Yours, Mine and Ours

by Jacqueline Diamond

  She'd left a side door ajar. That seemed foolish in such an isolated setting, he thought as he strode toward it. He hoped she was more careful of the children's safety than she was of her own.

  As he neared the entrance, Flint got a good view of the woman from the back. The pale blue leotard and tights outlined a slim body with a nipped-in waist and gently rounded hips. Although tall, she moved with such lightness that she appeared to float.

  As he stepped through the door, the woman spun around in a dance position that Flint thought was called an arabesque. Catching sight of him, she stopped dead.

  From the shocked blue eyes to the honey-blonde hair, there was no mistaking the nitwit who'd showered him with stars. Apparently she really did teach at Serena Academy.

  *

  The dance workout was Robin's favorite part of the day. The exuberance of movement combined with invigorating music gave her a sense of peace that usually carried through the rest of the morning.

  The shock of encountering a man inside the studio sent her heart slamming into her ribs. The initial panic ebbed when she recognized the arrogant face of Flint Harris, but his disapproving frown irritated her.

  "Something you need?" Robin asked ungraciously.

  "I'm inspecting the premises." From the curiosity with which Flint's eyes roved over her body, that wasn't the only thing he was inspecting.

  "Who's stopping you?" she snapped.

  Flint didn't move. "It's not safe, leaving the door open like that." With his broad shoulders and tall build, he blocked the entire exit.

  "I can take care of myself," Robin said.

  "And the children?" he returned. "Do you imagine you could protect them from intruders? "

  She couldn't believe his nerve. First, there were no children present. Second, during school hours, another instructor conducted drama classes in this building. Mostly, she disliked the way he’d fenced her in. The man needed to learn he didn’t rule the world.

  Robin stalked forward until only a few feet separated them. "Go ahead," she said. “Try me.”

  “You’re suggesting that we indulge in combat?” he inquired, disbelief twisting his mouth. “Well, okay.” Without no further warning, powerful hands gripped her wrists.

  With an ease she’d practiced in self-defense class, Robin rotated her arms and yanked them free, breaking his grip at the weakest point of his grasp. She feinted as if to punch his throat and then, with the agility only a dancer or gymnast could muster, kicked straight for Flint's most sensitive region.

  But he wasn’t there. Faster than she’d given him credit for, he dodged, caught her from the side, spun her and pulled her hard against him. Robin felt Flint's forearm pressing into her breasts as he held her. Worse, in this position her buttocks were positioned hard against his groin. She hadn't had contact this intimate with a man in years, and Flint Harris was the last person on earth she’d ever get intimate with.

  "Let me go!"

  He released her. "Still think you can protect the children?" he challenged.

  "I've been teaching here for three years and no one has attacked me yet." Robin tried to keep the quaver out of her voice. "Not until today."

  "That was by invitation only." To her annoyance, Flint sounded amused. “I’d best be on my way, since my company is obviously unwelcome. With that, he sauntered across the studio and into the interior hallway.

  Only as her breathing slowed did it occur to Robin to wonder why Flint Harris was paying special attention to the theater facility and dance. She didn’t like the possibilities that sprang to mind.

  *

  Flint tried to pay attention as the board meeting droned on, reviewing budget items and the hiring of a new assistant principal. But his gaze kept sneaking to Robin Lindstrom.

  She sat two rows ahead of him on the aisle. From this angle, he could see the soft curve of her cheek and the well-shaped shell of one ear bared by an upswept hairstyle. She'd abandoned her workout clothes for a flowing dress printed with flowers.

  Unbidden, an image returned of her face flushed with defiance as she confronted him in the studio this morning. Flint had grabbed her only to demonstrate her vulnerability, and been surprised by the quickness of her response.

  He could still feel the twist of her taut muscles and the roundness of her breasts beneath his arm. Although he doubted she’d ever admit it, the nipples had hardened at his touch.

  With an inward shudder, Flint realized he was becoming aroused at the worst possible time and place. He regained control by steering his thoughts to the board’s dull discussion.

  A few seats along his row, he heard Aaron whisper to Brick, who whispered back. Flint hushed them with a finger to his lips.

  Beside Flint, Caitlin leaned over to read the agenda. Her finger traced the item right before his presentation. "A Dance to the Spirit of Learning, presented by the students of Miss Lindstrom."

  She turned away and the whispering started again. Flint glared at his children until they fell silent. What was wrong with them tonight?

  Perhaps the venue was distracting them. The board held its meeting in the school theater, the very building he had inspected this morning. A long table had been set up on the stage for the trustees. Behind them, incongruously, stood a painted backdrop depicting colorful tents, an elephant and two clowns. The stage set lent unexpected humor to the proceedings.

  Suddenly a group of students raced down the aisle past Flint and onto the stage, taking positions directly in front of the trustees. Their leotards and tights were spangled with stars. Flint wondered whether Robin had used the same type of gummed stars she'd dumped over his head, and which still kept turning up in his pockets and shoes.

  With a few graceful strides, Robin strode into the wings. A moment later, classical music filled the auditorium and the little dancers started jumping around like hop toads. The movements might be good exercise, but otherwise Flint found the proceedings extremely silly.

  He heard his offspring muttering to each other.

  "She's pretty." That was Aaron.

  Brick made a face: "Kind of stern, don't you think?"

  Caitlin scowled. "She's just concentrating."

  They appeared to be discussing Robin. Flint couldn't imagine why. He'd never known his children to take such interest in a teacher, especially one whose class they hadn't taken.

  As he watched the stage, something struck Flint. At first, he'd assumed the dancers were flinging themselves around more or less at random. After a while, though, he realized their movements corresponded to Robin's subtle nods. She must be counting along with them, registering each leap and twirl.

  The spontaneous quality of the dance disguised the fact that it was rigorously planned and executed. Any display of discipline among young people impressed Flint, and he had to admit that he hadn't given Robin enough credit. She might be a loose cannon when it came to civic demonstrations, but she knew how to manage her students.

  A smattering of applause greeted the finish, augmented by Caitlin, Brick and Aaron jumping to their feet and cheering. Flint gestured them to sit down and, one by one, they plopped into their seats.

  What had piqued their interest? He'd once suggested ballet lessons to Caitlin and she'd snorted in disgust. Later, he'd heard her recounting the exchange to her brothers and grunting hire a warthog until they fell on the floor laughing.

  "Next we have a proposal from Flint Harris to analyze seismic hazards on campus," announced the board secretary, and the chairman gestured to Flint.

  He carried a sheaf of printouts to the microphone. "As you know," Flint began, "Flint Harris Structural Engineering been retained by the city of Beachside to recommend changes in the city code. We're proud of our record ..."

  He cited a few of his company's accomplishments, then noted that he had made a preliminary tour of Serena's premises. All of the buildings, he understood, had met state earthquake safety standards when the school opened twelve years earlier. Since then, however, scientists had le
arned more about how to reinforce buildings. With that in mind, Flint continued, he believed the campus was due for a reassessment.

  From his position at a right angle to the board, he could see the audience, including Robin Lindstrom. She leaned forward in her seat, watching him with narrowed eyes. Wrenching his thoughts away, he focused on his report.

  The board members looked only mildly interested, he noticed as he wrapped it up. They might hire him on the recommendation of their attorney, he guessed, but not in any hurry.

  The Beachside city job should be completed soon and he could use the work. Besides, the safety of students was at stake.

  "I do have one emergency recommendation." Flint gauged the effectiveness of this statement by the sudden silence that fell over the audience and the way several board members straightened.

  "Emergency?" said the board's attorney, seated at the far end of the table.

  "The oldest building on campus is the theater arts structure in which we sit," Flint said. "It dates back to 1957."

  "That building was reinforced when the school opened," the chairman pointed out.

  "Yes, it was," Flint said. "But an addition was tacked on in 1983. I made a preliminary inspection this morning and found that the addition has substantially weakened the building."

  He launched into an explanation. To withstand an earthquake, structures needed to roll with the shock waves. Any portion that reacted to stress differently from the rest of the building might tear away, resulting in collapse.

  "I'd recommend closing the building immediately," he said. "At least until I can make a more detailed analysis of the stresses." Several trustees glanced nervously at the ceiling, as if fearing imminent collapse.

  The chairman thanked Flint gravely. "I think we've all learned something important tonight."

  One of the two women board members took the microphone. "Mr. Chairman, I move that we pass an emergency measure closing the theater building. This is an important safety issue. We don’t want to put any children at risk."

  Another member seconded the motion.

  "Does anyone wish to comment?” the chairman asked. “Miss Lindstrom?"

  Robin wore a stunned expression as she walked to the front. Sitting down with his children, Flint felt a twinge of guilt. He hadn't considered how his recommendation would affect her. Although the safety of the students came first, he wouldn't be pleased if someone shut down his office without warning, and he didn't expect Robin to be, either.

  "Dr. Harris spent only a few minutes at the theater this morning," she said in a clear, steady voice. "I know because I was there.

  "I'm as concerned about safety as anyone. But this building, with the addition, has stood for thirty years. During that period, Beachside has experienced a number of moderate quakes."

  From the mass of curls piled atop her head, a tendril had escaped onto her neck. As Flint watched, another strand slipped loose. He had the sense that they were among many things falling apart right now in Robin Lindstrom's life.

  "Our campus is squeezed for space," she said. "There's nowhere to move my classes to, and spare performance space in Beachside is practically nonexistent.

  "For many of my students, theater and dance are the part of school that excites them. They learn discipline because it's necessary in order to perform. They keep up their grades because otherwise they won't be allowed to take electives."

  After a deep breath, she concluded, "I don't think an educated guess by Dr. Harris is a good enough reason to deprive my students of their classes." As she walked to her seat, he observed Robin's hands clasped tightly as if to prevent trembling.

  Had he made a mistake? Flint didn't think so. The building looked unsafe to him. But he hoped he hadn’t been unduly influenced by his conflict with the teacher.

  "Any risk is unacceptable where children are involved," the board chairman said. "Any further comment? I call for a vote."

  The motion to close the theater building passed unanimously.

  "I'm sorry, Miss Lindstrom," said the chairman. "You're one of our most popular teachers. But as you pointed out, there's nowhere else to hold your classes. I'm afraid we'll have to put you on leave until this issue is resolved."

  With an uneasy feeling, Flint saw what he'd done. Although he could complete his analysis in a matter of weeks, it might take months for the school to raise the funds to retrofit the building, and a year or more before the work was completed.

  Thanks to him, Robin Lindstrom had just lost her job.

  Chapter Three

  "How could you?" The low, angry growl issued from Caitlin.

  Flint stared at her in surprise. Surely the children hadn't been that determined to study theater. Or, if they were, he could find another school for them. Yet all three of his offspring were shooting murderous looks in his direction. He wondered if he would ever understand them.

  After the meeting broke up, instead of filing out of the row, Aaron began to sniffle.

  "Cut it out." Flint handed his son a tissue. "You're too old to make a scene."

  "He isn't making a scene," said Brick. "You are." The boy glared at his father.

  Normally, Flint didn’t tolerate back talk, but he’d rather avoid a public squabble. "We can discuss this in the car."

  Aaron examined the tissue as if he'd never seen one before. "Daddy, can't you hire her as our nanny?"

  The whole Harris family stared at Aaron. Then Caitlin said, "Brilliant."

  What the hell was brilliant about it? "She's a teacher, not a housekeeper," Flint said. "Blow your nose and let's go."

  "She needs a job," Caitlin persisted. "Maybe she'd do it for a few months."

  "That's not long enough," Aaron said.

  His sister poked him with her elbow. "She might like us enough to stay."

  How could he tell them that Robin was too emotional, too irrational and far too sensual? The children weren't old enough to understand the dangerous chemistry that could spark between a man and a woman. It had certainly caught Flint off guard this morning.

  His gaze traveled to Robin standing in the midst of a tearful crowd of dancers, her arms draped around their little shoulders. She looked vulnerable and very much in need of a masculine protector.

  It won’t be me, he thought with a trace of regret.

  As for his next housekeeper, Flint required someone dutiful and dull. Robin Lindstrom failed to fit either particular.

  "I'm going to ask her," Brick said, and strode down the center aisle before Flint could stop him. Caitlin raced after her brother, and Flint was only able to grab Aaron.

  "I won't do you any good," the little boy advised. "I'm not in charge here."

  "Neither am I, it seems," grumped Flint, and started after his other two children.

  *

  The evening’s events had proceeded so quickly, Robin could hardly grasp that the theater building was shut down, effective immediately.

  Her summer classes were just beginning to gel, and now they had ended. What would happen to her students? And what would happen to her?

  She had no money in reserve. With her finances drained by student loan payments, she barely made her rent each month. And thanks to tight budgets, public schools around here weren’t hiring dance teachers.

  Reluctantly, she let go of her students and waved goodbye as they straggled off with their parents. She couldn't let herself break down. She had to take action. But first she’d better figure out what kind of action was possible.

  Robin was about to collect her purse when she noticed a young boy approaching. Despite his youth, he had a sturdy, take-charge air.

  "Miss Lindstrom?" His eyes were as fierce and blue as her own. "My name is Brick and we want Dad to hire you as our nanny."

  A girl with a precociously mature expression hurried up beside him. "My name is Caitlin. We're the Harris triplets and we don't have a mother. We're practically orphans."

  "Orphans?" Robin raised an eyebrow. While some children had a tendency to
over dramatize, this girl spoke with such adult self-assurance that it was hard to discount her claim.

  Besides, if they were triplets, where was Number Three?

  "Please disregard the intrusion. My children tend to be impulsive." Flint Harris marched toward her, another boy in tow.

  These were his kids? No wonder they felt like orphans. The man was an emotional wasteland. And triplets, she guessed, required a lot of patience, a quality that Flint had in short supply.

  As she regarded him, Robin realized she'd forgotten Flint’s gift for giving shape and definition to a business suit. The finely woven cloth emphasized his broad shoulders and chest, while the starched collar provided only a thin veneer of civility.

  The man must work out daily, she thought, almost certainly on a computerized machine. She wouldn't be surprised to discover that he actually was a computerized machine.

  The second little boy escaped Flint's grasp and ran to Robin. "Are you going to be our new mother?" he said.

  Her heart twisted. The poor kid must be desperate for affection.

  "Really, I am sorry." The edgy voice sounded anything but apologetic. "I don't know why my children are bothering you, but I certainly didn't put them up to it."

  "Is that the only thing you plan to apologize for?" Robin snapped. "The fact that your children are lonely and in need of attention?"

  If she'd slapped him, she couldn't have produced a more outraged response. "For your information, my children are neither lonely nor in need of attention. What they are is headstrong and defiant. As for apologizing, if you're referring to losing your job, I regret it but I don't see what else could be done. If you weren't so emotionally overwrought, you'd see it, too."

  "Overwrought?" At the moment, Robin had to admit, the description fitted her state of mind, but it was Flint's fault, not hers. With the theater now empty except for the five of them, she saw no reason to hold back. "You're a fine one to talk! I've never met a man so out of touch with his own emotions."