A heavy knock sounded at the door.
“Alisha. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”
It was Denton, barking orders in a voice so unlike the soft-spoken one he’d used at the hospital to schmooze the staff.
I looked in the mirror one last time, helpless to do anything about my appearance.
I shrugged at myself in apology. “Coming,” I called.
With one arm working and the other too tender to be of much use, I slithered into my Levis, and topped them with a five-dollar tee in blaze orange. The jeans fell a tad on the short side. I managed to roll up the bottoms a few turns, making them into pedal pushers, my cure for everything that landed at or above my ankles. I checked my trim silhouette in the mirror and raked fingers through my hair, having no choice but to leave it down. There was no getting around the fact that ponytail holders required two operating arms. I gave the overall look a thumbs-up, grateful I didn’t know a soul west of the Mississippi.
The hall was empty. I made my way past closed doors painted white and trimmed with gold leaf, then down the sweeping staircase to the kitchen, where Ms. Fussy-britches busily buffed the stovetop with a white cloth.
“Good morning,” she said with her lilting Irish accent. “Morning,” I returned in my strictly Midwestern one. “I’m just going to grab a quick bowl of cereal.” I paused, nervous my words may have offended her. “If that’s okay,” I added.
“Cereal is next to the icebox. And you already know where the bowls are.” Her cloth never missed a motion. I got busy with my breakfast, unable to shake the feeling that evil hate-beams radiated from the direction of the oven. Through the crunching of all-natural granola, I could hear Ms. Rigg’s cloth making meaningful swoops across the surface, first quiet, then faster and louder as the cotton caught the ring around a burner and banged at it over and over, as if determined to make the metal pay for my sins.
I forced down the last swallow. Without a word, I rinsed my bowl and squirted it with dish soap.
“Leave that for me,” the drill sergeant commanded. Her cloth screeched to a halt.
My hands froze in place.
“I’m the only one who’ll be doing the dishes around this house.” Alexa Rigg’s face torqued into an angry scowl. “Can’t say what you hope to gain at Cliffhouse. But whatever it is, you’ll not be gaining it at my expense.”
At the threat in her voice, I backed away from the sink, scrounged up a paper towel to dry my hands, and hightailed it out of enemy territory, abandoning the thought of a cup of coffee.
I found Denton in the dining room, swigging down his last drop of caffeine. He stood as I entered. His white hair was combed neatly to one side. He must have popped in contacts. And his shirt, tie, and slacks actually matched.
“What’s going on?” I asked, unnerved by his transformation from Mr. Dweeb to Mr. Ooh La La.
He looked at his wristwatch. “Time to go.”
I ran to keep up with him as he swooped to the portico and started the rental car.
I slid into the passenger seat, nursing a tender bicep under day-old bandages. He turned the car around and headed down the driveway. At the bottom of the hill, he stopped for traffic.
“Do you smell that?” Denton wrinkled up his nose and took a few whiffs. “Is that you?”
“Pardon me?” I didn’t like the new, debonair Denton. At least Dweeby Denton had manners.
“I’m sorry, but it smells like body odor in here.”
Blood rushed to my face. I hadn’t taken a shower since yesterday before dawn and hadn’t had a change of clothes in three days. On top of it, my overworked bandage carried a salty aroma this morning. But come on, I couldn’t reek that bad. I subtly aimed my nose toward my armpit.
I cleared my throat. “It’s not as if I have a change of clothes or the stuff to take a shower, you know. I don’t have two nickels to rub together yet.”
“And when do you plan to have those two nickels? A week from now when I couldn’t even ride in the same car with you?”
He pulled onto the main road.
My jaw dropped. “How rude. Stop the car. I’m getting out.”
He kept driving.
We neared a three-way stop. Straight ahead, the road followed the cliff’s edge along the coast. The fork to the right led up a hill toward civilization. One phone call from the McDonald’s we’d passed on the way in last night and I could escape this isolated promontory. I grabbed my emergency escape handle.
His voice softened. “That was not meant as an affront. I feel that if a person needs help, she should ask for it. You probably don’t even realize you are behaving like Ms. Rigg.”
I stiffened, surprised at his observation. Ms. Rigg was the last person I wanted to pattern my life after. I blew out a breath. “Where are we going, anyway?” When the professor had knocked on my door this morning, I’d assumed he’d be taking me to the restoration project Brad had mentioned. Now, I eyed Denton’s dress clothes, wondering why I hadn’t questioned him earlier.
“I am going to teach. You are going to meet with the Dean of Admissions at Del Gloria College. Summer classes have already started, but I’ve arranged a late enrollment.”
My mouth gaped. “Me enroll in college? Are you crazy?” My last attempt at a bachelor’s degree ended when I’d been thrown in the slammer. With the recent drama in my life, I wasn’t sure I was ready to take another stab at it.
“Tish-isn’t that what Brad called you?” Denton asked.
I bristled to hear him use my nickname. He hadn’t earned that right. I nodded my acknowledgment.
“Then, Tish, let me put things in simple terms. You don’t have a choice.” He punctuated each word.
Waves of rebellion swept through me at his attempted coup. Apparently, with my current situation, Denton figured he owned me.
My teeth clamped in defiance. With no options coming to mind, I’d have to make the best of things until I could get out of Dodge. Anyway, what could it hurt to take a few classes? Hadn’t I always wanted to finish college?
I gave a sigh of reluctance. “Fine,” I said, crossing my arms. “I’ll go.”
3
Denton nodded his approval. “Wise choice.”
The car accelerated.
I glared his way. “You said I didn’t have a choice.”
“Then see what a good decision you made? Now you don’t have to be angry with me for making you do something you didn’t want to do.”
My jaw wiggled back and forth. With a course of action set, I thought ahead to my admissions meeting. “I take it I should clean up a little before my interview.”
“Another good decision.”
I flicked a wrist toward my stale clothing. “I don’t have anything to wear. And I’m going to need a shower.”
He looked over at me as if waiting for something, then went back to driving.
I studied his profile as we drove past homes converted into law firms and dentist offices. Without his chunky glasses, Denton was actually quite handsome. He’d trimmed his moustache to a slim white line. A few errant curls above his ears added a dash of mystery. His shoulders were pulled back in proud posture, completely opposite the slouchy sag he’d carried on the drive from Minnesota. If the guy hadn’t been in his sixties, I’d have sworn I was attracted to him.
“I suggest you take a shower and change your clothes if that’s what you need to do,” he finally answered, taking a left past the McDonald’s at the Welcome to Del Gloria sign.
The road widened into a highway, and a minute later we left the town behind and drove along a flat, open
