Tracey went numb all over.
"What?"
"She's pregnant. That's why I'm marryin' her. There isn't any other option. You know how I feel about stuff like that. And no child of mine is ever goin' to wonder who his daddy is."
Tears rolled down Tracey's cheeks and dripped onto her blouse leaving big, wet spots.
"I see." She managed to get two words out before her tears flowed again.
"Is that all you've got to say?" he said.
"How about goodbye?"
"Don't let it end this way, Tracey."
"Sorry. My etiquette books didn't cover situations like this."
"I love you, Trace." The words came out in a strangled sob.
"Don't say that! Don't you dare!" Tracey nearly screamed.
"This girl is carryin' my baby. I got to do what's right."
"You do that, Austin. You just go ahead and do what's right."
Tracey set the receiver gently in its cradle. She put her head on her pillow and sobbed while her heart shattered into a million pieces, the jagged edges cutting apart her soul.
Chapter One
Six Years Later
Tracey propped up her schedule on the steering wheel of her old Camaro and drove slowly, glancing down at the paper at every stoplight to get the day's events in her mind. Eight-thirty. Faculty get-acquainted breakfast. Stale doughnuts and watery coffee, she would guess, and lots of names to remember. Some kindly, gray-haired professor who'd been at Southeastern since the magnolia trees were saplings would lead her around like a prize puppy dog. She would be introduced to people who probably wouldn't remember her name by lunchtime.
She nosed the car into a vacant spot in the faculty parking lot, picked up her briefcase and the piece of paper which told her what to do and when to do it all day, and started across the campus. Last month, when she had accepted a job in the English department, was the first time she'd been back to Southeastern Oklahoma State University in almost six years.
Not much had changed. The twin tower dorm still rose up at the north side of the campus, the big magnolia trees were still shading the lawns, the sidewalks still had the same cracks, and the fountain still waited for the freshmen students to dump in a bottle of extra-sudsy dish detergent for its yearly bubble bath.
It was a bit scary to come back to Durant after all these years; even scarier to return to Southeastern as a teacher instead of a student.
A young man passed her in front of the library. He wore a T-shirt, tight blue jeans, and cowboy boots worn down at the heels. His long legs and easy stride put her in mind of Austin. Unwillingly. Tracey had vowed when she'd accepted this job not to dwell on the past. Much as she'd thought she'd loved him once, Austin was best forgotten. He probably lived in some backwater town in Texas now. She wondered if he'd gotten the degree he'd been so determined to have. Of had he just given up and gone into emu ranching or some other damn silly enterprise . . . she told herself sternly to stop thinking uncharitable thoughts. Austin had been serious about everything he did.
She went to the ladies' room for one more mirror check before she pasted on a smile and tried to dust off her system for remembering names. She freshened her makeup and tightened the wide, soft leather belt that cinched in her beige linen sleeveless dress.
Maybe she shouldn't have worn something sleeveless for her first day back. Maybe the chic dress was too revealing for the new Comp I teacher. Oh well, it was too late now. At least it was long enough, just a few inches from her ankles where the ties from her kid leather sandals made several wraps before tying into perfect little bows.
She checked her watch. It was eight-thirty on the dot. She couldn't procrastinate any longer. She only hoped that she could remember some of the people and wouldn't make too many mistakes later on when she ran into the professors and teachers on campus.
"Hello." She approached the student behind the desk outside the double doors leading into the room. "I'm Tracey Walker."
"Okay." The girl smiled. "Let's see, there's a name tag here somewhere. Did you say Tracey or Stacey?"
"Tracey."
"Oh, here it is. This your first year here?"
"My first year as a teacher. I went to school at Southeastern several years ago." She smiled back at the girl. "Am I late?"
"No, but I'm supposed to notify Dr. Taylor when you get here so she can introduce you to everyone. She's head of the English department. Been here forever, I hear. Personally, I think she just squatted out here in a pasture one day and they built the school around her." The girl's southern Oklahoma drawl even permeated her giggle.
Tracey chuckled. She remembered Dr. Taylor well. She had always been forming committees and starting organizations to promote one worthy cause or another. Tracey had admired her energy and enthusiasm even then.
"Well, I don't want to disappoint the lady. Tell her I'm here and ready to be introduced." Tracey pulled the back off the self-adhesive name tag and slapped it on her dress right above her heart.
"There you are. You must be our brand new Comp I teacher." A short, overweight lady bustled toward her with her hand stuck out. "I'm Dr. Taylor and—oh, dear, I forgot, I've got to make a presentation in a few minutes. Do you think you could show Miss Walker around, Becky? I think most everyone is here, and if you'll lay out the name tags the latecomers can just pick them up."
"Sure thing, Dr. Taylor." Becky winked at Tracey and led the way inside the big room."Care for some coffee? Dr. Taylor always bites off more than she can chew. She's got to talk to a group over in the library about a grant they're applying for, and she has a department meeting right after that. I wondered how she was going to introduce you to everyone here in just fifteen minutes."
"Looks like you've got the job now," Tracey said. "But you seem to know your way around. Are you a senior?"
"Yep."
"You're definitely from Oklahoma."
"You can tell by my accent, I guess." Becky smiled again.
Tracey nodded.
"I'm from Calera. You know where that is? About five miles south of here, but still on this side of the Red River."
Red River deep. Tracey shut her eyes and willed the memory to fade. "I've heard of it."
Becky looked at her curiously. "You okay? You look a little like you just saw a ghost." She handed Tracey a cup of steaming black coffee. "I forgot to ask if you wanted sugar or cream."
"I'm fine," Tracey lied. "I take it black, thanks."
She sipped the coffee without even tasting it, until a tall, dark man edged through the crowd and stood right in front of her. Tracey took a deep breath and prepared herself mentally to meet-and-greet.
The man spoke first. "Hey, let me introduce myself. I'm Damian Marshall from the Chemistry department. I haven't seen you before."
His eyes started at the toes of her sandals and traveled up slowly past her curvy hips, her belted waist, stopping for a moment at the name tag, traveling on up to the top of her head where the ends of her long, red hair ruffled out in curls at the finish of a French twist. Then he slowly dropped his insolent gaze back down to her eyes.
"This is Tracey Walker." Becky's voice was icy. "She's the new English Comp teacher."
"Pleased to meet you," Tracey shook his hand and kept a businesslike smile on her face. "Damian Marshall, is it?" She tried word association. Damian. . . devil. He looked like a devil with those black eyes.
Becky pulled her arm. "Tracey, you've got to come and meet Dr. Benson. He's my favorite American Lit professor."
Tracey barely had time to excuse herself from Devil—no, Damian! She'd remember his name if she tried hard enough.
"Stay away from him," Becky whispered when they were out of earshot. "He tries to get every new teacher and every new student to drop her pantyhose for him. Thinks he's God's gift to womankind. Don't ever get caught in a building at night with him. Not even the library." Becky shivered.
"Is this the voice of experience I'm hearing?" Tracey didn't want to believe what Becky was te
lling her.
'Yes, ma'am. I had a run-in with him when I was a sophomore. In the library elevator. I thought I was goin' to have to knock him in the head with my Lit book. I never knew one man could have so many hands and try to put them in so many places. I was so glad when that elevator door opened. Now I check the elevators before I get on them. If he makes a move to get on that's the floor I get off."
"But that's sexual harassment," Tracey said.
"Yep, it is, and I'm not the only one who's complained," the girl declared. "Oh, Dr. Benson, I want you to meet Tracey Walker, our new Comp I teacher," Becky said.
Tracey turned and found herself in front of a tall, lanky professor who sported more wrinkles on his face than an Oklahoma map had lines. He had clear, blue eyes and an honest smile, promising a worthwhile friendship Tracey knew she would enjoy.
"Hello, Dr. Benson," she said. "I'm glad to meet you."
"Just Matt to the faculty," he said. "I'd shake your hand but it isn't easy to do with a doughnut in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other."
"That's all right. How long have you been at Southeastern? I was a student here about six years ago and I don't remember you," she said.
"Just five years. I was teaching at Baylor in Waco, Texas and decided I needed a change of scenery." Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he turned, losing himself in another group before Tracey could answer.
"Oh, there's my other favorite teacher. You've just got to come and meet him," Becky said.
"How many favorite teachers do you have?" Tracey followed her through the small groups of people toward the far side of the room.
"Dr. Benson is my most favorite." Becky stopped. "He's the nicest person in the whole school system. Lord, if I had the chicken pox I wouldn't even care if he came to see me in my cow pajamas and Donald Duck house shoes. He's a sweetheart and we all adore him. But you're about to meet my favorite teacher in the whole world. There's not a girl on campus who wouldn't lay down on a six-lane highway and die happy if he would just smile at her once," she sighed.
"Holy smoke. I didn't know movie stars taught school down here in southern Oklahoma," Tracey laughed out loud.
"Huh!" Becky snorted. "There isn't a movie star's smile that compares to his. And the way he looks in jeans—" She let out a prodigious sigh. "It's just not fair."
"Well, I really want to meet him. Do you think I should go check my lipstick? Are there crumbs on my dress? Do I have a coffee mustache?" Tracey teased.
"You look wonderful. He'll like you, especially with your red hair. He's got a little red-headed daughter he just dotes on." Becky started walking again. "Damn. He just went in the rest room. We'll have to wait."
"A daughter? Where's his wife?" Tracey asked.
Becky shook her head, her long, straight brown hair swirling around her shoulders. "He doesn't have one." She was a pretty girl, shorter than Tracey by several inches and slim. She wore a denim skirt, red lace-up Roper boots and a sleeveless white shirt decorated across the front with silver conchos held on with strips of red leather. A few freckles danced across her turned up nose and her brown eyes didn't stray from the bathroom door.
Tracey turned around to one of the long, folding tables set up with chairs around them. She set her empty cup on the table and started to have a seat to wait for this movie star creature to reappear, but Becky touched her arm.
"He's out. He went over there to that crowd Dr. Benson is talkin' to. Oh, you asked about his wife. There's all kinds of rumors. He got married and she left him for some reason and he's raisin' the little girl all alone. She's a cute little thing and so smart it's scary. When he brings her to the campus we all fight over who gets to play with her." Becky talked as she walked.
Tracey wasn't sure which teacher she was talking about. Four men had their backs to them as they crossed the room, all of them facing Dr. Benson who was telling some engrossing story. When the professor looked up and saw the two women walking toward his group, he beckoned them over.
"Come on over here and meet some more of the faculty. I've forgotten your name already," he chuckled, addressing Tracey. "Maybe my wife is right. Maybe I am getting senile. I can't even remember someone as beautiful as you are," he teased. When he said 'beautiful' all four men turned around to look at her.
Tracey looked at the first man on her right. He was short, balding, and wearing dark blue slacks, with a light blue dress shirt and black loafers. "This is David Robbins. He's our librarian," Dr. Benson said. Tracey looked at him long enough to get his name in her mind, then turned to the next man. He was taller, not quite as bald, in khaki slacks and brown shoes. "This is Lance Williams. He teaches Spanish." Dr. Benson smiled. The third man had lots of red hair, and a roll of fat around his middle. "This feller is Earl Tramble. We play a little golf together when he can get out of the biology department, and this last feller here is—"
"Hello, Trace, it's been a long time." Tracey felt a serious chill start at the base of her spine and crawl up her backbone as she turned and looked into the familiar brown eyes of Austin Nelson Miller.
She had no idea of what she should say. But Becky moved near and smoothed over the awkwardness with cheerful small talk.
"Oh, do you two already know each other?" she chirped. "Imagine that."
"Yes, we know each other. We were in school here at the same time," Austin drawled softly and slowly but his eyes never left Tracey's. "But that was a while ago."
"Well, you two need to catch up then. By the way, you've got adjoining offices in the classroom building," Dr. Benson said, oblivious to the electricity that flowed between the two of them.
Austin turned to Tracey, his arms folded over his chest. He had grown broader and more muscular in the years since she'd seen him. He was, if anything, handsomer than he'd been. Unfortunately. She could see why Becky sighed over him.
"It's good to see you again," Tracey finally managed to say, despite the breathless feeling in her chest. "It has been a long time."
"Yes, it has," Austin said. "About six years now."
Becky broke in. "Don't forget. You've got an English department meeting at nine-thirty." She touched Tracey on the arm.
"Sure," Tracey said. "I suppose I'll see you around," she said to Austin.
"I'll be at the nine-thirty meeting. I teach American Lit and Comp II." He waved and turned just slightly to listen to Dr. Benson, but he watched Tracey until she was out of his peripheral vision.
"I think I do need to make a quick trip to the ladies' room," she whispered to Becky. "I'll just be a minute. Meet you by the coffee urn when I get out?"
"Sure," Becky said.
Tracey shut the bathroom door and leaned against it, wishing she could slide down it and plop onto the floor. She was afraid if she did her jelly-filled knees would never support her again. Would it be possible for her to get out of the contract she'd signed so easily just last month? Could the English department find another teacher with only three days left until classes started? She couldn't face Austin day after day. The questions bombarded her mind faster than she could even begin to find answers for them.
Well, she couldn't stay in the bathroom all day long. That was a fact. She had to go outside and pretend she'd barely known Austin all those years ago. She couldn't let Becky know she'd loved him deeply, and that at one time they'd talked of marriage. The girl wasn't stupid. She must've sensed the connection between them.
Tracey sighed deeply. She wished someone had told her Austin Miller was teaching at Southeastern, but then she hadn't bothered to ask, had she? Austin was supposed to be off somewhere with his poor little wife, living in a broken-down trailer house without a porch. What in the hell was he doing here anyway?
Finally she managed to calm her nerves enough to put on a good front. She freshened her makeup in front of the mirror, and returned to Becky, who was waiting patiently by the coffee urn.
"I thought I was going to introduce you to the handsomest man I'd ever seen and you already knew him," she
said. "Tell me, was he as good-looking when he was young? Or did he have pimples and a weird haircut? Was he a real dork that turned into a hunk?"
"No, not that I remember," Tracey mumbled. "It's about time for me to get to the next meeting. Becky, you've been a big help this morning. Come by my office and see me anytime. Let's go out to lunch some day. My treat. Thanks for showing me around and all the inside information about Devil . . . I mean Damian."
Becky laughed. "That's a good name for that old lizard. Devil Damian. You know, I bet he wears his hair that way to cover up the horns." She got a case of the giggles that ended in hiccups. "I'd better go get a drink of water. I'll come by next week and take you up on that lunch offer." She went off toward the fountain in the hallway, still giggling.
Tracey picked up her briefcase and checked her watch. It was twenty minutes until the department meeting began and she had to give herself at least a two-hour lecture in that amount of time. She couldn't go into the meeting with stars in her eyes and any idea she could pick up where she left off with Austin six years ago. Granted, he didn't have a wife, but he did have a daughter and she had her little boy.
Her son had stood by her through thick and thin since he'd been old enough to stand. He was five now, going on six, and smart as a whip. Jackson always seemed to know when she was in a foul mood and he knew just how to make her laugh. He had been her salvation in a world of heartache and pain.
She would have to be careful for one year. She'd have to keep her private life and her business life entirely separate if she had to associate with Austin every day. She'd be the best damned Comp I teacher this university had ever hired. But the day her contract ran out she'd have everything in the apartment packed and ready to move. It didn't matter where. Just so long as Austin Miller wasn't where she was going.
She found a bench beside the fountain and sat down under the magnolia trees. It was already hot. Hell really is seven times hotter than August in Oklahoma, she thought. Her daddy had always said that, and had added that it was a wonder the churches didn't have a waiting list of folks ready, willing and waiting to make sure they had their reservations in heaven secured. Tiny rivulets of sweat ran down her cleavage and soaked the elastic band at the bottom of her bra. Wonderful. She probably had circles on her linen dress, too. He'd know she had to get out of the reception and that she'd sat outside in the heat to get away from him.
Small Town Romance Collection: Four Complete Romances & A New Novella Page 17