EBON’S MATE

Copyright © August 2004,
Joan Bramsch

ISBN: 0-934334-15-3

All rights reserved

Published by
JB Information Station

E-Published simultaneously worldwide.

Produced in the
United States of America

 

"Ebon's Mate" by Joan Bramish is a remarkable story of awakening love,and a sizzling romance in which fantasy embraces reality. Mysterious twists and turns, along with a stalker who threatens bodily harm, add suspense and intrique. Will Nicholas discover who is stalking and threatening him, before it is too late? Will Heather risk loss to gain everlasting love? "Ebon's Mate" is a tale well told. Reading it is a treat from beginning to end. Joyce A. Kovelman, Ph.D./CHIC

Chapter 1

Heather Warren stopped her car at the entrance to Ozark Mountain College. Tears filled her eyes when she gazed at the sun-washed emerald valley below.

"It’s been eight long years, Omsee."

She looked at the tree shaded granite school buildings and dormitories of brick and native stone nestled like mammoth eggs in the nest of green surrounding sparkling Lake Honor. She’d always considered the small, but eclectic, campus an intellectual shell collection of sorts.

"Dear Omsee."

Her voice wavered when she repeated the school’s nickname. The pastoral scene unexpectedly made her senses reel with conflicting emotions. In some unknown way, though she was delighted to be here, she sensed this visit would change her life. Forever.

Feeling uneasy, she looked over her shoulder. It was because of him, she decided. If she allowed herself to be spooked like this, then outwitting him to slip away undetected would be for naught. Heather inhaled deeply. Nothing was going to disturb her joyous mood, she vowed. She was too glad to be back.

She eased her foot off the brake and drove down the hill to the Administration building. After she parked and got out, she patted her pre-owned automobile on its pale blue roof.

"Thanks, Baby," she said. "You made the drive from St. Louis to Point Lookout in record time."

Heat radiated from the asphalt road through the soles of Heather’s deck shoes until she hurried to the manicured lawn by the tulip tree grove. A few yards away, Lake Honor beckoned. Sighing, she leaned against one gray trunked giant to watch the central fountain bubble in a synchronized dance. Heather wished she could stay here for a month, rather than only a weekend. Rest was what she needed, and a change of scenery.

She was tired of running interference for Kitty, her foolish and fearless kid sister. Last Saturday when Baxter Stockton, Kitty’s insanely jealous husband, accused her of having an affair, she told him she’d had enough and was leaving him. Their fight raged on, but Heather could take no more and had gone home. Later that night, Kitty ran away.

Baxter refused to believe Heather didn’t know where Kitty had run. He called day and night. She doubted the man ever slept. When he wasn’t calling, he followed her, everywhere. Last night, when he confronted Heather as she walked to her apartment, he’d actually threatened to kill her.

"And you won’t know when I’ll strike," he’d added with a wild-eyed stare. "So you better tell me where my wife is."

Heather again declared she knew nothing. Then, for several moments, she’d watched with masochistic fascination as his large hairy hands repeatedly clenched and opened until he regained control of his violent temper.

Afterward, when she was safely locked inside her apartment, she'd tried to convince herself that Baxter had just tried to shake her up; that he wouldn’t really harm her. But his bizarre behavior had frightened her. Was it any wonder she’d left town? She'd had to escape, at least for a few days. And, as if that weren’t enough, the nightmares had started again.

She’d thought she’d finally banished her reoccurring dream. The terrorizing apparition — always the same — had begun shortly after her parents’ passing. But she hadn’t experienced the dream for a long time. That is, not until her brother-in-law had begun terrorizing her in her waking hours as well.

Heather shuddered and then forced herself to relax and forget about Baxter and her bad dreams. This was supposed to be a weekend respite from her harried life, she reminded her skeptical mind. It was then that she looked across the water and saw the five swans. She wondered if they could possibly be the same birds who’d "owned" the lake when she lived on campus.

She stared, then smiled triumphantly when she identified her favorite — the different one — the lone black swan. It was obvious he’d retained leadership, she decided, as she watched him glide regally along the far shore. His white cohorts, two pens and two cobs, followed in close formation. Fascinated by her discovery, Heather wrapped her skirt around her legs and sat on the cool stone ledge at the water’s edge.

"I wonder if he’d remember?" she mused.

She cupped her hands around her pursed lips and whistled. Instantly the bird jerked his charcoal head in Heather’s direction. She repeated the secret signal she’d used daily, until that fateful morning eight years ago. The swan, alert and galvanized for action, flapped his great wings and pointed his beak toward the cloudless sky. Then he trumpeted his raucous response to her call — once, twice — before he raced toward the spot where Heather waited.

"Oh, Ebon, you do remember." She stroked his satiny crown. "After all these years."

Ebon’s lustrous button eyes shone like polished obsidian as he arched his neck and nudged against her caressing hand. "I wish I had some bread for you, baby," she said, "but I don’t. I’m sorry, Ebon."

"Give him what I’ve brought."

Instantly Heather spun around to stare at the bearded man behind her. Her wide sapphire eyes collided with his sooty velvet gaze. "You startled me," she said as she gasped and tried to catch her breath.

Her momentary alarm faded when the man smiled. Then, feeling suddenly shy, she glanced back at Ebon who gabbled impatiently, waiting for his handout. "I was just greeting an old friend."

"So I gathered." The man’s dark eyes — robust and rich and warm as espresso coffee — sparkled devilishly. "Here," he said, holding out a sack of bread. "You’d better feed that old reprobate before he starts nibbling on you.

The man’s humorless chuckle revealed to Heather that he, too, was a pushover for the different swan. She smiled her thanks, then concentrated on the bird’s feeding. After all the crusts were consumed, Ebon swam back to his flock.

"Thanks for letting me feed him."

"No problem."

"It’s been a long time since I’ve had the chance." She watched Ebon glide behind the dancing fountain, and wondered if birds ever felt lonely, too. "He’s just as independent as I remember him to be," she said. "But I’d hoped, by this time, he might have found another mate."

"And I’d hoped, by this time, to stop feeling guilty about his loss." The man sighed, then sank to the grass near her feet. "You see," he added softly, "it was my dog who killed her."

Heather turned so she could really look at the man for the first time. He was tall and powerfully built. His shoulders strained against the blue knit fabric of his shirt. Thigh muscles rippled inside his snug jeans when he relaxed against a tree trunk and crossed his bare ankles. She glanced at the man’s handmade moccasins and saw that he had a "good understanding," as her father used to say.

Heather’s gaze returned to his bearded face. There was a distinguished air about him, she decided. Though his cap of shiny black curls was unruly, a bit of silver frosted the strands at his temples. His wide set dark eyes, which seemed vaguely familiar, were framed by winged brows and high cheekbones.

She was also conscious of an undeniable sensuality in his penetrating gaze. That natural sexy look, together with his handsome features and rugged frame, probably created the potent magnetic field of a male Lodestone when he desired companionship in his domain, she guessed. Women probably lined up, just like molecules, all in a row.

Her suspicions were confirmed when he surprised her with a naturally sexy smile. Her feminine resistance evaporated and an unauthorized attraction positively tugged at her nether regions. Yes, she decided, he certainly was one magnetic fellow. But, above everything else in his appearance, she noted an aura of serene power emanating from his quiet form. Something told her he would allow nothing to disturb his way of life.

Insistently an old memory tape played and replayed in the back of her mind as if begging to be recalled. Finally she listened, then listened again. Was he who she thought he was? Absolute recognition caused her to inhale sharply.

Seeing her reaction, the man’s smile disappeared and he muttered under his breath, something about his barbaric stupidity concerning a lady’s delicate sensibilities. Then, he frowned, troubled by his assumption that Heather was revolted by his explanation concerning the death of the black swan’s mate.

But, for Heather, his serious expression reconfirmed her first tentative identification. She knew this man. He was Professor Nicholas McCord, one of her former teachers at Omsee. And also, her favorite! Why hadn’t she recognized him immediately? she wondered.

The answer seemed obvious now. At first, she’d been alarmed, thinking he was her brother-in-law. She’d momentarily believed Baxter had followed her, after all. And, to be fair to herself, Professor McCord did look different. He’d grown a beard, and he appeared to have become a serious devotee’ of bodybuilding.

It was difficult for Heather to comprehend that his physical build today could be that far superior to the body he’d had eight years ago. Back then, every coed almost wept for joy, just to see him stroll across campus! But he really did look wonderful today, she thought with an approving glance. So, it seemed Nicholas McCord looked different today because he’d pumped iron for years and he’d grown a neat beard. She peered at his luxuriant whiskers and her fingers tingled.

"I understand how you feel about the special black swan… Professor McCord." Heather gave him a shy smile. "You shared your pain with me not long after the accident."

Nicholas cocked his head and stared at her. "I’ve never told that sad tale to another soul."

His words rang with authority. Good Lord! he silently exclaimed, when he heard his authoritative tone. He was beginning to talk like his alter ego, Peter Roan, who wrote murder mysteries. Tough, assured, no room for argument.

"I apologize, Miss." But his modulated tone was no less confused. "Do I know you?"

"You used to." Heather’s gaze wandered over his rugged features again, and she smiled. It was so good to see him. When she studied his neatly trimmed beard a second time, she guessed he was still trying to look older.

Silently Nicholas examined the young woman’s delicate features. Who the dickens was she? he asked himself. She had to be one of his former students. Because the college’s enrollment was so small, he could probably name every person he’d taught, he decided. If he were given sufficient time.

His off-the-wall sense of humor unexpectedly surfaced, and he wondered if he’d cast her as the heroine or the villainess in one of his Peter Roan novel? The solution was elementary, he decided. He’d conduct a thorough investigation. After examining the clues, he’d sift the evidence and, cleverly, deduce the answer. All in 182 pages!

Nicholas suppressed a sigh of frustration. Identifying this woman would certainly be less demanding than solving the other mystery in his life, he thought. That one was driving him nuts. He needed to discover the identity of a very sick person who kept sending him threatening letters.

Of course, he’d informed his fishing buddies, Ted Hastings, Branson’s Postmaster, and Gary Eagle, the sheriff of Taney County. Both men took the threats seriously. And, if the party responsible for sending those letters was serious, as well, Nicholas knew he could be in real danger.

He pushed the disturbing thought from his mind as he gazed into the soulful eyes of the woman beside him. She presented no threat to him, he decided. His fine tuned sense of survival instantly cautioned him to think again. So, look for evidence, he ordered.

Number One Clue: She’s attractive.

Yes, he confirmed, he liked looking at her. But, he knew that already. He watched a gentle breeze toy with her long chestnut hair. Slender manicured fingers hugged slim legs outlined beneath her skirt. Her face was heart-shaped, accentuated by a widow’s peak.

When his gaze settled upon her generous mouth, he decided he liked that feature best of all. But her eyes disconcerted him. They were the color of blue sky and sparkled with the knowledge that she knew him, but he didn’t know her. More expressly, they provided a window into her past.

Some of her experiences had been less than idyllic, he sensed, having been there on several occasions himself. He tried to penetrate the lingering shadows veiling her pain. Hers were the eyes of a person much older than this woman’s years. What had happened to force such early maturity? he wondered. Inexplicably, he wanted, needed, to know.

"There’s something about your eyes." His voice was low. "You’ve changed, but I remember your eyes, particularly when they laugh at me."

He moved closer. "I’ve known you before. But I don’t know exactly where. Or when."

"Perhaps I can jog your memory," Heather offered. "As you might have already surmised, I was in one of your classes. Once upon a time I wrote an essay about Ebon, Omsee’s black swan. Apparently you were touched by something I said because you wrote on the back of my paper about your unhappy experience." She smiled when she saw the light of emerging recognition flicker across his puzzled features.

"You’re not Heather Warren." His decision sounded final, irrevocable. Then his dark eyes narrowed in a second swift examination. "No!"

"Have it your way."

He gave his head a firm shake. "You’re not little Heather. You can’t be." When Heather smiled again, dazzling his already heightened senses, his assurance wavered. "Are you?"

"It’s me, all right." When she nodded, her blue eyes sparkled and her face glowed. "I’m back for a visit."

Perplexed, he drew a hand across his sable chin. "But…but you look so different." He made a quick mental calculation. "Has it been eight years?"

Heather’s smile slid from her lips. "We all had to grow up, Professor." Then, unexpectedly, she laughed, contradicting her sober words. "Even you."

Nicholas blustered and tried to look upset. "I’ll have you know, it’s taken me the better part of a decade to mold an image worthy of a tenured professor."

Then his angular features softened when he smiled. Admiration increased the warmth in his espresso colored eyes. "But, you, Heather," he said. "You’ve grown into a beautiful woman." Again he gazed deeply into her soulful eyes. "More beautiful than a man could imagine."

Heather’s cheeks warmed under his steady regard. She scolded herself when her heartbeat accelerated dramatically. There could be only one reason, of course — Nicholas McCord and his perennial charm. He’d been born, it seemed, knowing what to do, what to say.

Memories of similar physical reactions to him flooded her mind. It was true, Heather had had a crush on her serious young teacher from her first day as a Freshman in his Introduction to Literature class. Furthermore, she’d not been the only coed smitten by his breathtaking smile, his charismatic ways, and his utter determination to be a good teacher. But when she’d indulged her secret fantasy, Professor Nicholas McCord belonged to her alone.

Eleven years later, it was a revelation to her own mind, that thoughts of him still lay buried deep in her subconscious. She would have guessed he’d been forgotten, along with all her other collegiate dreams. None had come true. She’d received no degree. She’d won no honors. She’d had no career. And no man shared her life, appreciating her mental prowess as much as her passion.

Just then, the object of her forgotten chimera interrupted her thoughts. "Heather, I mean it." Nicholas captivated her with another sincere smile. "You’re very beautiful."

She steeled herself, figuring the man just couldn’t help it. He was simply being his usual charming self. But Heather knew she was too old to believe in knights on white chargers. That wasn’t what she needed to survive the challenges out in the real world.

She paused for another moment to gaze into the man’s dazzling dark eyes. Then again, she reconsidered, if a person wasn’t careful, she could forget to rejoice in the moment. And this was definitely one of those moments!

Laughing softly, she reached for the amber sunglasses perched atop her head. "You’re rather young for failing eyesight, Professor McCord." She offered them to Nicholas. "Perhaps, sir, you suffer from eye strain?"

Nicholas’s errant curls danced when he shook his head and refused her playful gesture. "No way, Heather," he said with quiet emphasis. "It’s no strain looking at you."

Easy, girl! she warned. She shoved the glasses back on her head and searched for a new topic of conversation. "Tell me, what’s been happening around here since I left?" She gave him a gamin smile and tipped her head to one side. "Are you still shackled to the flaky freshmen in Intro to Lit-101?"

"No more freshmen." Nicholas cleared his throat importantly. "I head the English department now."

Simultaneously he wondered what Heather had been thinking after he’d told her she was beautiful. Whatever it was, the look in her eyes would have steamed his glasses…if he’d worn glasses. He had to admit he was intrigued.

"I only take on upper class students these days," he continued. He lifted one winged brow jauntily. "And as for flaky students…?" He leaned forward to whisper. "I’ll let you in on a little secret. They’re not all freshmen. Not by a long shot."

And the flaky ones aren’t all students, Heather silently added, thinking momentarily about her brother-in-law. "Congratulations, Professor." She shifted her gaze to the ground. "You always were my favorite teacher."

Nicholas lifted her chin with cool fingers. Smiling, he captured her reluctant gaze. "And you were my most gifted student," he replied, "ever." His smile faded. "You left so suddenly, Heather. I never had a chance to say good bye," he said. "What happened?"

When Nicholas witnessed the pain reflected in her eyes, he was devastated because he knew his words were the cause. Most inexplicable, he realized he was prying. Nine out of ten times, he knew why a coed suddenly left school.

"Lord, Heather, I apologize," he said. "It’s none of my damn business." He reached out to her, then realized he had no right to touch her and dropped his hand back onto his leg . "I’m very sorry if I’ve opened old wounds. Forgive me."

"It’s all right." But her voice trembled. "Really."

She wished he would have stroked her cheek. Would his palm have felt cool, soothing? she wondered. Unexpectedly she wanted to share with him her life’s saga, right down to its latest distressing chapter. But he was now more stranger than friend. She couldn’t burden him with details about her personal problems caused by her sister’s irresponsible escapades.

Nicholas silently waited for her to speak. He watched Heather’s wavy hair flow like silk across her smooth skin and fantasized how it might feel sifting through his fingers.

"There’s no need to apologize," she said, "though, I’ll admit, memories of those years aren’t all happy ones." She turned to contemplate the far shore. "It’s no big dark secret," she continued. "Midway through my last semester I was called back to St. Louis because my mother suffered a stroke." She glanced at the sky. "Dad had no health insurance. And he couldn’t afford full time nurses so…" She shrugged helplessly.

Simultaneously Nicholas counted Heather among the coeds who made up the remaining one per cent of his hypothesis, and he wondered how she’d shouldered such a heavy family burden. It wasn’t only because of her youth. Physically, she seemed no match for it.

"Dad couldn’t take care of Mom and run his repair shop, too," she went on, unaware of his ruminating. When she turned to face him, her blue eyes brimmed with crystal tears. "Eighteen months later, we lost her. Dad wanted me to return to school then, but something told me not to leave him."

"I hope he appreciates his daughter’s help."

"I think he did."

A chill went through Nicholas’s body, but he had to ask. "Did…?"

Heather nodded. "My dad passed away four months after Mom," she explained. "To the day." She brushed away a tear. "His doctor said an autopsy would show Dad’s death was caused by a massive coronary. But, in his opinion, Dad simply died of a broken heart."

She met Nicholas’s concerned eyes and smiled sadly. "You see, my parents were very close. They were best friends."

Heather didn’t add anything more, but Nicholas needed to know the whole story. "You were so close to graduating. Why didn’t you come back to school then?"

"Because of Kitty."

"A cat?"

"No, my kid sister," she said, laughing. "Kitty had just entered high school the year our mom died. After Dad’s passing, I sold the repair shop and that brought in a little money, but it wasn’t enough to support us both, so I went to work for a small publishing company." She smoothed her skirt. "I’m a Jill of the trade — general manager, proofreader and I do production work, too."

"That was eight years ago." Nicholas scowled and folded his arms across his chest while one winged brow nearly took flight. "Surely, your sister has graduated by now."

Heather chuckled at his uncompromising stance and the obstinate tone of his voice. "Yes, she got her diploma."

Then her smile disappeared, her delicate features momentarily hardened, and Nicholas sensed something was terribly wrong.

"What happened to your sister?"

"She married."

When Heather said no more, he prodded. "Well?"

No! raged Heather’s tormented heart. Kitty was not well. She was running away, from her husband and from life. Saddest of all, Heather didn’t know where her sister had run, but she did know that temporary reunions were not the place to unload troubles.

"She travels all the time," she said, instead. "Kitty’s a regular gadabout so I don’t get to see her very often." She swallowed hard when she made a final admission. "I miss her."

Nicholas caught Heather’s hand in his warm clasp, his gaze locked with hers. She moaned softly when she saw tears glisten in his eyes and catch on his thick lashes. Then, he looked away, coughed gruffly, tried to hide his emotions, but it was too late. And when he again met her gaze — now shimmering, too — she sensed in his fierce ebony eyes, a willingness to share her pain.

"You always were a pushover for a sad story," she whispered with a tender smile. "You’ve never learned to protect yourself, have you?"

"I can build a wall if I want to," he said. His craggy features suddenly took on the appearance of an obstinate little boy. And then the expression vanished. "But, with you, I find I’d rather share your experiences, happy or sad."

His thumb stroked the pulse point in her wrist. "You’re a remarkable woman." His large hand tightening on her fingers sent tiny bolts of current to her shoulder and down her spine. When she blinked at the sensation, he became conscious of his firm grip and, reluctantly, released her.

"Sorry, Heather," he said. "I got a little carried away, but the reason is understandable. You’re extraordinary." And so forlorn! added his heart.

"Extraordinary?" Heather shook her head. "Not me." Her gentle laughter dispelled some of the tension between them. "My family needed me, that’s all." But her smile told him she appreciated his kind words.

"Why aren’t you an editor by now?" he asked. Since she’d closed the door on her personal life, he’d seek information about her job. "With your talent and enthusiasm, you could head that publishing house."

This time her smile was indulgent. He hadn’t changed a bit. Misplaced or not, he still had confidence in her abilities. "You’re right, I could," she replied. "But they have some silly rule concerning editors and college degrees." She shrugged again. "Without it…"

He nodded grimly. "It’s no different in academia," he said. "I was nowhere until I got my Doctorate."

"And that degree puts you two ahead of me. Got one you could spare?"

Without speaking, Nicholas rose from the grass and pulled Heather to his side. They stood in silence for a long moment. His penetrating gaze searched Heather’s blue-sky eyes. She swayed toward him when waves of emotion nearly overwhelmed her. An infinitesimal change in Nicholas’s breathing pattern signaled that he, too, had experienced some sort of inner disturbance.

"Would you like to walk ‘round the campus?" He swept his hand to one side, then grinned boyishly and winked. "You can try the old place on for size."

Heather laughed and took his arm. "Lead on, Mac Duff."

As they strolled beneath the tulip trees, Ebon trumpeted. "‘Bye, Ebon," she called. "See you later."

"Ebon," Nicholas repeated. "Such a poetic word for black." He looked at Heather and gently patted her hand. "Want to hear another secret?" He smiled when she bobbed her head. "Until I’d read your essay, I’d called the old boy Black Beauty."

Heather couldn’t suppress her surprised chuckle. "I don’t think I believe you."

Her laughter enveloped her escort in a bubble of smug satisfaction because it was he who’d triggered that exquisite musical sound. "No kiddin’, it’s the truth."

Hesitantly, she returned his smile because she still wasn’t absolutely sure he was serious. "In my book of memories, your outrageous imagination made you the fastest wit in the West," she said. "Or at least in west Missouri."

Nicholas stroked her hand, then watched the humor in Heather’s eyes melt. His touch definitely had an effect on her, he realized. And, if he was honest with himself, touching her had produced like results in him. What the hell was going on? he wondered.

"Some days," he muttered, "I have more imagination than I can handle."

"That’s a cryptic observation." Heather gave him a measured look. When Nicholas winked again, she had to take a deep steadying breath. "Care to clarify?"

"The mystery’s easily solved," he said. Lord, she was lovely, he thought as he watched her cheeks fill with color. "Ebon just never entered one of my fantasies." He slid his hand along her arm until his fingers entwined with hers. "That is," he added, "not until a few moments ago."

Oh, this was too much for Heather! Was she losing her mind? she wondered. Or was Nicholas McCord really coming on to her? Every sensor in her body signaled that he was. And if it were so, so what? She was now a single woman, not a silly coed. That was it, she realized with sudden clarity. That was the key.

No wonder her insides kept shaking, and why she continued to feel slightly ill at ease. While in Professor McCord’s presence, here on campus, she did feel like a student again. And if she were a coed, the man would be off-limits. But she wasn’t. And she probably never would be again. So…he wasn’t. And, therein, lay the New World, the Promised Land, the fulfillment of a girl’s secret fantasy.

But, just in case she was wrong, she’d keep the conversation light. Heather deftly slipped her hand from his grasp. "You always had more than a wee touch of blarney about you, Professor."

He stopped walking and turned to her. "The name is Nicholas McCord, Heather. Do you think you can remember that?" He completely ignored her performance and captured her stunned gaze with solemn eyes. "Nicholas McCord." He repeated his name softly, sensuously. "Agreed?"

Heather had no idea how she continued to stand on legs turned suddenly to rubber. Yet she answered him in a quiet assured voice. "Yes, Nicholas McCord." Her smile was warm. "I’ll remember."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Nicholas nodded and they began to walk again.

"I always thought your name suited you."

"How so?"

"Strong."

"Like soap, right?"

Heather refused to look at him. She knew his laughing eyes would mock her. "Irish, no doubt."

"Ouch!"

"I was thinking more in terms of the particularly stellar traits I admired in you. Like cogent leader, charismatic teacher, probing intellectual, inspiring idealist…"

"Whoa there, lady. You’re describing a paragon."

Heather sneaked a sidelong glance. Did she dare? she wondered. Yes! "Not to mention, your great body. All the girls loved to watch you jog."

He cleared his throat. "Aw, stop your kidding."

"Why do you think so many signed up for cross-country?"

Nicholas chuckled happily and shook his head. "My mom’s going to love you."

Heather kept right on walking. But she had a difficult time trying to keep a straight face. Her mind was playing a really dirty trick on her.

Nicholas gave her a dark look because she laughed softly, as if at a private joke. He was fairly sure he knew what she was thinking.

Heather?" he murmured near her ear. "You just made a grand speech, and I thank you for it. But, be warned. If you make one crack about how I’d look with a long white beard and a round little belly, you’ll walk by yourself."

She stared up at his stern face and instantly clamped her lips over another mutinous giggle. Her twinkling eyes, however, continued their merry dance. "Never in a million years, Nicholas," she gravely promised. "But some day…"

"Careful, Heather."

Oh, what the heck! she thought. "Some day I’d love to hear you say, ‘ho, ho, ho.’"

Nicholas expelled a weary sigh. "Well, so much for decorum

"De who?"

Groaning, he slowed his pace as he lifted his fingers to his temple and gazed off into the distance. "Ah, yes, it’s all coming back to me now," he said. "Such intrepid behavior. You never did pay homage to your teachers, did you?"

He tried to summon an awesomely stern glare when, unrepentant, she sent her hair flying with a rapid shake of her head. "If there’s not an instant improvement in your attitude, Ms. Warren, I shall have to throw you headlong into Lake Honor."

"Oh, no! Please, Nicholas, not that." Shivering, Heather relived Omsee’s chilling traditional initiation. Every new student was tossed into the spring fed lake, usually when least prepared. "I don’t think I could stand another dunking in that ice water." She gasped at the memory and shivered all over again. "I was blue for a week."

"But your color has returned nicely," he said. "You’re a very pretty pink."

He gauged her reaction and was secretly delighted by her shy response. How could he have forgotten what fun it was to be with her? he wondered. "Heather, you’re like a breath of fresh air," he said. "I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in years."

"I’m glad you appreciate me." Oh, how she wished it was in the way she wanted to be appreciated by a man, she silently added. And why was Nicholas acting like this anyway? She mused. Was he flirting with her? Surely, not… No!

"Really, Nicholas," she said. "You sound as old as Methuselah." Then she smiled impishly and met the challenge in his snapping eyes. "Personally, I think you’ve been in your Ivory Tower far too long."

"I’ll be thirty-six in August." His announcement was punctuated with a grin. "So I’m old enough to appreciate a sweet young thing like you. Are you married?"

That did it! She almost swooned on the spot. "No," she finally answered, "I’ve never married."

"Committed?"

"Sure, but I’m out on a weekend pass." And that wasn’t far from the truth, the way she’d been living lately. Besides, she had to do something to stop herself from taking him seriously.

"Heather, please. I’m trying to get information."

His sixth sense told him her wisecrack covered her nervousness. He could identify with the feeling. He kept thinking she was still an Omsee student, and that he was breaking his ironclad rule against fraternizing with a coed, a rule he’d kept faithfully since he pledged himself to it. And not a day passed that he didn’t wish he’d had the rule on that fateful day long ago. The nightmare of that devastating experience still hounded his waking hours, haunted his nights. He’d given up the hope that it would ever leave him in peace.

"What I was hoping to find out," he continued, "was whether you had a steady boyfriend or were engaged?"

"I knew that." Nonchalantly she flipped her hair off her shoulder to cover her surprise. "I’m not…any of those things." She dared to meet his gaze. "How about you?"

Nicholas’s dark eyes twinkled, providing a delightful contrast to his solemn features. "The answer is no…to all the above," he said. "I haven’t yet found the girl of my dreams."

Oh, thank you, thank you, Lord! "And have you been searching long?"

"Oh, yes, a very long time." He gazed at Heather’s radiant face, and the warmth of her endearing smile was reflected in his coffee colored eyes. "I wonder…?" He thought for a moment, then made a decision. "I wonder, Heather Warren…" He took her hand. "Would you be interested in exploring a relationship with an older man?"

Heather stared at her hand in his. She stared, yet she had the most difficult time, stopping herself from looking over her shoulder to see the person to whom Nicholas was speaking. He wasn’t really talking to her, was he? she asked herself. Of course, he was, ninny! answered her heart. So be cool.

"How much older?"

"Oh, about seven years."

"That’s not older. That’s seasoned."

"Bless you." Nicholas kissed her fingers. When she didn’t answer his question, he asked again. "Well…are you?"

But Heather had become completely enamored by his smile. "You have the whitest teeth." She sighed, staring. "But then, you always did. I suppose they appear whiter now because of your black beard. When did you grow it?"

"Five years ago." He tapped her chin to get her attention. "You’re evading the question, my friend."

"Ah, there’s the missing ingredient. I knew something was awry."

Nicholas gave her a professorial glare that was awesome. "It was not a trick question."

"Do you mind?" She disconcerted him further when she stroked his whiskered cheek. "I know it wasn’t a trick question," she said tenderly. "What I meant was…"

For a moment she was totally bemused. Besotted might have been a better word. His beard felt soft and springy. He didn’t seem to mind her touching it, although her inner voice warned she had stepped beyond the boundaries of good taste and good sense. But she couldn’t help herself. She smoothed her hand along his square jaw, unyielding now, and succumbed to an added temptation. She traced his firm lips, then smiled whimsically when she saw how they parted and relaxed at her touch.

"There’s a step we need to take before we explore a relationship." She spoke more to herself, than to him. "First, we should be friends."

"I thought we already were…"

Distracted himself, Nicholas moistened his sensitized lips where Heather’s fingers had touched. Then his tongue tingled, too, so he licked his lips again before he finished his sentence. "…friends, I mean."

Heather’s gaze fastened onto Nicholas’s unconscious actions. She bit the corner of her lower lip so her purr of unwarranted excitement wouldn’t slip out. What in heaven’s name was happening to her? she wondered. Dazed, she continued to watch his mouth, hoping… She crossed her fingers behind her back and was rewarded for her faith in wishes — He licked his lips again! And it was just about the sexiest thing she’d ever witnessed.

She thought she must be flipping out for sure now. What kind of woman would become unhinged simply watching a man moisten his lips? A woman like Heather Warren, that’s who, counseled her heart. But only because the man was Nicholas McCord.

Nicholas thought Heather’s actions straightforward and delightful. She wanted to touch his beard so she asked permission…then didn’t bother to wait for his reply. But what the hell was she staring at? he wondered. Had he left some of his lunch in his whiskers? He was torn between an uneasy feeling about his appearance and a numbing frustration because she kept dodging his question. Dammit, he doubted she even heard him ask it. His ire started to rise, and he licked his lips before he spoke again.

A gentle, barely audible, sigh whispered forth from between Heather’s parted lips. Her blue-sky eyes turned smoky.

Well, I’ll be damned! Nicholas silently declared. He moistened his lips once more just to be sure his hunch was right. Then he almost laughed aloud at the ludicrous juxtaposition of their interests. While his blood pressure probably rose fifteen points because Heather wouldn’t answer his question, her concentration was welded to his mouth and the tip of his tongue. No wonder his lips tingled, he thought. Her smoldering look was enough to blister them.

"Heather?" Nicholas’s deep tone was now tempered by saintly patience. "Did you hear what I asked you?" He stroked her cheek with gentle fingers. "Heather?"

Heather blinked several times and felt foolish. "I’ve been daydreaming, Nicholas. I’m sorry."

"No need. I just wanted to know if we could be friends?"

Heather tipped her head to one side. There was an inquiring look in her eyes. "I thought we already were…" she began. "Didn’t you consider us friends when I was in school?"

Nicholas tucked a silken strand of Heather’s hair behind her ear as he smiled into her puzzled eyes. "Almost from the first day, little Heather." He paused. "Perhaps, from the first moment."

"Then I think that’s settled." She stuck out her hand. "Friends?"

He tugged gently on a lock of her hair, then took her hand in his. "Friends."

They gazed into each other’s eyes until Heather looked away and broke the spell. Silently, they walked to her car.

"You are staying on campus over the weekend, aren’t you?" Nicholas’s stomach knotted for fear she’d say she had to leave right away.

"Yes," she said while her mind continued to spin in an unfamiliar emotional whirlpool. "I’ve got to register before six or I’ll lose my room."

He exhaled and his stomach muscles relaxed again. "Good," he said with a smile. "I’ve an idea for later. Let’s go to the Hut for a pizza." He raised that quizzical brow and didn’t wait for her answer. "Maybe you’ll let me walk around inside your head for a few hours." He wore a droll smile. "I’d like to see how much of your literary sense you’ve retained."

"I accept your unique invitation, Nicholas. Thank you." Her gaze locked with his. "However, let me warn you, the challenge may be greater than you think. Just because I left school doesn’t mean I stopped studying." She matched his droll smile. "You may even stub your literary toe."

"I’ll wear my boots!" The anticipation of intellectual combat flashed in his dark eyes.

"I have a couple of errands to run," he said. Among them was a meeting with Gary Eagle so Nicholas could turn over his latest piece of evidence — a gory epistle received only this morning. "Shall I pick you up in an hour?"

"Sure, I think I can repair the ravages of time and travel in sixty minutes."

"I’d like to know you when you really are old and wrinkled."

Where the devil had that come from? Nicholas wondered. He could tell, his unexpected wish had taken her by surprise, too. Well, he’d better fix it…quick.

"But, we have decades and decades to wait, kiddo. I’m going to hobble on home now and pop double my usual allotment of vitamins." He gave her a naturally sexy wink. "I’m not used to walking on the wild side. See ya." Then he set off at a brisk pace, whistling a merry tune.

"A likely story!" Yet Heather felt like flying. She was going to have some fun for a change. And all because of a chance meeting. Or was it? Did anything ever happen by chance? she mused. Well, whatever the circumstances, she was finally ready to admit one thing. Over the years, she’d never quite gotten over the crush she’d had on Professor McCord, the teacher. And now, she was warmed by the knowledge that, in less than an hour, she would be spending the evening with Nicholas McCord, the man.

* * * *

The evening was an unqualified success. It had been all Heather hoped it would be. She and Nicholas feasted on pizza and talked until closing. The next day, he picked her up for breakfast, followed by several more hours of debate and spirited discussion until it was time for her to leave.

"Thanks for a lovely weekend, Nicholas." Heather’s smile was bittersweet. "I hate to leave."

"Then stay." Nicholas realized he was only half kidding. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such stimulating conversations with, not only an interesting, but a beautiful woman.

"Don’t tempt me, Professor." She sighed and glanced toward the sky. "One of my biggest regrets in life is that I never finished college."

"How many hours do you need?"

"Nine, I think."

"So come back and finish."

Heather began her reply with an unladylike snort of disbelief. "Sure, I’ll just quit my job, pack my bags, and hop right down here for the summer semester." She gave Nicholas a patronizing smile. "I appreciate your encouragement, but I don’t have enough money."

"Scholarships are available."

"For an ex-student?"

"For an ex-honor student."

"You’re kidding me."

"Come back next weekend and we’ll discuss it further."

Heather looked skeptical. "You’re putting me on."

Nicholas stuck his hands into the back pockets of his snug jeans and rocked back on the heels of his moccasin clad feet. "You’ll never know unless you make the trip."

"That sounds suspiciously like a dare." She peered into his dancing dark eyes. "Nicholas McCord, have you forgotten what can happen when someone places a dare before me?"

He shook his head and grinned as he fondly recalled the night Heather emptied a bottle of detergent into the fountain in front of Branson First National Bank. He’d never seen so many bubbles! "I haven’t forgotten, and I hope it’s a challenge you can’t refuse."

"Why?"

A pained look passed over Nicholas’s face and he groaned. "Aahh, as always, you strike directly to the heart of the matter, don’t you?"

"Well?"

"I want to see you again, Heather." He took her hand in his. "Come back next weekend. Please. There’s a concert I think you’ll enjoy."

Heather smiled dreamily and shrugged. "It’s as good an excuse as any, I guess."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I want to see you again, too, Nicholas. Thanks for the invitation."

"My pleasure, Heather. I’ll count the days."

 

"Well, I just lost three hours and missed one of my favorite soaps reading your wonderful story... I loved the story of Heather and Nicholas. And Ebon." Dottie

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