likely to topple down the stairs. This man was beautiful to look at, loved his family, stood by his staff, invested in his community, had the respect of his students and was writing a book. Not to mention the fact that his expertise as a lover was mind-wrecking. Could Mitchell Cooper get any more awesome?

  “Monique’s editing it for me,” he added. “She’s a brilliant engineer. Civil, mainly, but she’s well-rounded enough to give me the heads-up when I need it.”

  You bet she’s well-rounded. Jenessa fought the urge to cross her arms over her near-flat chest.

  “So, what do you say? You in?”

  For a moment, she was confused, and then she found her conversational bearings. “I’ll get working on a proposal first thing in the morning,” she promised. “Sharona’ll probably go for it, if I convince her that Bianchi’s can only gain from being part of this.”

  He was standing very close to her, and his voice was husky. “Thank you.”

  She was so overwhelmed by his presence and the need to bury her face in his shirt that she could only nod. Touch me, she begged silently. Hold me. He didn’t hear her. Or, if he did, he was sticking to his promise to think things through first. She wondered for a moment if he was punishing her, stringing out her guilt, making her suffer until he was good and ready.

  But Mitchell wasn’t like that. She was learning what you saw wasn’t what you got with him. There was much more beneath his admittedly fine surface, but one thing that didn’t lurk there was malice. He wasn’t the punishing kind. As much as she wanted to kiss him, to make love with him again, she’d have to wait until he sorted things out in his mind.

  “What about you?”

  “What about me, what?” She was genuinely puzzled.

  “You’re going to back me up with Bianchi’s; I’m grateful for that. I’m asking about you, personally. You going to lend a hand around here?”

  “You mean, lend a hand as in . . . work?” She was aghast. She looked around again at the grimy walls and dirt-encrusted floor. She didn’t do dirt. “I . . . I . . . don’t know much about . . . wires and things.”

  “Do you know how to hold a scrub brush?”

  It had been so long since she’d held one it’d probably take a minute to remember which was the scrubby side. “I guess,” she said hesitantly.

  “Can you fill a bucket with soapy water?”

  “I suppose I could figure that out.” She felt a smile rising inside her.

  “I’m here most afternoons after work.” Then he baited his hook with a killer lure. “I kind of like women all sweaty and grimy. Hard work’s a turn-on, don’t you think?”

  Instantly, her mind dropped through the floors beneath her feet, down to the kitchen, where she could see Monique the brilliant engineer/lecturer/editor wielding her crowbar like she was exterminating kitchen-trolls. Sweaty shirt sticking to her honeydew breasts. Jenessa chewed on her lip.

  He watched her face to see how she’d respond, and she understood. He was throwing out a challenge, daring her to accept. Part of her wanted to be pissed off; he was putting her denial of snobbery to the test. The other part was elated. Here was a chance to prove to him she was more than just a ball of fluff taking up space in the executive wing.

  Besides, he’d planted inside her a passion for the project. This wasn’t just about Bianchi’s image; it was about helping people. She’d scrawled out checks for community projects in the past, nonchalantly made donations and then forgotten about the cause. For the first time, she’d have the chance to use her hands to make a difference in someone else’s life.

  And the cherry on top was Mitchell. He’d be here; taking charge, giving orders, and seeing his vision come to life. She could be right here with him proving she was worthy, not just to Mitchell, but to herself. Wasn’t that worth a little dirt under the nails?

  14.

  Mitch stood in the doorless entry to the rec. room and looked down at his girls as they scrubbed away at the floor. Jenessa and Ruby, both in grime-smeared jeans and T-shirts, their hair wrapped in huge bandannas, were damp, grubby and laughing. The smell of cleaning fluids was pungent. He smiled indulgently, enjoying eavesdropping on their conversation, and loving the glow hard work brought to their faces. He was so pleased by the rapport they’d developed that he didn’t spend too much time analyzing the reasons he thought of them as ‘his girls’.

  “You guys better hurry up,” he said cheerfully. “Daylight’s fading, and my stomach’s rumbling.” It was Friday, and Ruby had come over after school to help, as she often did. This evening was special. Ruby had trashed his kitchen preparing a meal, after Jenessa delightedly accepted her invitation to dinner. Ruby was giddy with excitement at the prospect of having Jenessa back at the house. To be honest, so was he.

  “Almost done,” Jenessa puffed. She was scraping away at a miniature stalagmite that had once been a wad of chewing gum. “We just need to finish up the floor and then we’re all yours.”

  Mitch gazed at her and marveled. A week ago she’d presented herself at the doorstep of the halfway house wearing a designer version of work clothes, her face set resolutely. He knew this was the last place she wanted to be, and peeling crumbling paper off walls was the last thing she wanted to do, but she was a stubborn woman, and having accepted his challenge, she was seeing it through. He loved her for that.

  But after putting in several backbreaking hours each day, she’d begun to relax, and seemed to enjoy the rewarding sensation of sweat pouring down her face and the dull ache that persisted in her hands long after she called it a day. Yesterday, when she’d calmly picked up a mummified rat that tumbled out of a hole in a bathroom wall and tossed it in the garbage, he understood how far she’d come.

  “There’s more than enough time to finish that floor.” He clapped his hands. “Come, girls, on your feet. I’m starving. I haven’t a clue what Ruby has in store for us, but whatever it is I’m having two helpings.”

  “Goulash!” Ruby informed him as she leapt up. “With wild rice and tomato salad.” She tore the bandanna from her head and used it to wipe her grimy hands and face. “The rice might be soggy, though,” she added worriedly.

  “I’m sure it’ll be delicious.” Jenessa got up and began gathering her bucket and cleaning items. She slipped past Mitch, giving him a glowing smile. “I’m gonna empty this and pack away my stuff.”

  As they traipsed downstairs, they met Monique on the way up. She switched a tub of grout from one hand to the other, and she and Mitch kissed affectionately on the cheek.

  “Hey, Mitch.” She was purring like a puma. “Leaving already?”

  “Ruby cooked dinner,” he explained. “Jenessa and I’ve been invited.”

  The look she slung in Jenessa’s direction was unmistakable; so was the look Jenessa shot back. Mitch tried not to grin. He wasn’t an idiot; he’d sensed the tension between the two women, and knew what was behind it. He’d be a jackass not to be flattered.

  He’d known Monique for years, and she was a good friend. She was also a straight talker; she’d made it abundantly clear that if he was ever at a loose end and needed a little female company, free from entanglements, her door was open. And, to be honest, there’d been times over the years when they’d spent a few nights together. Friends with benefits, he guessed, was the current term for it.

  But this past year,
Monique had been dating a cop with a dragon tattoo on his bicep and a possessive attitude toward his women, so she and Mitch had easily resumed their affectionate-yet-platonic relationship. She’d been letting it slip recently that she and the cop were over, and that the deal was back on the table, should he choose to accept.

  But that was before he’d met Jenessa.

  Monique was saying something. “I’ve finished looking over those last two chapters of your book, and I have some ideas. Do you think we could meet and talk about it?”

  He sensed Jenessa’s eyes flitting from his face to Monique’s, her woman-radar set to High. He could hear her unspoken questions: Did they . . . ? Do they . . . ? Are they . . . ?

  He’d have to deal with that, he thought. Eventually. How Jenessa would react to learning they had . . . well, that was another story. “Thanks, Monique. Can I call you?”

  “Tonight?” she suggested, hopeful in the face of all evidence to the contrary.

  He smiled. “In the morning. We can meet for coffee.”

  Monique swung her tub like a girl with a lunch pail. “Cool. It’s a date, then.”

  He didn’t seek to correct her, but kissed her quickly again and led his girls down the stairs. Beside him, Jenessa was choking on curiosity, and Ruby was vibrating with impatience.

  “Hurry up, Uncle!”

  “We’ll get there,” he placated her. He slipped his arm around Jenessa’s waist, and felt her body soften against his.

  As he drove the short distance home, he felt sublimely fulfilled, relaxed, and content. Being with Jenessa did that to him. Being with both these ladies and listening to their happy chatter made life seem so much better.

  He’d spent many hours thinking this thing with him and Jenessa through. The incident on New Year’s morning had hurt him deeply. He’d known this relationship would be hard on her, but her reluctance still perplexed him. He didn’t need a degree in sociology to understand the complexities of class and social structure, but he’d been willing to step boldly across the divide, knowing there was a chance he’d plunge down into it. Why wasn’t she?