“Doesn’t she work for 9-1-1?” Cindy asked, hugging a maroon pillow.
“Yes, she often works nights.”
Benton’s social life was mapped out, and in a way, so was Katherine’s: going to the library, pacifying Joe, avoiding Carl.
“The mysterious Palouse woman . . .” Evans yawned. “She’s canceled once before, or is it twice?”
“Once.” Benton nodded. “A perfectly legitimate excuse.”
During their day trips to Spokane, Washington, Grandma and Katherine had often driven through Palouse, a small, picturesque back roads town.
“I shouldn’t have scheduled anyone past Miss Palouse.”
“Because you think she’s the one.” Cindy smiled.
“Definitely the most intriguing.”
If he did think Miss Palouse was the one, wasn’t dating in the interim just a waste of emotional energy? Why did he allow friends to set him up on a continual basis for what appeared to be a continual disappointment? Didn’t the man have a brain?
Chapter Sixteen
Cindy opened her briefcase on Evans’s kitchen table. She’d informed Katherine on the way here that she’d be staying late again. Benton had already told her he wouldn’t be her chauffeur again. So, when Carl walked her to the door, the time had come to accept his offer.
“I’d like to drive you home tonight, Katherine. That is if it’s all right with you?” He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.
“Thank you, Carl.” Katherine swallowed.
“But . . .” He rolled a kink out of his neck.
“She said thank you. What didn’t you hear?” Benton slid on his leather loafers.
“Oh, sure, here . . . let me grab my keys.”
“And coat,” Katherine added, as the man was only wearing a heather-gray T-shirt. Carl took the curved stairwell two steps at a time.
Carl was probably a decoy. Most likely Evans, her beloved adviser, was not trying to matchmake her with Mr. Snake Oil. Unbeknownst to anyone, he was secretly trying to matchmake her and Benton. In the meanwhile, Carl was merely pretending to be interested. At the last second, he’d probably find an excuse not to take her home, and Benton or Cindy would have to.
Her heart pounded in her ears. There was always the chance he wasn’t a decoy.
“Good night, Katherine.” Benton started to pull the door closed.
“Mr. Benton,” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder toward the empty stairwell, “I’ll make you cinnamon rolls tomorrow if you’ll take me home.”
“No, thank you.”
“Mine are better than Grandma’s. She usually forgets something because she doesn’t proofread the recipe or follow it, for that matter.”
“I don’t feel bad.” He pulled the door firmly closed behind him.
Behind her, Carl jogged down the stairs. Katherine turned to face her fate. Wearing a hooded gray sweatshirt, he reached the bottom and slid his feet into sheepskin-lined slippers. “Ready?” He opened the door for her and waved her through.
How to determine if a man was truly interested? Katherine paused a bit in the doorway. Carl set his hand to her lower back and nudged her along. Unlike last Friday, when she’d walked ahead of Benton to the car, Carl made it a point to walk beside her.
“It’s a beautiful evening. Look at the stars.” Tucking his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt, he tipped back his head.
There was indeed a bounty overhead. Men who were interested often noticed stars.
“To be honest, Katherine, I’ve done quite a bit of dating in the last year. And in doing so, I’m trying to come up with better and better dating questions. Is there one you’ve always wanted to be asked?” They were having a mini-date in Evans’s driveway.
She shrugged. “The most important question that I ask before accepting a date is . . . are you a Christian?”
“What’s the one question you’ve always wanted to be asked?” He tilted his head toward her.
“‘Are you a Christian?’ would be a great start.”
“Yes, but by saying most important, you implied there’s one that you might enjoy being asked.”
Funny how Carl was the first guy she’d share this with. “Well . . . if you were a journalist and could cover any American war, Carl, what war would you choose and why?”
He chuckled. “It’s a great question if you’re dating a journalist, historian, or someone zealous about war . . .” His voice trailed off.
“You’re a historian, Carl. Not that we’re dating…”
“Yes, but I try to keep work and my personal life separate.”
His lack of passion for his profession surprised her. Standing near the passenger side of Carl’s sports car, she waited for him to ask her the same question.
“Katherine, what are you doing tomorrow night?”
“Studying. I have a nine-credit load in the master’s program.”
“Evans said it’s more like six credits. That before the start of your research class, your thesis was ready to turn in.”
Evans! For years, she’d researched her thesis topic: the Hudson’s Bay Company’s impact on the Northwest, specifically Fort Vancouver.
“Evans used it as an example of your work ethic. Not to contradict your desire to not date.” Carl attempted apology on Evans’s behalf. “How about dinner and a movie tomorrow night?”
Was Benton right about Joe being her best excuse?
“Joe . . . and I often get-together on Saturday nights.” It wasn’t a lie except for the often part. They occasionally did for a Mountain Dew in between books.
“You’re the one who’s still in love, aren’t you?”
Could she lie? What if it got back to Joe? She’d have to warn him.
“Does he know?”
“Yes.” She smiled. She told Joe she loved him all the time, and he told her the same. But of course, it wasn’t in the same context that Carl was thinking. Tonight Joe was her alibi.
Carl hummed the melody to “I Only Have Eyes For You,” under his breath. “I know a great little sushi place in Pullman.”
Perhaps Benton was right; her nine-credit excuse didn’t fly.
“I’m sorry, Carl, I’d only think about Joe the entire time.”
Headlights were visible up the street. A dark sedan proceeded closer and parked behind Cindy’s Camry. It was Benton’s Volvo. Had he forgotten something?
Benton powered down his side window. “Katherine, get in. I’m taking you home.”
Huh? Hallelujah! Her hero had returned to save her.
“What?” Carl’s arms flew up horizontal with his shoulders. “Benton, I am!”
She suppressed a giggle as she hurried around the front of Benton’s car.
“Katherine, wait!”
“Thanks for the offer, Carl, but he only lives a block from me.” She closed the passenger door and pulled the seat belt across her. “I do not feel guilty.” She buckled it into place as Benton backed out of Evans’s driveway.
“I do not feel guilty.” She sighed, closing her eyes.
“I take it you do not feel guilty,” Benton said, driving south.
“Thank you SO much!” She threw her head back and laughed.
“The poor guy. I thought for sure I’d have to follow you home and chaperone from the street.”
“Was he okay? I couldn’t bring myself to look.” She turned in her seat, but they were too far away to detect shapes.
“He just stood in the driveway watching us until I reached the park.” Benton glanced in his rearview mirror.
“I’m SO grateful that you arrived when you did. He’d already asked me out twice.”
“I got all the way to Mabelle Street before I thought of Ethel, and what I’d have to tell her if you and Carl ended up a couple, and he broke your heart six weeks later. That’s his longest relationship to date, in case Evans hadn’t told you.”
“You’re kidding?” Six weeks—even she and Joe had made it eight.
“No.” Benton
glanced in her direction. “And of course, the cinnamon rolls were in the back of my mind, too. I’m meeting the guys at The Breakfast Club, and I probably won’t be home until after noon or so.”
“They won’t be ready until after two o’clock tomorrow. After tennis with Joe, I usually go to the library for a few hours. Knowing Grandma, she’ll want to deliver them. She hasn’t visited you yet for your official welcome to the neighborhood.”
“That’s great. I’ll be home. Tell her my place is 740 Lynn Street—a brown ranch-style duplex with a maple tree in front.”
Katherine stared out the windshield and was surprised when he drove past Logan, which was the quickest route. For some reason, he was taking the long way home. They crested Sixth Street hill. The lights of the downtown area of Moscow were lovely at 1:48 in the morning. Quinn slowed to a stop at the red light on Main Street, waiting to turn left. Thankfully, no one else was on the road, except for an old lime-green Volkswagen bug which pulled up beside them in the right-hand lane.
Crud! The car looked just like Angel’s. Katherine sank down in her seat until the top of her head was beneath the window, the seat belt stopping her below the chest.
“What are you doing?” Quinn murmured.
“Is there a plastic Hawaiian lei hanging from the rearview mirror in the car beside us?”
Leaning forward, Quinn’s gaze shifted from left to right. “Yes.” He half smiled and did a small wave. He sat back in the seat and stared wide-eyed at the road in front of them.
Katherine didn’t dare speak, breathe, move.
The light finally changed.
From her lowered position, she viewed the second floor of the brick fire station on their right, and the lights of Gritman Hospital on their left.
Quinn chuckled. “Angel LeFave. Just my luck. She’s one of the girls who like to visit my office on a regular basis. Her head swiveled just like a Barbie doll. Completely stared. Stay down in case she takes a left at the next light and tries to follow me home.”
“She wouldn’t.”
“Carl had it happen.”
“Angel has a boyfriend.”
“Then why has she visited my office three, maybe four times this semester?”
“Probably because of your grading system. I don’t think she saw me, do you?”
“She didn’t, but stay down.”
“If she did see me, I’m not going to lie.” Please, Lord, don’t have Angel ask.
“Was Angel one of the girls you had over tonight? You two look fairly close.” He glanced in the rearview mirror.
“Can I sit up yet?”
“I wouldn’t. What movie did you watch tonight?”
She couldn’t begin to explain the movie, and the girls, or the get-togethers. He’d think that she was just another one of his starry-eyed admirers.
“A girly-flick drama.” Katherine ignored his advice, sat up in the seat, and watched her side-view mirror for any signs of Angel’s bug.
“Oh, what was the storyline?”
“You know . . .” Katherine peered out the passenger window. “The typical girl-meets-guy movie. She already has a boyfriend. He already has a girlfriend. They end up working together. You know, the usual.”
“What was the name of it? I think I’ve seen it.”
“You’d know if you had. It’s such a relief that Carl didn’t drive me home.” Now she only had Angel to worry about, and Benton possibly losing his job.
“Yes, I tried to tell Carl to hold off on doing anything about the attraction until he got to know you better. But, he’d set sail. You know how people get that faraway look in their eyes.”
“Yes, and there’s no talking reason into them. Take you and Miss Palouse, for example, you haven’t even met the woman, and, well, you’ve set sail.”
“Exactly.” He smiled. “The phone is a great way to get to know someone. There are no physical attributes or attractions to get in the way. One soul to another.”
“You’re an idealist, just like Woodrow Wilson.”
He chuckled. “The man made a positive impact.” After taking a left on their little side street, he slowed near the picket gate that aligned with the side entrance to the back door.
“Grandma prefers that people park near the detached garage. She worries about her purple gladiolas, which are planted on both sides of the fence. To be honest, Angel parked a little too close to one of her beds this evening. I hope they survive.”
“Oh, so she was one of the girls. I’m glad you told me about Ethel’s flowers.” He parked to the left of Grandma’s car and turned off the headlights. Grandma had left the porch light on. It brightened the narrow concrete walk and set a halo of light around the back door.
“Thank you for the ride home.” She lifted the door handle.
“Here, I almost forgot.” Turning toward her, he fumbled in the backseat for something. “You don’t have to read it immediately, maybe over the summer. I’m structuring a new course, and I’d value your opinion.” He handed her a cream-colored hardback book.
“Oh, this is the real reason you drove me home tonight—American Scripture.” She read the subtitle: Making the Declaration of Independence by Pauline Maier.
“You know the last thing I need right now is another history book. I’m taking nine credits, and there’s my thesis, a huge load for summer. Plus there’s Grandma and . . .”
“Evans informed Carl, in front of me, that you’re really only taking six credits. That you’re pretty much done with your thesis, but he had you take the research class for credit fulfillment.”
Who needed a matchmaker with an adviser like Evans?
“And you were also in the room?” She nodded.
“Yes, it’s probably why Carl hasn’t taken your excuse too seriously. And good job, by the way, getting your thesis done early. Should I walk you up?”
“No, of course not.” She giggled. Why in the world would he ask that? “Though I’m flattered, I’m sorry, I can’t commit to another book.” She set it on the console between them.
“You don’t have to read it all at once. Small snippets. Over a bowl of cereal.”
“All my small snippets go to Grandma, but thank you. I am flattered.” She stepped out of the car.
As she monkeyed with the gate, Benton’s door closed behind him. What was he thinking following her? In the moonlight-dappled walkway, she strode toward the back steps. Benton mumbled under his breath before the gate creaked open and closed. She was on the top step, sliding the key into the lock when he stopped on the concrete walk below her.
“Despite what happened tonight, Carl will most likely call tomorrow.”
Over her shoulder, she frowned at him.
He held out the book like it was a box of chocolates. The book had to be the real impetus behind not letting Carl drive her home.
“You could have warned me about Carl in the car.”
“Carl’s taken with you. God knows why. Probably because Evans speaks too highly of you.”
“You speak unkindly of me, yet you walk me to the door. Why is that, Professor B.?”
“Believe it or not, I value your opinion and insight. I’m designing a lower-level class on the history of the Constitution.”
“Have you reread my essay yet?” She turned to face him, gripping the metal railing with her left hand. “Is that why you value my insight? It’s an A, isn’t it?”
“No, I haven’t reviewed them yet. I need to.”
“You were so quick about grading them the first time, and now you’re taking your time.”
“I plan to buckle down tomorrow afternoon and reread the lot.”
She turned toward the door.
“I’m pleased that I no longer loathe you,” he said. “I’m always disappointed with myself when I loathe.”
Loathe . . . was he serious? She glanced back at him, which was when he handed her the book.
“Your third apology was eloquent and moving enough that I believed it. Even though you’d
wrapped three sides of me in phone cord.” His brows gathered. “Why did you do that?”
“It wasn’t what I’d call wrapping. I simply hung up the phone. You make it sound like a misdemeanor.”
At the base of the steps, he stood one hand gripping his other wrist, as she’d often seen groomsmen stand at weddings. For some quirky reason, she felt drawn to him. Maybe because he was intelligent and attractive. Maybe he had her number. Reverse psychology. Loathe? If they didn’t fight, there might be tidal wave type chemistry between them that could pummel her well-laid plans.
“Why did you do the phone cord?”
“I was nervous. And it was kind of funny. It won’t happen again.”
“If it was solely because of nerves, I’m afraid it might happen again.”
“It won’t. Because I won’t visit your office ever again. Thank you for walking me to the door. Good night.” Her house key spun out of her fingers to clatter down the concrete steps. Chin lifted, she waited for him to step aside before she bent to retrieve it. While she picked up the solo brass key, she grappled for something harsh, something destructive to say. She had to think quick before one of them stepped closer.
“Can you hold the book for me?” She passed it to him as she started up the steps. “Though I’m often what you call brilliant, I can’t seem to do two things at once.”
He chuckled under his breath. “You think too highly of yourself. I said I no longer loathe you, and you misconstrue it to imply I’m now coming on to you. One of the stipulations of my contract is we are not to become involved with students. No matter how intelligent or attractive we may think they are.”
Was he saying that he thought her both intelligent and attractive? Wow, it was quite a contrast to loathe.
Wide-eyed, he stared at her. “Becoming involved with students is a serious breach of professional ethics and proper standards of professional behavior.”
“Sounds like you’ve memorized it.”
Why had he really walked her to the door? He was almost complimenting her while he quoted the bylaws of his contract. Could he possibly be trying to give her hope?
“Don’t worry, Professor B., your grading system long ago obliterated any attraction I may have felt for you given your, um . . . looks.” Turning, she faced the door. She probably didn’t need to admit that she’d ever thought about his good looks. She wrestled the key in the lock, but it didn’t seem to catch. Had he taken a step closer on the stairs?
Sticky Notes - A clean romance (Ethel King Series Book 1) Page 11