The Virgin Mistress (11 page)

If she'd hoped to touch his heart, she'd wasted her breath. His blue eyes were as cold as stone behind the lenses of his glasses. “This isn't about the students, Miss Powell. It's about the parents and what one of them would think if they walked through the front door and heard the raucous noise coming from your classroom.
I
would be questioned about what kind of school
I
was running, and that, by God, isn't going to happen. And do you know why, Miss Powell? Because you're going to shut that damn game down immediately, or I'm going to do it for you. Do I make myself understood?”

He left her no choice. Fighting tears, she nodded stiffly. “Yes, sir.”

 

Watching the light go out of Josh Kitchen's eyes was the most difficult thing Rebecca had ever done in her life. Hours later, she still wanted to cry just at the thought of it. Under the watchful eye of Mr. Foster, she'd been left with no choice but to tell her students that they had to put the penguins away because it was time to study something else. The collective look of betrayal they'd sent her would go with her to her grave.

Sick at heart, she placed the chicken salad she'd made for supper in the refrigerator, unable to eat a bite of it. And it was all Richard Foster's fault. She'd thought she knew him, but she'd never seen him act so cold and unfeeling. Okay, so he was having a rough time with the divorce. She sympathized with that, but once he walked through the front door of the school, he was an educator,
and that took precedence over his private life. How could he care so little about the students?

After school, she'd wanted nothing more than to storm into his office to tell him exactly what she thought of him, but she hadn't, of course. How could she? They might be friends, but he wouldn't take that from anyone. So she'd bitten her tongue, instead, and now her silence was eating at her like a cancer. She should have done something!

Lost in her misery, she didn't hear the soft knock at her front door. Then the doorbell rang. The last thing she wanted was company, but she couldn't pretend she wasn't home, not when the lights were on and her car was parked in front of her apartment. Resigned, she went to answer the door. When she spied Austin through the peephole, she almost cried. How had he known she needed to see him?

A wobbly smile springing to her mouth, she pulled open the door. “Austin! I didn't expect to see you tonight.”

“I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop by and see how the kids liked the penguins,” he said easily as he stepped inside. Then his eyes met hers and he frowned. “What's wrong?”

She hadn't meant to tell him—Richard was her problem and she'd find a way to deal with him—but he'd caught her at a vulnerable moment. Her eyes stung with tears. “The kids loved them,” she said huskily. “Mr. Foster didn't.”

She told him what happened then, and even though she hated what her boss had done, she bent over backward to be understanding. “He's having a rough time right now. He and his wife are divorcing after seventeen years of marriage, and he's not handling it well. I guess it was just
dumb luck that he was having a bad day the same day my students wanted to have a good time.”

“I don't know that I'd call it dumb luck,” Austin retorted. “The man sounds like a jackass. He's a professional. He should know better than to take his rotten mood out on others, especially kids. And I bet the school board would agree with me.”

“You're not going to call and report this, are you?” she asked, alarmed. “Please, Austin, don't. Everyone's entitled to a mistake. And I did let things get out of hand. The kids can have a good time without getting loud. I should have quieted them.”

Austin sincerely doubted that she'd been negligent in keeping her classroom under control. She obviously didn't want to get Foster in trouble, and he supposed he couldn't blame her. The worst the principal would receive was a slap on the wrist if he was turned in, and he would know who to blame for that—Rebecca. And paybacks could be hell. If he wanted to, he could make her life at work miserable.

“I think you're being too hard on yourself,” he retorted, “but I'm not going to turn the bastard in. That would just create more problems for you. Just avoid him when you can, and try to be polite when you can't. As soon as his divorce is over, things are bound to get better.”

Nodding, Rebecca hoped so, but she wasn't holding her breath. He had always been so devoted to Sylvia—losing her wasn't something he was going to get over anytime soon. If she was lucky, he might be acting like a decent human being again by
next
summer. Just thinking about it made her groan. How was she going to stand another year of this? Unless she wanted to look for another job—which she didn't—she didn't have much choice.

O
ver the course of the next week, Rebecca tried to put the incident with Richard behind her, but it wasn't easy. The students kept asking her when they were going to play the penguin game again, and she had a difficult time coming up with an excuse that made sense even to her own ears. She put it away in her classroom closet, but one of the girls found it, and in self-defense, she finally took it home and destroyed it.

That should have made things easier—once it was out of sight, the children eventually let the subject drop. But that didn't help her forget the incident. Every time she saw Richard in the hall, every time she was forced to speak to him, the scene replayed itself in her mind and she got angry all over again.

There had been a time when she'd considered him one of the best administrators she'd ever worked with. He'd always been a strong advocate of discipline, but he'd had
a soft spot where the students were concerned, and they'd loved him. Not anymore. They kept their distance, and behind his back, they'd started to refer to him as the old goat. Rebecca couldn't blame them. He walked around the school with a scowl on his face and growled at anyone who showed the least spark of life. The students had begun to scurry for cover whenever they saw him walking down the hall.

It wasn't just the students he was having a difficult time with. The tension between him and the staff was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. But Rebecca couldn't help noticing that it was his animosity toward her that seemed to be particularly strong. And she didn't know why. They'd always been friends, and before he and Sylvia started divorce proceedings, Rebecca had frequently been invited to their home for dinner. But now, he looked at her like he couldn't stand her, and every time he turned his hard gaze on her, she wanted to disappear right into the woodwork.

Although she tried to keep her distance from him, the situation was getting worse, not better. He'd started coming into the teachers' lounge in the morning before school started, and she couldn't seem to say good morning to him without drawing some kind of criticism from him.

“You're not a child anymore, Miss Powell,” he said the second he spied her pouring herself a cup of coffee. “From now on, confine your hair or get it cut so it doesn't hang down your back like a first grader's. You're a professional. Dress like it.”

Caught off guard in front of a dozen or more other teachers, Rebecca wanted to sink through the floor. She'd been running late that morning and hadn't had time to do anything with her hair except pull on a headband and comb it down her back. That wasn't, however, a violation
of any dress code that she knew about. Three other teachers in the room had their hair styled exactly the same way, and Richard hadn't said a word to them.

Resentful color stinging her cheeks, she almost asked him if this new rule applied to just her or everyone, but she didn't want to get into an argument with him in front of the rest of the staff. Considering the mood he was in, he'd probably fire her on the spot. So she held her tongue instead and said stiffly, “I have a clip in my purse. I'll put it up before I go to class.”

“See that you do.” Not sparing her or anyone else another glance, he walked out, leaving behind a silence that echoed with mortification.

Embarrassed, Rebecca fought back tears and told herself she wasn't going to cry. Then Penny Taylor, a fifth-grade teacher, stepped over to the coffee machine and said quietly, “You okay?”

Unable to look her in the eye, she sniffed, “Yeah. I'll be fine.”

Far from convinced, Penny merely arched a brow. “Really? You don't look fine. What's going on, Rebecca? You used to be Tricky Dick's golden girl. Has something happened between the two of you?”

Surprised by the less than flattering description of the principal and herself she frowned. “What do you mean I used to be his ‘golden girl'? And when did you start calling him Tricky Dick? I thought you liked him.”

“Are you kidding? I've tolerated him all these years because he's the boss and I need my job. He may have been nice to you, but he's treated the rest of like we were just here to make him look good. Everything's about him. And since his wife left him, he's been a real jerk. Haven't you noticed?”

“I thought it was just me,” she replied honestly.
“Every time I turn around, I seem to be doing something wrong.”

Sympathetic, Penny smiled. “It's not you,” she assured her. “It's him. He's got a bee up his patootie because of this divorce and he lashes out at everyone who so much as looks at him wrong. Personally, I'm surprised that he turned on you, though. He's always talking about what a good teacher you are. Didn't you just do something with penguins?”

Surprised, Rebecca blinked. “You must have misunderstood. I did develop a game with penguins, but Richard hated it. He made me shut it down.”

“He told everyone who would listen that it was brilliant,” her friend said dryly. “I tell you, the man's losing it. He doesn't know if he's coming or going, and we're the ones paying the price. I think he needs therapy.”

Rebecca didn't know what to think. “I can't believe he liked the penguins after he made such a stink. You should have heard him,” she told her, disgusted. “He didn't care about the game or that the kids were having fun and actually participating. He just wanted them to be quiet in case a parent walked in.”

“So he wouldn't look bad,” Penny concluded, rolling her eyes. “Once you realize that his behavior is all generated to make himself look good, you can deal with the man. It's when he starts pulling this weird stuff—like attacking you for no reason—that I get nervous. I just want things to go back to normal. Maybe then, he'll just be his regular obnoxious self instead of a son of a bitch.”

Rebecca had to agree, but she wasn't holding her breath that that would happen any time soon. From what she had heard, he and Sylvia couldn't agree on anything and the lawyers were expecting a long, drawn-out court battle. It
could be months, possibly a year or longer, before the dust settled.

Rebecca groaned at the thought of it, but told herself she'd withstood worse things in the past. She'd get through this, too. She just had to keep a stiff upper lip and remember that she wasn't the only one who'd come under fire. Resigned, she pinned up her hair and went back to work.

Things should have been easier after that. She kept her distance from Richard whenever she could, and when that proved impossible, she tried not to take his fault-finding to heart. It wasn't easy. He seemed to know just what to say to hurt her, and he always found a way to do it in front of other people.

The next three days were a nightmare. Still, she didn't so much as wince whenever he criticized her clothes or teaching methods, and she was proud of herself for that. If he verbally attacked her because he wanted her and everyone else to be as miserable as he was, he was sadly disappointed. She continued to laugh and smile with her students and the other teachers whenever she got the opportunity.

And every afternoon when she went home, she cried her eyes out in the shower, where no one could see.

She didn't doubt that Austin would have been outraged if he'd known how unhappy she was and why, but she found excuses for him not to come over so he wouldn't see her puffy eyes. And whenever they talked on the phone, she kept her voice deliberately upbeat and cheerful. He didn't have a clue that she was still having problems with Richard, and that was just the way she wanted it. For most of her life, she'd run away from conflict and depended on others to deal with the bullies who'd tormented her. She couldn't do that anymore. She was no
longer a little girl at the Hopechest Ranch looking for someone to protect her. She had to take care of her own problems.

But the strain of pretending that nothing was wrong took its toll. After a particularly difficult day, she came home and stepped right into the shower and burst into tears. The sad thing was, it didn't help. Nothing did. When she dragged herself out of the shower thirty minutes later, all she had to show for all her tears were red eyes and a runny nose. Wearily, she pulled on her nightgown and robe and dragged herself into the kitchen to heat some canned soup.

When the doorbell rang just as she sat down at her small kitchen table, her heart jumped into her throat. Oh, no! she thought, panicking. That was probably Austin and she looked like death warmed over. He couldn't see her this way. She'd just talk to him through the door and tell him she was sick. She hated to lie to him, but she just couldn't face him. Not tonight.

Hurrying to the front door, she didn't even check the peephole, but laid her cheek against the wooden panel of the door and said hoarsely, “I can't see you tonight, Austin. I'm sick—”

“It's not Austin, sweetheart,” Joe called back. “Open up. What do you mean, you're sick? What's wrong? Let's have a look.”

Swallowing a groan, Rebecca closed her eyes and just barely resisted the urge to cry again. As much as she loved Joe, he was the last person she wanted to see right now. He knew her too well. He would take one look at her and know that something was wrong.

But she couldn't send him away, especially after she'd just claimed to be sick. He would be hurt—and worried—and would probably just come back with Meredith later
and insist on seeing her. She'd do better to let him in now, calm his fears and send him on his way.

That sounded simple enough, but she should have known she couldn't deal with Joe that handily. The minute she opened the door to him, he gave her a stern look, pressed his hand to her forehead to check for fever and frowned worriedly into her eyes. “All right, what's wrong? You've been crying.”

“It's just my allergies,” she replied. “My throat's scratchy and my eyes have been itchy all day. I took some medicine. It just takes it a while to kick in.”

Someone else might have bought that story and never questioned it, but Joe had raised a whole houseful of kids, and he knew malarkey when he heard it. “Nice try,” he said dryly. “But if I remember correctly, we've got the same allergies, and I'm just fine. So let's try this again. What's wrong, sweetheart? Is it Austin? Obviously you were expecting him. Did he do something to hurt you? I'll talk to him—”

“No!” Alarmed, she pleaded, “Please, don't involve him. I can handle this.”

“Handle what? What's going on?”

She hadn't meant to tell him. He had done so much for her over the years, she just hated to drag him into another one of her problems. But she loved him like a father, and just knowing he was there for her in a way her birth father, whoever he was, never had been, sent tears spilling over her lashes.

“Oh, honey, don't,” he said gruffly, and slipped his arms around her for a brief, fatherly hug. He was the only man who could touch her so, the only one whose touch she trusted to be totally nonsexual and loving. “Whatever it is, it can't be that bad. Tell me, and I'll make it better.”

Once, this was the kind of thing she would have dis
cussed with Meredith long before she reached the point of being reduced to tears, but with her busy social schedule and her involvement with Joe, Jr. and Teddy, Meredith didn't have time for her anymore. She hadn't for a long time now. And Rebecca missed that. Plus, she missed the old Meredith, the way she was before she'd changed, hardened. If she couldn't talk to Meredith, Joe was the next best thing. He could be hard as nails in business and politics when the occasion called for it, but he had a soft spot when it came to people he cared about.

Taking the handkerchief he handed her, she sank down onto the couch and sniffed, “It's just Richard…my boss. He's going through a nasty divorce, and he's a bear to work with. He's angry all the time, and is constantly criticizing me and everyone else. I just can't take it anymore.”

“But I thought he was a friend,” he said, surprised.

“He is. But for the past couple of weeks, he's been awful. He walks around the school like a dictator, throwing out orders, telling people how to walk and talk and teach, and everybody's afraid of standing up to him for fear of losing their jobs.”

“Is that what he's done? Threatened to fire you?”

“Yes, but—”

Indignant, Joe pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “I'll just speak to Gary Sinclair and take care of this little problem right now. He's still the president of the school board, isn't he?”

Rebecca winced. She should have known Joe would go straight to the top. He might not be a U.S. Senator any longer, but he was still a powerful man. One call from him, and Richard would find himself not only called on the carpet before the school board, but in danger of losing his job.

“I don't want to get him fired,” she said quickly, taking the phone from him before he could complete the call. “That wasn't why I told you.”

“Then I'll go talk to him in the morning,” he said promptly, undaunted. “What time does school start?”

He was so determined to take care of this for her that Rebecca had to smile. Not for the first time, she thanked God for the day he and Meredith had come into her life. She didn't know what she would have done without them.

Impulsively, she reached for his hand and squeezed it. “Thank you for the offer,” she said, smiling through the tears that welled in her eyes. “You don't know what having you in my corner means to me. But this is something I have to handle myself.”

“You always say that,” he retorted. “Why won't you let me do this for you?”

“Because you've done so much for me already,” she said simply. “And because I still consider him a friend, even though he's not acting like one. And friends don't get friends fired.”

“I agree. But friends don't do what he's doing, either.”