A Younger Man
She couldn’t argue with that. Her day started early and ended late, and, thanks to her deadbeat ex, she was not only the sole breadwinner, but also chief cook and bottlewasher, housekeeper, chauffeur, dragon slayer, crises solver, and entertainment director. She didn’t have trouble sleeping at the end of the day—she just collapsed from exhaustion. Even if Derek hadn’t totally put her off ever giving her heart to a man again, she didn’t know how she would have fit one into the crazy days that were her life. There just wasn’t time…especially now that she’d added college student to the many hats she wore.
She’d waited a long time for this day, she reminded herself grimly, as Maxwell Sullivan turned the conversation to the topics he would be covering over the course of the semester, the term paper that would count for twenty-five percent of their grade, and the dig they were all required to go on over the Thanksgiving holiday. The only reason she was here was to get an education.
Quickly grabbing a pen from her purse, she opened a spiral notebook and began taking notes. Diligently, she wrote down every word. She didn’t have to look around to know that she was eighteen years older than the majority of the students, and she readily admitted that she was more than a little intimidated. How was she going to keep up? Most of her classmates had just graduated from high school a few months ago, and their study habits were as fresh in their minds as the memories of their senior prom. She, on the other hand, didn’t even remember how to study. What, she wondered, trying not to panic, was she doing here?
Watching her from the corner of his eye as he discussed some of the well-known historical digs he’d been on, Max reminded himself that he wasn’t the kind of teacher who allowed himself to become interested in his female students. Not only did the administration frown on it, but he didn’t want or need the complication. So why the devil was Natalie Bailey so distracting? It wasn’t as if she was trying to attract his attention. Most of the time her head was bent over her notes. She hardly looked up at all, and when she did, it was obvious that she was totally focused on his lecture. He should have been thankful for that. Instead he found himself wishing she’d look up and smile at him. What was going on here?
Losing his place in his lecture—something that rarely happened—he frowned and quickly got himself back on track…but not for long. He turned to pull down a map of ancient Egypt, and there she was again, right in his line of vision. He hadn’t been lying earlier when he’d told her that her archeology professor was partial to redheads. He was—he readily admitted it. She’d twisted her dark-auburn curls up on her head, exposing the tempting lines of her throat, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. She wasn’t the kind of woman he would have called beautiful—with her quick flash of dimples, pert nose, and petite five-foot-two figure, she looked more like the girl next door.
But there was more to her than that. There was that stubborn chin that would challenge a man at every turn and the wariness that peeked out of her midnight-blue eyes. An interesting combination, he thought, intrigued. He’d seen her quick smile, the humor that danced in her eyes…and how quickly she stepped back from that. He would bet there’d been a time in her life when she’d been a lot more spontaneous than she allowed herself to be now. What had happened to change that? When had life taught her to be a more cautious soul? What was her story?
Suddenly realizing where his thoughts had wandered, he swore silently and did some mental backpedaling himself. What the devil was he doing? If she was unusually distracting, it was only because she was so different from the female students he usually dealt with, he reasoned. They were too young and flighty, too eager to fall in love and live happily ever after. There was nothing flighty about the conscientious Ms. Bailey. She had a maturity about her that the rest of her eighteen-year-old classmates lacked, and she had no idea how refreshing that was. How old was she? Thirty? Older? Was she married? Divorced? What had she been doing since high school?
Whatever it was, he sincerely doubted that she’d spent any time in college—otherwise, she would have known it wasn’t necessary for her to write down every word he said. And that could present a problem for her, he realized, frowning. He was a tough teacher—he readily admitted it. His tests were fill-in-the-blank and essays and difficult for students fresh out of high school. Anyone who hadn’t been in school in years would, no doubt, have a difficult time passing his class. If Natalie didn’t want to find herself in trouble, she was really going to have to stay on top of things from day one.
Concerned—in spite of the fact that he demanded a lot of his students, he didn’t enjoy it when they failed—he finished his lecture with an assignment. “Read the first two chapters before Wednesday,” he said as the bell rang. “Oh, and Ms. Bailey, can you stay for a moment? I need to talk to you, if you have a minute.”
He wasn’t surprised when she hesitated. He’d flirted outrageously with her when he’d stopped to change her flat for her. He obviously had some fences to repair.
Silence fell like a stone when the last student filed out of the classroom, leaving the two of them alone. She still stood at her desk, facing him from halfway across the room. “I hope you realize I was only teasing earlier,” he said. “At first I didn’t realize you were one of my students. If I made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry. That certainly wasn’t my intention.”
Heat climbed into her cheeks, but she met his gaze squarely. “You really should have told me who you were.”
He couldn’t argue with that. The second she’d told him she was late for his class, he should have identified himself. And he certainly shouldn’t have asked her out. That was a temporary loss of judgment. Aside from the fact that he didn’t date his students, just last week, he’d sworn he was through with women. Everyone he’d dated in the past six months was looking for a husband, and he wasn’t going there. Not after watching his father walk down the aisle, then into divorce court, more times than he could remember. From what he had seen, marriage only ruined the romance and made people who had once loved each other despise each other. He wanted no part of it.
So why was he so drawn to her? he wondered. He only had to remember the way she’d tried to give him the brush-off when he’d stopped to help her. He’d always liked smart, independent women who could take care of themselves. And even though he knew nothing about her except that she knew how to change a flat—once the lug nuts were out of the way—he didn’t doubt for a moment that Natalie Bailey didn’t need a man to lean on to get through life. That was the only reason he needed to avoid her like the plague.
“You were already upset about being late for class,” he told her, dragging his attention back to the conversation. “I didn’t want to upset you further by telling you who I was. I was afraid you’d be embarrassed.”
That sounded good, but Natalie was the mother of twin boys and she knew a line of bull when she heard one. Her lips threatened to curl into a smile. “That sounds like something my sons would say.”
So she had sons. He grinned. “You’re not buying it, huh?”
“What do you think?”
“Damn. And I thought I was being so clever.” His smile fading, he walked across the room and held out his hand to her. “Let’s start over. I’m Maxwell Sullivan. It’s nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy the class.”
The simple gesture—and the sincerity in his direct blue gaze—charmed her as nothing else could, and the smile that she’d been trying to hold back tugged free. “I’m looking forward to it.”
She placed her hand in his, only to frown in confusion when his fingers closed around hers. There was something so right about the feel of her hand in his. Almost as if he’d touched her a thousand times before, she thought, shaken. But how could that be? She’d never laid eyes on him before today. What was going on?
The thunder of her heartbeat loud in her ears, she eased her hand free and stubbornly, quietly, reminded herself why she was there. “I’ve waited a long time to go to college,” she said huskily. “I just hope I can handle it.”
“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” he replied. “Don’t take this wrong, but you’re obviously older than the rest of the class. How long has it been since you’ve been in school?”
She wasn’t ashamed of her age. “Eighteen years,” she said with a wry smile. “Better late than never.”
“It’s like riding a bicycle,” he assured her. “You may be a little shaky at first, but it won’t take you long to get back into the swing of things.”
“I’m worried about the term paper,” she admitted. “I don’t even remember how to write a footnote.”
“You’re not alone,” he said. “If you asked the rest of the class, they’d probably say the same thing, and they just graduated from high school last year. Don’t worry—I’ve got a whole list of books that will help you with your paper. I’ll bring it to class on Wednesday. If you need any other help, just let me know. Okay?”
His blue eyes were direct and sincere, and there was no sign of the flirtatious biker who’d asked her out when he’d stopped and changed her flat for her. Relieved, she appreciated his professionalism. But a few minutes later, as she thanked him and turned to leave, she couldn’t forget the way her heart had jumped when his hand had closed around hers.
“Don’t be an idiot,” she muttered to herself as she hurried to her next class. “He’s still a baby. So what if he looks like Lancelot on a motorcycle? Hello? He’s your teacher! And you’ve got enough on your plate with school and the boys and your job—you don’t need a man!”
Deliberately pushing the memory of Max Sullivan’s twinkling eyes from her head, she was determined not to give the man a second thought the rest of the day. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as easily dismissed from her mind. As she headed to her next class, she found herself comparing him to every man she passed on the street. They all came up short.
Chapter 2
Staring at his computer screen, Max read the only line he’d written in the past hour, then swore softly. It was stiff and awkward and hardly the work of a writer who’d made the New York Times’ Bestseller List with his first two books. And to make matters worse, he couldn’t think of a single way to improve what he’d written. He didn’t mind admitting he was worried.
Starting the fall term was always stressful, he reminded himself. There were meetings, university functions he was required to attend, and this year the administration had added two more classes to his workload. And he had no one to blame but himself. Because of the success of his books and his rapport with the students, his classes were in hot demand. Normally he would have been flattered by all the attention, but he was on a short deadline with his next book and getting nowhere fast. He’d be okay once everything settled down.
“Yeah, right,” he muttered to himself as he leaned back in his chair in disgust. “And if you believe that one, you might as well write a letter to Santa and ask him to give you a finished manuscript. At this rate that’s the only way you’re going to make your deadline.”
The phone rang, and he welcomed the reprieve. Snatching it up, he growled, “Sullivan.”
“Well, I guess I don’t have to ask if you’re having a good day,” his father said dryly. “What’s got your shorts in a knot? One of your girlfriends giving you trouble?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend, Dad.”
“Ah, so that’s the problem. You should have told me. I could have made some calls for you.”
Max swallowed a groan at the thought. He didn’t doubt that there were any number of women his father could call—he’d been married eight damn times and had, no doubt, probably dated every woman in town over the age of thirty-five! Which was exactly why his old man was the last person he’d call for advice on women.
“Thanks, Dad, but meeting women isn’t the problem. I can get my own dates.” Absently glancing at the clock on the wall directly across from his desk, he frowned. “Hey, wait a minute. You and Joanna were scheduled to leave for Las Vegas this morning, weren’t you?”
“We decided not to go.”
“Not to go!” he repeated, surprised. “But you already have your tickets. And you love Vegas! The last time I went there with you, I had to pry you away from the tables with a crowbar. What’s going on? Are you okay?”
For a long moment his father didn’t say a word. And in the silence of his hesitation, Max knew what he was going to say before his next words ever left his mouth. “We’re getting a divorce.”
“Dammit, Dad!”
“There’s no use getting upset about it,” his father grumbled. “Some things just aren’t meant to be.”
“Yeah, and they all have a name,” he retorted. “Susan, Karen, Bridgett, Laura… Shall I go on?”
“I don’t regret a single one of my marriages,” John Sullivan said stiffly. “I loved every one of my wives.”
“You just couldn’t stay married to them. I thought Joanna was the love of your life. Of course, that’s what you said about Cathy and Tanya and—”
“I was hoping for a little sympathy. This isn’t easy for me, you know. Just because this is my eighth divorce doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”
“I know that, Dad.” He sighed, guilt tugging at him at his father’s wounded tone. “I know how crazy you were about Joanna. What happened?”
“She thinks I’m having an affair.”
“And are you?”
“Of course not!” he said indignantly. “I’ve never cheated on any of my wives. I would think you’d know that about me.”
Now he’d hurt his feelings. Swearing under his breath, he reminded himself that his father really was hurting. “I’m sorry, Dad,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t faithful. I just don’t understand why you keep doing this to yourself.”
“What? Getting married…or divorced?”
“Both! You’re too old for this.” He knew his father didn’t want to hear anything negative when he was already down, but Max had held his tongue for too long. “The world’s changed, Dad. It’s not like it was when you and Mom were young. You don’t have to marry every woman you want to sleep with.”
“Watch it,” John Sullivan warned. “You’re starting to sound like a cynic.”
“Because I don’t put myself through the torture that you do?” he retorted. “C’mon, Dad! There’s nothing wrong with enjoying a woman, then letting her go. You don’t have to complicate your life by marrying her.”
“You’re talking about sex,” his father said flatly.
Max didn’t deny it. “You’re damn straight. And what’s wrong with that?”
“Because there’s more to life than sex,” the older man said indignantly.
Max winced. “There you go again—talking about love. It doesn’t exist, Dad. Haven’t you figured that out? That’s why marriage doesn’t work. You let your raging hormones convince you you’ve found your soul mate, and while you’re under the influence, you make everything nice and legal. Then the magic wears off and you lose half of everything to a woman you no longer ‘love.’ You’ve got to stop this.”
He was truly worried about his father, but he might as well have saved his breath. John Sullivan had always been an eternal optimist, and if eight failed marriages couldn’t change that, than nothing else could. “You’re the one who needs to stop the way you’re living, son. What are you now…twenty-six?”
“Twenty-eight,” he said dryly.
“Almost thirty,” his father said. “And you’ve never had a serious relationship, never fallen in love. And that worries me. If you keep this up, you’re going to miss out on what life is all about. And I don’t want to hear that malarkey about love being nothing more than raging hormones. If you’d ever been in love, you would know that it’s a hell of a lot more than that. It’s finding someone you can share not just your bed with but your life. Aren’t you lonely?”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Max said quickly. “You’re not going to turn this around and make it all about me. I’m perfectly happy with my life, thank you very much. Let’s stick to the subject—you.”
Far from offended, John Sullivan only laughed. “A bit touchy, are we? What’s the matter? Did I hit a nerve?”
“Dad, I’m warning you!”
“Just think over what I said,” he said, sobering. “Okay?”
“If you’ll do the same,” Max replied. “I mean it. I’m worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine,” his father assured him gruffly. “I just need some time.”
“Let’s have dinner next week,” he suggested, frowning. “We’ll go to Pete’s and have some ribs. I’ll take you for your birthday.”
“Hey, that sounds good. I can’t remember the last time I went to Pete’s.”
Not surprised that he’d jumped at the offer—his father had been going to Pete’s for ribs since before he was born—Max grinned. “I’ll see you Wednesday, then. Are you still at the apartment?”
Just that easily the conversation returned to the divorce. John Sullivan’s sigh carried easily across the phone line. “Yeah, but it just doesn’t seem the same without Joanna. She’s moved in with her daughter.”
“It’ll take time, Dad,” Max said quietly. “Try not to let it get you down.”
As he hung up, however, Max knew his father was hurting. He was a sensitive man who didn’t handle rejection—or divorce—well. He always moped around, stuck close to the house and generally felt sorry for himself for at least a month. Then—just when it seemed like he would never smile again—he would meet someone and the roller-coaster ride would start all over again.
If it would just end there, Max thought as he returned his attention to his writing, there would be nothing to worry about. But it was only a matter of time before his father planned his next proposal—he couldn’t seem to help himself.
Just thinking about it made Max groan. Returning his attention to his writing, he tried to dismiss his father’s troubles from his mind but without much success. When the phone rang again twenty minutes later, he hadn’t written a single word.
Irritated with himself, he reached for the phone. “Yes?”
“Uh-oh, I don’t like the sound of that. I take it you’re still having problems.”
At the sound of his editor’s voice, a reluctant grin curled the corners of Max’s mouth. “How’d you guess?”
“You sound just a little bit testy,” Katherine Stevens replied. “Have you pulled all your hair out yet?”
“Not yet,” he said, “but I’m considering it. How’d you know I needed to talk to you?”
“I’m psychic when it comes to my authors. What chapter are you on?”
He hesitated, but she would have to know sooner or later. “Two.”
Even though she didn’t say a word, he could almost hear her wince. Finally, quietly, she said, “You know you’re trying too hard, don’t you? You don’t need to put all this pressure on yourself. If you’d just let me reset the pub date, everything would be fine.”
“I can do this.”
“I don’t doubt it,” she agreed, “but the point is you don’t need to. Ed understands that our authors don’t live in a vacuum. Life happens. We have to be adjustable.”
Ed Quinn was the sole owner and publisher of St. John’s Press. Max had met him after his first book made the Times list, and he had to admit that Ed went out of his way to work with his authors. Max just hated to ask for extra time for writer’s block, of all things. He’d never had this kind of problem before, and he didn’t like it, dammit!
“Don’t make any changes in the pub date just yet,” he said gruffly. “I may still be able to make it.”
“You just need to lighten up,” she assured him.
“How? I’ve tried everything short of standing on my head.”
“Let’s go to dinner tomorrow night and talk about it.”
“Tomorrow? Are you in town?”
“I will be tomorrow,” she said with a chuckle. “Right now I’m in Denver for a conference. I thought I’d rent a car and drive up to see you tomorrow afternoon. If you’re free, of course.”
“Of course I’m free. Why don’t you meet me here at my office? When you come into town, turn right on University Avenue and it’ll take you straight to Old Main. There’s visitor parking out front. I’m in 204.”
“I should be there by five,” she replied. “Send out the cavalry if I’m not. My sense of direction stinks.”
“Don’t worry.” He laughed. “It’s almost impossible to get lost between here and Denver. There’s only one road and it goes straight to Eagle Creek.”
“Trust me—you haven’t seen me with a map.”
Laughing, she hung up, and for a moment Max found himself grinning at his computer screen. Katherine was a saint—and a hell of a good editor. If anyone could walk him through writer’s block—and he still wasn’t convinced that was possible—it was Katherine Stevens. Lighten up, she’d said. It sounded easy, but as he studied the single line he’d written in Chapter Two, his stomach knotted with tension. So much for lightening up, he thought grimly.
When Natalie’s alarm went off the next morning, she blindly slapped at the snooze button and found it without lifting her head from the pillow. It couldn’t be six-thirty already, she thought groggily. She’d just gone to bed at…what? Three?
She groaned at the thought. No wonder she was exhausted! She’d been working on her homework for all her classes, trying to get ahead of the game before she found herself behind. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but she’d never dreamed it would take so long just to read three different homework assignments and go over her class notes. And that was after only the first day of classes! How was she going to keep up the pace all semester when she had projects to do, papers to write, the boys to take care of, and she worked four days a week? She could forget snoozing five extra minutes in the morning, that was for sure. She didn’t have time!
Jumping out of bed, she hurriedly dressed, then woke the boys. Then the fun began.
“I don’t want to wear that. It itches!”
“That’s my shirt! Mom! Tommy has my shirt!”
Playing peacemaker, aware of every tick of the clock, she separated them, found shirts that didn’t itch and belonged to the right boy, then rushed to the kitchen to pop some waffles in the toaster. When the boys straggled in a few minutes later, she had everything ready. “As soon as you’re finished, put your plates in the sink and go brush your teeth while I put on my makeup,” she told them. “No playing around, guys. We can’t be late again this morning.”
Everything should have gone smoothly—she’d even poured the syrup, so all the boys had to do was sit down and eat. But she’d just smoothed foundation onto her cheeks when she heard a crash in the kitchen and one of the boys yelled, “Mom! Bongo ate my waffles and knocked over the trash can!”
“What?” Dropping her makeup, she rushed into the kitchen. “No, Bongo! Down!”
Too late. Bongo jumped up, planted his large, damp paws on her chest, and greeted her with a wet, sticky kiss. “Woof!”
“Oh, you bad dog! Down! Who let you in?” She shot a stern look at her five-year-olds, but she might as well have saved herself the trouble. They giggled in unison, and she couldn’t hold her frown. “Scamps! What am I going to do with you?”
“Take us to McDonald’s,” Harry suggested, mischief dancing in his eyes.
“Pleeese, Mom,” Tommy entreated, turning his mouth down into a sad little smile. “We didn’t get breakfast. We’re hungry.”
“Why do I have the feeling I’ve just been scammed?” When they just grinned, she laughed and ruffled their hair. “Okay, we’ll go through the drive-through—this time. Let me change.”
She was five minutes behind schedule by the time she changed and got the boys and their backpacks loaded in the car. When she pulled into the McDonald’s parking lot and zipped around to the drive-through, she knew it was going to be another one of those days when nothing went right. There were five cars ahead of her.
If she’d just had herself to worry about, she would have skipped breakfast, but the boys couldn’t go all morning at school without something to eat. Resigned, she got in line.