by Barbara Lohr
Table of Contents
Late Bloomer
Late Bloomer
Licensing
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Read On!
More Books by Barbara Lohr
About the Author
A Word from the Author
Late Bloomer
By Barbara Lohr
Late Bloomer
Copyright © 2017 Barbara Lohr
All rights reserved.
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-945523-04-5
Purple Egret Press
Cover Art: The Killion Group
Editor: The Editing Hall
Licensing
All Rights Reserved. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold or given away to other people. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems. With the exception of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, this work may not be reproduced without written permission granted by the author
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events and places in the book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or used fictitiously. Any similarity of real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Dedication
For past students and colleagues,
thank you for those eight short years,
which provided a backdrop for this novel.
Chapter 1
The plane landed on the tarmac, jolting Carolyn awake. Hot and sweaty, she rubbed the crick in her neck. Then she lifted the shade to the noon sun blasting Albuquerque. Against the New Mexico horizon, the Cristo de Sangre Mountains formed a blue ridge. Mountains. Her stomach took a sickening dive. Heights terrified her so she’d had the shade down the entire trip. But now Carolyn was back on solid ground. She couldn’t wait to see her grandmother.
Puffs of reddish Albuquerque earth rose as the jet settled. Chatter broke out and passengers climbed from their seats, shaking out cramped legs. Carolyn had to get out of here. Just like high places, crowds had never been her thing. Leaping up, she cracked her head on an overhead bin.
Pain shot from her neck. And for what? Passengers crammed the aisles, grabbing bags and making calls. She wasn’t going anywhere soon. Dragging her tote from under her seat, Carolyn slung it over her shoulder. The cabin quickly became too warm for her quilted jacket, and she rubbed eyes gritty from the dry air. Soon she’d be in Mama V’s back yard with a glass of lemonade. The thought eased her neck pain. All she had to do was get the rental car and drive about an hour to Santa Fe.
As the rows ahead emptied, she edged her way up the aisle. The thin wail of a child brought her to a stop. A baby strapped across her chest, a young mother struggled with a booster seat. Behind her a toddler whined.
“Here let me take that chair.” When Carolyn held out a hand, the girl smiled.
“Thank you.” She probably wasn’t even thirty, younger than Carolyn. With a grateful smile, she handed the seat over and reached back for her little boy. The tyke regarded Carolyn with suspicion, as if she might run off with his carseat. “Come on, Weldon.” The mother coaxed him and he took her hand.
How brave to travel with two kids.
Brave and lucky.
Booster seat bumping against her leg, Carolyn imagined she was the mother as she thanked the smiling flight attendants. Contentment settled over her. Didn’t she just wish. Together, the four of them tromped up the ramp to a handsome young man who stood waiting.
“Daddy, Daddy!” Weldon nearly knocked Carolyn over trying to reach his father.
Arms outstretched, the father in cargo pants and a T-shirt sized up the situation and took the carseat. “Hey, thanks for helping my wife.”
“No problem.” With a wave, she left the young family. The pretending was over.
But that was okay. Someday. For now, she was here. Walking quickly past shops with colorful clothing and leather goods, she skidded to a halt to buy a key chain shaped like a cactus. Her first souvenir this trip. Carolyn loved visiting her grandmother. Santa Fe always felt like another country.
Ducking into a restroom, she splashed water on her face and slicked her brownish hair back. Too bad she hadn’t had time to lighten it before this trip. Why bother with lipstick or eye liner?
Later. Right now she wanted to get her luggage, pick up her rental car and be on her way. Zipping back out onto the concourse, she took off. When she reached the baggage claim area, passengers crowded around chute D. No suitcases had tumbled out yet. She angled into a spot close to the conveyor belt and dug out her phone.
“I’ve landed,” she said when her grandmother picked up.
“Oh, sweetheart. You’re here!”
Carolyn smiled. Mama V always sounded overjoyed by life. Even her broken hip hadn’t changed that. “Just landed. Still no luggage.”
“Take your time, sweetheart,” her grandmother said. “No need to hurry. Lots of traffic on that busy highway. We have a whole week. Are you hungry?”
“Not really,” she lied. All she’d eaten since leaving Gull Harbor were two bags of peanuts on the plane.
“I’ll have something waiting. How I wish you didn’t have to rent a car when I have one right here. You should have let me drive down to get you.”
Mama V on the highway? Horrifying and not possible. “Not necessary. You broke your hip, remember?”
Her grandmother chuckled. “That was three months ago. I think you’ll be, well, surprised.” Her voice dropped mysteriously.
“You’re still recovering. Isn’t that what Dr. Lewis told us when I was there at Christmas?” Her grandmother could be so stubborn. A bell rang and the conveyor belt started with a lurch. People surged forward. “Got to go. See you in about an hour.”
“I’ll be painting out in front of the gallery.”
Following Grandpa Winston’s death five years ago, her grandmother had surprised them all by relocating to Santa Fe. “I’m up for a change,” she’d said. Painting had been her hobby but buying the gallery? Another surprise, one Carolyn’s parents viewed skeptically. She’d been painting up a storm since then, equally amazing. Carolyn was so proud of her. But a bad fall from a stepladder last Christmas had landed her grandmother in the hospital with a broken hip.
“If you’re painting outside, be sure to wear a hat and use sun block.” Funny how roles changed with age. Tucking her phone into her slacks, Carolyn edged toward the luggage falling topsy-turvy onto the carousel. She was searching for her pink luggage tag when a tall man stepped in front of her. No way could she see around those shoulders.
“Uh, excuse me.” Squeezing past him, she regained her spot. A gazillion black bags came spinning out but she spotted hers right away. After years of use, she knew that bag like the back of her hand. Although she couldn’t see the handle––the big galoot kept horning in––her pink tag was attached.
But as she reached out to snag it, the idiot lifted her bag off like it was a box of tissue. After hours on the plane and waiting in Atlanta for her connection, Carolyn’s patience was wearing thin. Her temples throbbed when he started to walk away.
“Excu
se me.” She tugged on his leather jacket.
“Yes?” He swung weary eyes her way.
“You have my bag.” She pointed.
“Really?” He looked down at the suitcase as if he expected it to talk.
“Yes, that’s mine. You’ve made a mistake.”
“Ah, huh. Well, let’s check.” He slapped the bag down on its side.
Violation heated the air. The kind that involved pink bikini panties and pushup bras. “Stop!” Bending, she flattened one hand on her bag.
He ran a hand through inky black hair. “Look, I don’t want to walk away with all your stuff. We’re not the same size.” Was he grinning as he bent over, jeans tight on muscled thighs?
Standing up, she waited.
Two zips and the bag opened. Shiny black boxers caught the overhead lighting. Her stomach clenched. Several pair were rolled neatly next to a leather shaving kit. He’d done an excellent job packing. Shaking out a pair of what were obviously his shorts, he offered them. “Yours?”
By now, other passengers were staring. “Of course not. Sorry, I thought sure the bag had a pink tag.”
The man threw her a cocky grin. “Ma’am, trust me. This bag has no pink tag. Satisfied?”
“Yes. Look, I said I was sorry.”
With one decisive movement, he’d zipped up his bag.
Stumbling back, Carolyn felt her hands tingle. She could almost feel the soft, satiny fabric...along with other stuff that definitely might not be soft.
Like all English teachers, she was cursed with a wild imagination.
“Mercy,” she murmured with a shake of her head.
His boots stepped closer. This guy was one tall drink of water. And he was darkly handsome. Classic features. The kind you’d find on a heath or storming a castle. His Hotness. She liked to make up names for people, as if they were in a book. Yep, definitely His Hotness.
“Hey, you’re not going to faint or anything? You all right, ma’am?”
Her mother was a ma’am. Her grandmother was a ma’am. Carolyn was...well, what was she? She sure as heck wasn’t a Mrs. and at thirty-two, she was getting too old to be a Miss.
Then his brilliant blue eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. Aren’t you Miss Knight?”
Her head snapped up. “Why yes. Yes, I am.”
“You taught at Gull Harbor High School, right?” He rocked back in his western boots.
“I did. I do.” She squinted. In the past ten years, she’d taught so many gawky teenagers. His Hotness definitely wasn’t one of them.
“Brody.” He arched a thumb into his chest. “Brody Wolf.”
“Brody?” She thought back. The linebacker who never tied his gym shoes? When he breezed into class late, girls immediately lost interest in plot structure. Their eyes followed him to the back row. Women to Brody Wolf were like fruit flies to ripe peaches.
“You taught me how to write a thesis sentence.” Shrugging, he gave her a sheepish grin. “Well, you tried anyway.”
“Did you ever use it?” Sometimes she wondered. Was all the stuff she tried to drill into their party-hearty minds ever retained?
“Nope, probably not.” And he chuckled.
“So, in college you got all your term papers from the Internet?”
Silence was his only answer. His Hotness, now her former student, moved closer.
“You flunked me that first semester of my senior year.” How amazing that he could smile about it.
“Did I?” Enough polite chatter. She wanted to be in her rental car heading for Santa Fe. His wife was probably waiting for him out front. “Sorry about the bag.”
Her eyes swung back to the conveyor belt. The metal plates clanked and her beat-up black bag circled, its pink tag giving her an angry eye.
Brody’s glance followed hers. “Let me get that for you.”
“No, really, I...”
He hefted it off as if it didn’t weigh forty-nine and a half pounds. She’d weighed it at home. Even left her favorite clogs behind so she didn’t have to pay extra. Their hands sparked when they both grabbed the handle. “Dry air.” She shook out her tingling fingers. He regarded her silently, flexing his hand.
“Well, nice seeing you again, Brody. Gotta run.” She turned to leave.
“You too, Miss Knight.” With a final wave, he grabbed his bag and was off.
Thank God she could leave that embarrassment behind. As she trekked toward the exit, Carolyn’s running shoes squeaked on the tile floor. She couldn’t get away fast enough. Picking up the pace, she maneuvered around other passengers. Why did she feel so rattled? This wasn’t the first time she’d run into a former student. She just hadn’t yet run into one who was, well, so hot.
Made her feel old. Like she should have been wearing makeup.
Outside the air felt dry but mild. Shrugging off her quilted jacket, she tied the sleeves through the handle of her suitcase. Was she overheated or just excited? She tugged on her turtleneck. Spring was arriving in New Mexico. The sun burned bright but the air held a cool edge, perfect for sleeping with the window open. Trotting to the shuttle sign, she got there in time to watch the small bus pull away with a final puff of diesel fuel. Perfect. Just perfect.
“You renting a car, Miss Knight?” His Hotness came up beside her, his chin level with her forehead. Dark stubble dusted his chin and cheeks. Not a bad look. Not a look he had in high school. “Miss Knight” was having a hard time adjusting.
“Yes, I have a car reservation.” How long before the next shuttle? “I’m visiting my grandmother in Santa Fe. She lives up there.”
His jaw shifted, like he’d made a decision. “Look, I live in Santa Fe. I’ll be glad to take you to your grandmother’s. My car’s right there in the lot.” He jerked a finger over his shoulder.
The thought of one hour with His Hotness made her uncomfortable. “That’s not necessary. After all I barely...”
His eyebrows lifted. Carolyn bit her lip. The unspoken words hung between them. I barely know you. And she didn’t. Not this Brody Wolf.
Back then he was the class clown who took up too much time. That was her first year teaching, and her seating charts had to be constantly changed because of him. Brody wouldn’t shut up. Wherever she put him, the girls talked to him. It was so annoying. Finally, she surrounded him with guys. Didn’t help a bit.
That first year was exhausting. She spent her weekends planning next week’s lessons or grading papers. No grading on the curve for her. Oh, no. An A was an A. It meant something. And, as in Brody’s case, an F was an F.
But when it came to girls? Brody aced it. His locker was right across from room 207. She’d see them waiting for him, freshening their lipstick and mascara. When he finally arrived, they struck a pose against his metal locker, like they wanted to crawl inside and take him with them.
And now? Brody Wolf could have become an ax murderer, for all she knew. What was he doing in Santa Fe instead of Michigan?
“Come on, Miss Knight.” His lips formed her name with an impish smile, and he crossed the T with his tongue. “Let me take you to your grandma’s house. I won’t bite. We can catch up. It’s just me. Brody.” Shrugging innocently, he grinned, the naughty but nice boy who’d helped with her audiovisuals.
What was wrong with her? Carolyn could save a heap of money by using her grandmother’s car. “Well, why not? Thanks, Brody.”
“Follow me.” Didn’t even wait for an answer. Just moved those hips like Tatum Channing and struck out for the parking garage. Laughing, he crossed three lanes of traffic by holding up a hand. She scurried after him.
Carolyn felt so darned tired, she could hardly see straight. Maybe Brody would do all the talking. Tell her about his four children and beautiful wife. She could zone out along the highway. Take a nap.
Thinking back, Carolyn smiled. He’d hardly been her star student. Had he even read the Cliff Notes for Wuthering Heights?
Well, hello. He may not have read the book but he’d become the book. Brody Wo
lf had grown up to be Heathcliff. His Hotness without the heath.
The breeze played with his dark hair and more than one woman gave him a second look. Brody took on the dim, cool parking garage as if he owned it. For him, walking involved shoulders, hips and shaggy hair that wouldn’t stay put. The boy oozed rugged masculinity.
Boy? Or man. She was really having trouble. Carolyn patted her snarled hair and tried to keep up.
But Brody didn’t seem concerned about his looks, not with those worn boots, time-softened leather jacket and faded jeans. He wore coolness casually, except for the glasses. His aviator sunglasses added mystery, like he’d just flown in from Morocco or Caracas, with no time to shave. Her imagination ran riot and she almost giggled. Feelings that were definitely not academic rippled through her.
Lordy, it was hot in here.
And she recognized her wandering thoughts on the faces of the women they passed. They probably assumed Carolyn was his mother or older sister. Working on losing her grin, she tightened her lips. Her suitcase made a racket behind her on the concrete. Could be her imagination again but she could swear the wheels were warbling, His Hotness, His Hotness, His Hotness.
Her palms were sweaty by the time they reached a black SUV. Brody popped the hatch open and turned. “Here we go.”
Back on her I-don’t-really-know-you craze, she glanced inside for bodies. Nothing.
Unaware of her surveillance, Brody stowed away both suitcases. Then he reached inside for a Stetson. That bad hat completed the picture. The rakish angle didn’t hurt and neither did the brown feather band.
She gulped. This Brody Wolf was a total stranger.
Opening the passenger door, he grinned. The weathered leather jacket hung open over a black shirt, releasing a manly scent. Her knees almost buckled.
Snap out of it, Miss Knight.
When it came to men, she’d been on a starvation diet.
“What?” Peering at her over the tops of those badass sunglasses, he held the door wider. “You’re thinking that my mother taught me well? She did. I open doors for women.”
“Right. Well, good.” Carolyn couldn’t remember a thing about his family. Heck, right now she barely knew her own name.