Small Town Romance Collection: Four Complete Romances & A New Novella

by Brown, Carolyn

  Tracey hoped Austin was as uncomfortable as she was. She hoped his glands were working overtime and he was smothering in those starched Wrangler jeans with the sharp creases, and that white shirt with finely ironed lines down the sleeves. It was a cinch he had had them done at the laundry. There wasn't a man alive who could iron that well. His jeans were bunched up at the bottom around the tops of freshly polished black Roper boots and he had on a silver belt buckle with a bronco on it. He sure didn't look like a university English teacher, and he damned sure didn't look like a drugstore cowboy. He looked like the real thing.

  No more thinking about Austin, she told herself. You're over him. He's not going to be part of your new life. You've worked hard for what you have. You got your bachelor's, taught high school for four years, and got your master's degree, too. And raised Jackson. And you've done it on your own without any help from anyone. So you can control your thoughts and your emotions. Right.

  With that self-inflicted lecture over, she stood up, straightened her back, held her chin high and proceeded toward the classroom building to the department meeting. She thought of Jackson, her little boy. His ready smile, his honesty, his undivided and undying love for her. She would think of him when she was in the room with Austin and know beyond any doubt that she could walk this balance beam for one year without falling off.

  Tracey picked up a pocket folder with her name on it from the table at the front of the room when she arrived. On the far side of the room was a table full of teachers with only one chair left and she sat down and introduced herself to the others. She spotted Austin sitting at a table on the other side of the room, and willed herself to smile and wave.

  "Now." Dr. Taylor tapped on the table in front of her with a pencil. "Each of you has a folder with your name on it. It outlines what the objectives are in your field and the goals we hope to accomplish by the end of this year. In Comp I we want to be able to track positive progress in writing ability. We want to see the student able to write a simple sentence, a complex sentence, a compound-complex sentence, and a complete paper utilizing every one of these . . ."

  Tracey rifled through the pages in her folder. Not too different from the objectives and outlooks the state mandated for high school teachers. Nothing she couldn't handle for the year ahead. She reminded herself again that she had been hired for only one year. After that, she and Jackson could wave goodbye to Durant, Oklahoma as they watched it fade in the rearview mirror of her old red Camaro.

  Chapter Two

  The first week of school was so busy Tracey didn't know straight up from due backwards. She saw Austin a few times in the hallway either heading in the direction of their adjoining offices or else in a rush toward the steps. Dashing down the stairs and off to the next class or appointment was certainly preferable to waiting for the slow elevator to groan its way up and down.

  By the time her head hit the pillow at night her eyes were already closed and her mind already shutting down with no thoughts of the past, present or future, only a sigh of gratefulness for a few hours of rest. The last image that went through her mind, just before she fell asleep, was a guilty feeling for not spending more time with Jackson. She promised herself wearily that tomorrow she would make the time to spend a whole hour with him. They'd talk about whatever he wanted to, do what he wanted, take a long walk . . . then the alarm clock rang and it was morning and time to start the rush all over again.

  By the end of the second week, things began to settle down. A few students still dropped classes occasionally, but for the most part everyone seemed to have settled into the routine. The administration office had assigned her a student aide two hours a day. Twyla was a freshman student; a crack data processor who could make the computer do anything but sit up and tell jokes. She had a phone voice that sounded like sweet cream, and she kept the files wonderfully organized.

  "Got anything important?" Tracey asked. She dropped a stack of papers on the filing cabinet with a thud and melted into the swivel chair behind her desk.

  "No, just a couple of calls from the textbook publisher on your memo pad there," Twyla said. She was as tall as Tracey and a lot thinner, but then Twyla was a basketball player who got a hard work-out every day in the gym. Give her ten years and she might add twenty pounds just as Tracey had. Her brown hair was parted in the middle and hung to her shoulders. Her nose was slightly too long and had a funny little hump right in the middle but her smile showed off beautiful, even white teeth.

  "Okay," Tracey said. "I'll call them back. By the way, thanks for all your hard work. You're making my first semester of teaching a lot easier."

  "That's what I'm here for." Twyla went back to putting a list of students into the computer. Tracey checked her watch.

  "Gotta run. Class starts in five minutes." She was out the door before Twyla had time to say goodbye.

  Tracey finished the last class for the day and started back to her office to grade papers for a couple of hours before she went home to a well-earned weekend with Jackson. She didn't plan to touch another paper for the next two days. Or pick up a textbook or even think about teaching. She was going to sleep late on Saturday, go the park for a picnic in the afternoon and maybe even the movies tonight.

  She had her foot on the first step of the staircase when she heard the elevator doors open behind her. Might as well let the creaky old machine haul her and this load of papers up to the second floor. She turned quickly and was in the elevator before the doors could close.

  Oh, no. She was standing in front of Mr. Devil Damian Marshall himself. No problem. She was a grown woman and she would simply ignore him. It only took a few seconds to reach the second floor anyway and he couldn't possible harass her in that length of time.

  "Which floor?" He stepped in front of her and smiled that evil smile she hated.

  "Second, thank you," she said.

  "Let me help you with that load." He pushed the button and reached to take part of the papers stacked on top of textbooks from her, his hands brushing her breasts ever so slightly.

  She hugged the whole stack closer to her, pinching his hands between the layers. "No thanks, I can manage," she said.

  "All right," he leered and took his place behind her again.

  He stood so close she could feel the heat from him through her cotton blouse and skirt. "You look beautiful. Are you free for dinner tonight? I always like to get to know the new teachers." He leaned forward and whispered seductively into her ear, his peppermint breath invading her space.

  "No, thanks," Tracey took a step forward to get away from him but he just leaned further into her neck. She felt his tongue slide toward her ear and his hands were suddenly around her waist, inching upward as he nuzzled her neck.

  She dropped the entire load she was carrying on the floor of the elevator, turned quickly, slapped him across the face with her right hand and grabbed the short end of his necktie with her left hand. She jerked hard and he choked.

  "Don't you ever put your filthy hands or your mouth on me again, you sorry S.O.B.!" she said angrily.

  The elevator doors opened. "Hel-lo," Becky said, sizing up the situation. "Are these your books here on the floor, Ms. Walker?"

  "Yes, they are," Tracey said, but she didn't let go of his tie. Damian's face was getting redder and redder, and he didn't look any too pleased to see Becky.

  "I'll pick them up if you'll choke him to death," Becky laughed. She held the door of the elevator open with one foot and started gathering papers and books into a stack.

  "It's a deal," Tracey said. "Damian, don't you ever touch me again. If one of these girls ever tells me you've touched them I'm going with them to the dean and from there to the county court to file charges." She pushed him toward the back of the elevator where he fell in a gasping heap, trying to loosen his tie.

  "That was pretty cool," Becky toted the pile of books. "Lord, what I would've given to see you give him a good swift kick where it counts rather than a push. Maybe he'll leave all of us alo
ne now."

  "I doubt it," Tracey said. "But if every one of you protests to the dean when he harasses you, pretty soon he'll either be in enough trouble with the school administration or the law that he'll have to quit. Promise me that you will."

  "I promise. Thanks, Mom." Becky winked and took off down the hall at a trot.

  "I'm not your mom!" Tracey called after her. She shut the door to the hallway. The one between her office and Austin's had never been opened. Then she plopped down in her chair, laid her head on her desk and began to cry. Great, big tears that gathered at the corners of her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. Sure, she'd shown Damian who was in control, but she felt dirty all the same. She ripped a tissue from the box on the top of a file cabinet to her left and rubbed her neck with it until it felt raw. To think he'd actually touched her, put his filthy, peppermint-smelling tongue on her neck and put his hands on her waist.

  There was no one to talk to, to tell how horrible he made her feel. She certainly couldn't tell Jackson about it and she had to be brave in front of Becky. She envied girls and women with mothers who were still alive. This was a time to call a mother and listen to her say, "You poor baby. Next time don't just push him to the back of the elevator. Kill the dirty bastard." But her mother had been dead since she was thirteen, and if she was alive she'd probably be too busy with committee meetings and social affairs to listen to Tracey whine about a man who kissed her on the neck.

  The door opened softly but Tracey jumped. If that piece of trash was coming into her office to apologize or to take up where he left off, he'd better get ready for another fight. Every raw nerve in her body was standing on end, ready to go to battle, physical or emotional.

  "Hey, what's goin' on?" Austin took one look at Tracey. Her expression left no doubt that she was at the end of her rope and there wasn't enough left to tie a knot.

  "Nothing." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and stood up.

  "I don't believe you." He crossed the room and took her in his arms. "Not for a minute. What happened?"

  She allowed herself to rest against his strong chest for the briefest possible moment, surprised by how natural it felt to be held by him after all these years. As if, somehow, they'd never been apart. He tipped her face up to his, and she realized she hadn't answered him.

  "I had a run-in with Damian in the elevator," she said shakily.

  "Did he hurt you?" Austin looked into her green eyes. "Tell me honestly, Trace, did he?"

  "No, he just invited me to dinner. And then he kissed me on the neck and put his hands around my waist. I grabbed his tie and tried to choke him to death with it." She laid her head back on Austin's shoulder and breathed in the rich fragrance of the aftershave he wore, instinctively responding to the comfort of his embrace.

  Then she remembered Jackson. She took a step backwards and shivered from her shoulders to her toes. She should not be in Austin's arms. Not now. Not ever. He was the same man who had shattered her whole world six years before. He was the one who'd gone out after they'd had one stupid fight, and gotten another girl pregnant. She damned sure didn't need to succumb to her stupid body's urgings and play the simpering little maiden in distress so he could be a knight in shining armor.

  "I—I'll be all right," she stammered, looking everywhere but his eyes. She couldn't look at him and feel the desire tearing at her heart, and stay an arm's length away from him.

  "Thanks for asking, anyway," she said curtly.

  "What is it, Trace? What's really wrong? You're treating me like I'm a leper with smallpox." Austin tilted her head up with his hand and made her look at him again. "I think we really need to talk. It's been too long since we did."

  "No!" Her eyes flashed, then she turned her back on him. "We said our goodbyes a long time ago. You went your way and I've gone mine. We're different people now, Austin. I've got my own life, and you're not part of it!"

  "Okay, I won't beg. We all make mistakes. God knows I've made enough for two men. If you ever want to talk, let me know. I'm right behind that closed door most of the time. And my number is in the book if I'm not there." He swallowed the lump in his throat and shut the door as softly as he had opened it just minutes before when he'd heard her crying. Damn her anyway.

  Tracey was going to meet the light of her life. Maybe they'd even splurge and go to McDonald's for supper tonight and then they were going to the movies. His choice. Tomorrow morning they were going to eat Pop-Tarts for breakfast and watch cartoons, then go to the park and play all day before they ate a picnic supper of peanut butter sandwiches. Then when the day was finished they were going home to curl up together on the couch and watch television until they both were so tired they couldn't keep their eyes open.

  She backed the car out, turned south to the red light beside the college, and made a right. It was only three blocks down to the private developmental kindergarten class and it was five minutes before the final bell rang. By the time she parked the car and walked up the sidewalk, through the gate in the chain link fence and to the front of the building, children were pouring out of the building. Jackson came running as fast as his little five-year-old legs would carry him.

  "Mommy, wait 'til you see what we made in arts and crafts today. It's a butterfly! You can put it on our refrigerator door beside the dinosaur I made a long time ago. I'm hungry. Can we go get an ice cream?" He jumped into her outstretched arms, unaware that boys who were nearly six years old usually didn't want their mothers to hold or kiss them in public.

  "How about we eat at McDonald's and then we'll play in the park until it's time to go to the movies?" She nuzzled her face into his neck, breathing in the scent of a sweaty five-year-old and thinking it was the most wonderful smell in the whole world.

  "You mean it? Whoopee! This town must be bigger'n you said it was if it's got a McDonald's and a movie theater. Wow!"

  She set him down but continued to hold onto his hand while they walked across the street together to the car. "Does the park have swings, Mommy?" he asked, jumping and running so fast it was hard for her to keep him in tow.

  "Yes, it does," she giggled. "And a big slide. And it's got a kid-size merry-go-round, but I'm not getting on it. You know how sick it makes me to go 'round and 'round."

  "Oh, girls aren't tough as us guys. I bet a boy could stay on the merry-go-round for three days and not get sick," Jackson laughed. He buckled his seat belt. "Time for take off now." He used his pencil for a microphone and pretended he was the pilot of a plane. "Fasten your seat belts, ladies and gentlemen, we're flying with a lady pilot and she's hell on wheels."

  "Jackson! Where did you hear that word!" she scolded.

  "Poppa Jack says it all the time. He says you were hell on wheels from the first time you drove." Jackson looked at her innocently.

  "Well, Poppa Jack can say that word if he wants to, but you're not to repeat what he says." She looked away to keep him from seeing her smile.

  "Now tell me all about your day," she said. "Did you color and play or what did you do?"

  "I learned," he said. "I learned all about everything. I know how to write an A and what sound it makes. And I know what a butterfly looks like and I made a new best friend. She's a girl, and she's just as much fun as the boys."

  "Glad to hear it. What's your new best friend's name?" Tracey asked as she drove toward McDonald's on the west side of town.

  "Her name is Emily. I wanted to bring her to meet you. She's got red hair like yours and she's really nice for a girl. But her daddy came and got her early since he had to take her to see her granny this weekend. Her granny lives in a place with a funny name. Pork 'n Beans, Texas or something like that."

  "What's her last name?" Tracey felt icy chills on her scalp in spite of the hundred degree weather.

  "Emily Miller," he said. "And I think it's Tom Bean, Texas. How far is it to Texas anyway, Mommy? Maybe we could go down there and see her and her granny sometime. She said if I would come to her granny's house I could pet her pony.
How far is it to McDonald's? I'm real hungry."

  Chapter Three

  Somehow by good luck, good timing or the good grace of the Almighty, Tracey managed to pick her son up at school for the next two weeks without running into Austin. Since that awful day when Damian had accosted her, and Austin had tried to help, they had been coolly polite with each other, speaking in the halls or at meetings when they were thrown together, but conveniently ignoring each other the rest of the time.

  If she could manage to avoid him at Jackson's school, and if Austin would continue to keep her at a distance, she just might make it through this year without a nervous breakdown. After school she and Jackson were going to Purcell to see her father, who promised he would stay home all three days if they'd come for a visit. Jackson loved his Poppa Jack, and even Tracey had to admit he was a better grandfather than she'd ever expected.

  Jack Walker hadn't noticed Tracey much when she was growing up and neither had her mother. Their housekeeper, Molly, had been the one to hold her and tell her bedtime stories, teach her prayers and table manners, in that order, and tell her about boys when that time came. Then her mother had died in a car accident when Tracey was only thirteen and her father had done his level best to see her safely into high school and then off to college. But she knew he'd never quite gotten it through his stubborn head that she wasn't a little girl anymore.

  She'd had to grow up much too fast the night that Austin Miller had walked out of her life.

  And after.

  Tracey and her father had had a hellacious fight when she'd finally told him that she was six months pregnant. He'd told her that she was disgracing her family and her dead mother, and the least she could do was to marry the father of the baby, even if she didn't love him. His grandchild should have a name, he'd shouted, and not be tagged a bastard. But she had adamantly refused to tell him or anyone else who'd fathered the child she carried, let alone make the man marry her.