quarter.
“I’m fine,” Thomasina had said. “Just thinking about how to motivate my students. Not too many of them are actually interested in history.”
And today during the morning classes, she had been as disinterested in the rise and fall of the Roman Empire as her students had been. She’d caught herself daydreaming more than once, and for the past thirty minutes, she had practically counted the minutes until her midday break. When the class ended, she grabbed the sack lunch she’d brought, rushed out of her building and headed straight toward the arts department. If she didn’t catch a glimpse of Brandon, she could walk casually by his office, which was adjacent to the art studio. And if anyone asked her what she was doing there, she had the perfect excuse. The students’ artwork was on display for the entire month of July. Sketches, paintings, sculptures.
As nervous as a thirteen-year-old on her first date, Thomasina made her way down the corridor toward the studio. The door stood wide open, so she simply paused and glanced inside, doing her best to act nonchalantly. The studio was empty. A couple of students passed by and spoke. She smiled at them, nodded and walked past Brandon’s office. The door was closed. Approaching the door cautiously, not wanting anyone to realize that she was checking to see if Dr. Kelley was in, she eased over to the closed door and listened. Nothing. Not a sound. But he could be in there, eating quietly or reading or just resting.
Why don’t you knock on the door and say hello? Tell him you came over to look at the students’ artwork. But if she did that, would she appear too eager? Would her making the next move be appropriate or would he prefer for her to wait for him to take things to the next level?
But she didn’t want to wait, was tired of waiting. She wanted to hurry things up just a little, to at least reach the point where they acknowledged the fact that they had a relationship.
Garnering all her courage, Thomasina curled her hand into a fist, reached up and knocked on the door. Her heartbeat thundered maddeningly in her ears.
No response.
She knocked again. A little harder and for twice as long.
“He’s not there,” a familiar male voice said.
Sucking in a deep breath, Thomasina turned and faced Scotty Joe Walters with a smile. The handsome young deputy was in charge of the Drug Abuse Resistance Education. programs in the Adams County schools and assisted with the neighborhood watch programs and the senior citizens programs such as T.R.I.A.D. The junior college provided the sheriff’s department with a storage area for books, booklets, pamphlets, and other items used with the various programs and they also allowed the sheriff’s department to use their auditorium facilities for various group meetings and events. Scotty Joe was such a familiar face around Adams County Junior College that he seemed like a member of the staff. Everyone liked the good-looking deputy. The guy was always friendly and cordial, and he had the kind of gentlemanly manners every mother wished her son had. She wasn’t sure how old he was. Mid-to-late twenties would be her guess.
“I beg your pardon?” Thomasina acted innocent, as if she had no idea what he’d meant.
“Dr. Kelley. He’s not in his office,” Scotty Joe said. “You were looking for him, weren’t you?”
“Well, actually, I came over to take a look at the student art that’s being displayed this month and I just thought I’d say hi to Brandon while I’m in his building.”
“You just missed him. Robyn Granger picked him up in her snazzy little yellow sports car. I figure they’re headed out somewhere for lunch.”
“Oh.” Please, dear God, don’t let what I’m feeling show on my face. Don’t let Scotty Joe figure out that I’m hurt and disappointed and on the verge of bursting into tears.
“Hey, you okay, Thomasina? You look sort of green or something.”
“It’s nothing. I didn’t eat breakfast and I guess I’m just hungry,” she lied as she held the tears at bay.
“Is that your lunch you’ve got with you?” He eyed the small brown paper bag she held so tightly that her nails bit into the flesh of her palm.
Easing her death grip on the bag, she nodded, but heaven help her, she couldn’t respond verbally because she was choking down her on-the-verge-of-erupting tears.
“I brought my lunch, too,” he said. “Bologna sandwich, dill pickles, a bag of chips, and a couple of brownies from Cummings Bakery.” He held up his brown paper bag, which was twice the size of hers since hers contained only a banana and a bag filled with carrot sticks, raw broccoli, and raw cauliflower. “Want to join me? We could get a couple of Cokes from the machine down the hall, then go out to the gazebo and share our lunches.”
The tears Thomasina had been struggling to control suddenly broke free and trickled from her eyes and down her cheeks.
“Hey, gal, don’t do that.” He reached out as if he was going to touch her, but let his hand hang there in midair. “Don’t waste your tears on him. He’s not worth it.”
As the tears seeped into the edges of her mouth, she sucked in a deep breath, then bit down on her bottom lip to keep from crying out loud.
Scotty Joe opened his lunch sack and pulled out a paper napkin, then held it out to her. “Here, dry your eyes. You don’t want somebody seeing you like this. It would be all over school by the end of the day.”
She grabbed the napkin and dried her eyes. “What—what would be all over school?” she asked as she looked right at him and saw pity and concern in his big blue eyes.
He shook his head. “Nothing. Don’t pay any attention to me.”
“It’s not what you think.” She patted her damp face, then crushed the napkin into her fist and searched Scotty Joe’s face again. “I’m not one of Brandon’s girls, one of his women.”
Scotty Joe grinned from ear to ear. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. You’re far too good for him, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“You don’t like Brandon?”
“It’s not that I don’t like him.” Scotty Joe’s tanned cheeks flushed. “I guess it’s just that I think it’s downright wrong of him to take advantage of the girls he teaches and of women in general.” Scotty Joe hung his head shyly.
“If that offer to share our lunches is still open, I’d like to take you up on it.” Thomasina managed a weak smile.
“You bet it is,” Scotty Joe told her. “And the Cokes are on me.”
Charlie Patterson laid the preliminary reports down on Jim’s desk, then took a seat in one of the old vinyl and metal chairs in front of the desk. Looking like a man who hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, Charlie had arrived from Huntsville fifteen minutes ago, while Jim had been out for lunch. He’d gone with Ron Hensley and John Downs to Methel’s for the Monday special—meatloaf, creamed potatoes, green peas, and homemade rolls—topped off with banana pudding, which was almost as popular as the restaurant’s peach cobbler. When they arrived back at the office, he’d found Charlie sharing coffee and chocolate chip muffins from Cummings Bakery with Lieutenant Hoyt Moses.
“I called Bernie’s office and left a message for her to come on over,” Charlie said. “No point in going over everything now and then again with her.”
“Wish I could hang around,” Downs said. “But I’m due in court at one-thirty. I have to testify in the trial about that big marijuana bust we made back last fall.”
Jim nodded, then glanced at Hensley. “Bring in another chair. We’ll be one short when Bernie gets here.”
“She’s here,” Bernie said from the doorway.
Jim looked up from where he sat behind his desk and motioned for her to come into his office. Downs paused to say hello to Bernie on his way out and Hensley spoke to her as he