Package Deal (2 page)

“Thanks,” she replied, encouraged by Jim’s praise. “I’d like to think we’ll attract motivated students.”

Scott nodded. “
But I doubt Leonard will be happy about that. I was talking with
Marc Dunbar
the other day and he said the ol
d man is be
nt on building the journalism
department so they
’ll
have more majors than we do.”

“Let him try
. Amanda’s got a figure the male
students will like. That’s a bonus for us, don’t you think?”
Jim sat back in his chair, then glanced at her before looking over at Scott. “S
orry, Amanda. Not very PC, am I? H
ope you’re not offended.”

She shrugged. “No harm done.”

“Jimbo, we’re supposed to be thinking in terms of academics
, like how Amanda here has already charmed JJ into working with her.” Scott raised his glass in her direction. “You asked for pointers at our faculty meeting, something we’d expect from a newbie. I’m not so sure about Winslow. He probably needs more help than you do, but he didn’t ask. And I wasn’t impressed with him—too casually dressed, not very forthcoming with what he’s doing, that sort of thing.
”

Scott turned back to her, his gaze dropping to her left hand for a fraction of a second, as if checking for a ring.

“
Tell us more about yourself, Amanda. You were pretty quiet in the meeting. Didn’t Beatrice say you have a daughter? But you’re not married, right?” Scott asked.

Amanda creased her brow
,
then opened her mouth to speak.

“Come on,” Scott interrupted. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m happily married—just like Jim here. I was just thinking of some of the other faculty—the single ones.”

“Anyone
in particular
come to mind?”
She recovered enough to give him a brief smile.

“For sure
not Winslow. Talk about a cold fish with a big
ego
. He’s no
t married—that I know for sure.
”

The three of them continued to chat while finishing their coffee. Amanda returned to her office. Carlton had insisted on taking nearly all of the bookshelf space. She debated asking the secretary if the bookshelf in the conference room was av
ailable for her books. The over
sized desk—“bigenough for two,” Beatrice
, the department secretary,
had said when it was moved into the office—took up nearly all the free space, leaving little room for the extra chair she expected students to use during office hours, or maybe herselfif Carl occupied the larger chair. He had already centered his monster desktop computer facing the larger chair. An equally bulky printer sat closer to the window out of which she could see part of the mountain range in the distance. She sighed. If he was going to use the office daily—in order to finish his dissertation—it was going to be a long year.But this was not the time to ask for special favors, not at the beginning of the term.
I’ll just have to see how we can work things out.

She collected her papers, nodded in Carl’s direction when he glanced briefly at her, and headed out the door of the department, rubbing the head of the Shakespeare sculpture as she left, a sculpture the chairman had acquired on a long-ago European trip. It held a place of honor at the entrance to the department. Everyone rubbed Will’s head for g
ood luck, according to Beatrice.
Let’s hope I don’t need it.

Chapter 2

Marcus
sat on the porch swing, enjoying the
cool evening breeze as the moon rose above the tree
line
. He
reached for
his
phone to call the new faculty members who had not yet returned his questionnaire. Only two of them, both in the English department. No one answered when he called
Carl
Winslow’s place. A message would have to do.

Now for the other one.
Amanda Gardner. The woman wore her
dark hair in a chic pixie cut. At the dean’s house he had spotted her immediately
in a colorful vest over a white b
lou
se with puffy sleeves, and a short skirt that showed off her trim legs.
She seemed
shy.
H
er ga
ze had slid away from his facewhen she’d
asked for more time to study the questions before returning his sheet.
Her
dark
hair framed a high-cheek
bon
ed
,
slim
face. A silver chain half-hidden by the cut of her b
lou
se
had
winked in the lamplight.

Beautiful
, he mused
. What kind of brains are be
hind that beauty?
Greg
Hillier wa
sn’t one to be swayed by
appearances
.
Marcus
thought back to the most recent general faculty meeting when the Australian-born chair of the English department had harangued others about the importance of the “qualities that mattered.”
I’ll bet this is her first
post-grad
position.

She didn’t seem at all like the
full-figured
music professor,
also new,
who
se
affectations in pronouncing her name
had
prompted smiles from the others. Eugenie Freeman reminded him of Felicity
,
the way
she had
come on to
him, not waiting for him to make the first move. Felicity
’s
actions had implied she was ready to settle down, something he very much wanted—a wife and family, his own home.
Instead,
Felicity had broken his heart.

He had the home now, but
no one to enjoy
it
with him
. Felicity with the bright-red hair, whose temper was as volatile as her ringlets were long. She had accepted his love as if she
was entitled
, but never really gave
back to him—except in bed, where they’d got on great.
Is Eugenie
another Felicity
?
No more assuming
a
woman had the same goals as he. Fun in bed wa
s one thing, but he wanted more:
mutually
desired friendship,
a permanent relationship
, a future together
.

He remembered
Amanda’s
questions, asked quietly as
her
wide
brown eyes
ga
zed back at him. Those slightly
parted lips. He
had
wanted to kiss
those lips and pull her curves close, surprising himself
at the intensity of his reaction to her
. Maybe it was
the perfume she wore, a subtle scent that evoked cinnamon and vanilla,
as if she had emerged from
a cozy kitchen.

A
n owl hooted in the woods behind the house.

“Who, indeed?” Marcus
murmur
e
d
, as he looked through the information the dean had provided
. No mention of a husband there.
He wondered
if
she’d
enjoy
dinner and a movie.
It had been a while since he’
d had much of a social life.

He thought back to the woman he
’d
met while
on his sabbatical
at the Library of Congress. She
’d
been willing, but there was no spark
. It had taken only two
casual lunch conversation
s and a walk along the Potomac for him to realize
that neither
their interests
nor their personalities meshed.
Would it
be different with
Amanda?

He glanced at the information sheet again
—Amanda, from Iowa City. Amanda, with
soulful
brown eyes that reminded him of milk chocolate.
Amanda, who had dressed simply, but with elegance, for that meeting with the other newcomers. Amanda
,
who looked like she was going to be a
much-needed
addition to the English department. The only other female there had to be nearing sixty. He ran his fingers through his shaggy hair.
He was
over
due for a haircut. Had Amanda noticed?

The owl hooted again.

“What do you think, Mr. Owl? Did she notice me at all?”
He punched in her number
,
and
waited while the phone rang
.

“Hello?”

He sat up straighter, as if she could see him. “Is this Amanda Gardner?”

“It is.
May I ask who’
s calling?”

“Marc
Dunbar. I was wondering if we might
meet tomorrow
for our interview
—for the
article
on new faculty.”

“Oh. Yes,
but
I have
a meeting with
my c
hairman
in the
afternoon
. After
that,
I’m
free
.
”

Her voice had just the right combination of interest and politeness.

“Great. Why don’t
I
meet
you
at your office? We can walk over to the coffee shop and talk there.”

“I look forward to it.”

So did
he, imagining her smile.

When
Amanda
returned from her meeting,
Marcus
was waiting for her
outside her
office
. T
h
e
y
stroll
e
d
across campus
to th
e
local
Starbucks
.

“Tell me about the c
ollege
, something other than what was in the brochure I was sent
.
”
Those eyes
of his—so intense
—so blue—just like Cece’s.

“
Let’s see. You know
it was founded by Jeremiah Buckley. He thought it
s
position on the highest hill
in the town
would attract students.
There wa
s some talk that he ran a speak
easy during the twenties, though there’s nothing in writing about that.” He
chuckl
ed. “Maybe the lumber business was just boring enough for him to want a
more interesting
hobby.”

“Perhaps.”
She stumbled as she skirted a cluster of students crossing in front of them, one arm brushing against Marcus. His hand slid
under her elbow and then
across the small of her back to steady her
until she pulled away just out of reach
.

“
I guess you’ve seen what a
great
view
the campus
has of the bay and the islands—
”

“And
the mountains to the west, too.” S
he grinned. “
The view
was one of the first things I noticed
when I interviewed
.”

“
Most people say that,” he replied. “
Rumor—and some of the early letters
on display at the historical society
report
—
that
the
first instructors
lived
with townspeople who had
extra
rooms.
Now mo
st of the faculty are like the d
ean. They live down the hill from campus and along some of
the
street
s
with
views
of the bay or the mountains
. Where do you live?”

“I’m renting a house
about five
blocks
away—
close
enough to walk.”

When they arrived at the cof
fee shop, he held a chair for her
then pulled a small notepad
from
his jacket pocket.
“Tell me about your
thesis
. You said it was a
biograph
y
?”

“
No,
it was
about w
riting
biographies
—the research that goes into them, and how to make facts interesting.
”

“
And
this is your first faculty appointment.”
He
jot
ted
quick notes.

“Yes. After more than six years of grad school poverty
, I’
m thrilled to be making a decent salary—what my daughter calls a
real job.” S
he laughed.
“I’ve got loans to pay off.”

“You have a kid?”
He looked surprised.

She nodded.

“
Y
ou’re
married?
”

She shook her head. “Does that
matter
for your article
?”

He
seemed to be gazing back at her
.
“Sorry. Too personal. Not important for the article.”
His
pen
slipped
out of his hand
and he
followed its route to the floor with his eyes.

Before he could
resume writing
, she
asked,
“
What do you do
besides teach j
ournalism classes?”

He smiled.
“I’m
work
ing
on
a book
about
Ernie Pyle.”

“
Oh. So you write things other than class assignments.
A biography?”

“
No. I’m examining
his role as a war correspondent.
I view
it more as an historical review—
how he changed war reporting
.
Would you be willing to look over the draft and tell me if there are any holes?”

“I’d be happy to.
I
f you expand
the work
to include his pre-war
and post-war experiences
,
you might have
a second book.”
A chance to get to know you
.
As a colleague, a friend, maybe more than a friend?
She gave herself a mental smack.
No. That’s not why I’m here.

“Maybe—after I f
inish what I’ve already started.
”
He paused
for a moment
, a wry grin playing about the corners of his mouth
. “
You know
,
I’m
supposed to be interviewing
you
.
”

She
smoothed the napkin in her lap and
blinked at him
,
lik
ing
that
his voice
seemed
to surround her with its warmth
. “
Isn’t t
urn
about fair play?”

He laughed. “Why not?”