Reluctant Housemates Read online

  Jack stared after the man, his own anger at Rachel forgotten. Rachel had laughed at his concerns about her effect on some of the staff; she’d poo-pooed the undercurrents he’d picked up in the lunchroom. Five minutes ago, he, himself, had wanted to strangle her, and he was a friend! If every instructor eventually felt the same way, she’d pay a high price for her so-called standards. She’d be the “rightest” woman in her professional graveyard. She didn’t deserve that fate. If he could save her from Poseidon, maybe he could save her from herself.

  Jack continued walking until he was behind the school at the football field. At the end of the day, the field was full of boys doing drills, learning plays. Tom Sullivan had produced a top-notch team. They’d won two of their first three games this season. Jack knew that Rachel had attended all of them.

  He scanned the team, recognizing a few youngsters from his own classes. They performed better on the athletic field than in the classroom, but at least were interested enough to ask questions.

  Tom glanced up, and Jack waved. The coach motioned to the kids to continue their workout and came over to the sidelines.

  “They look great, Tom. You’re doing a good job with them.”

  “Thanks,” replied the coach. “I’m real happy with them so far. The older boys, especially, have come a long way in the last couple of years. It’s satisfying to watch.”

  “I know what you mean,” said Jack. “You’re making a difference.”

  The coach shrugged. “I try. Seems I’ll need a few extra prayers this year. When report cards are issued, we’ll probably be up the creek. Some of the best players are the worst students, but hopefully, Bob will work something out.”

  “You mean with Rachel?”

  Tom eyed him. “I guess that’s who carries the clout now.”

  “You have a problem with her?” Jack heard the accusation in his voice, or was it defensiveness?

  But the coach shook his head. “Personally? Nah. In fact, I like her. She’s working damn hard from everything I hear, but some of these kids will need a miracle to pass everything.”

  “I guess maybe that’s why I’m here,” said Jack. “Have you talked to the players about after-school tutoring on the days you don’t practice?”

  “Sure I have. We sent the memo home. The parents know. The guys know. But it doesn’t mean anything during the season. In the fall, it’s about football! That’s the way it is.”

  And no different from any other high school in the country. “Tell you what,” said Jack. “I’ll hang around after practice today and personally invite them to stay late this week. I’ll tutor any subject. There’s still some time before report cards come out.” He’d do it not only for the boys’ sakes, but for Rachel’s. If everyone passed, confrontations would be avoided and Rachel’s life would be much easier.

  But Tom laughed. “A great offer, Jack. I appreciate it. But have you ever seen the boys after practice? All they want to do is shower, eat and sleep.”

  “Then how about six-thirty in the morning?” asked Jack. “Early works for me, too.”

  The coach gave him a thoughtful look, but then nodded. “Okay. We’ve got nothing to lose. Maybe one or two might take you up on it. Hang around.”

  Jack watched Tom jog to the field, again wondering at his own behavior. At his feelings for Rachel. He’d always made a point to keep things light, to never get involved, and here he was, drowning! Drowning. He pressed his lips together hard as the “d” word passed through his mind. The ugliest, most painful word in the language. At least, for him. The urge to work on his book—Kevin’s book—made his fingers tingle. He’d learned that however painful he found facing his past and what had happened to Kevin, he could count on the writing to bring him relief.

  A WEEK LATER, ON FRIDAY afternoon, Rachel met with the staff of the Guidance Department in Judy Kramer’s office. Judy, who chaired the department, had given Rachel full support from the beginning.

  “Are you Wonder Woman incognito?” asked Judy. “Where did you ever find the extra funds for psychiatric services? I can’t tell you how many kids fall through the cracks of medical insurance.”

  Rachel leaned back on her chair and chuckled. Judy was totally committed to helping every student succeed, and she handled a lot of tough cases. “Money always brings smiles,” said Rachel. “I’m glad I was able to get it.”

  She enjoyed the praise. In fact, she needed to hear it. She gazed at the others in the room, grateful to have some positive feedback after six weeks on the job.

  “How’s the peer-tutoring program working out?” Rachel asked.

  “Attendance is increasing every week. And they’re staying until four o’clock,” replied Judy.

  “It’s a win-win for the kids who are tutoring and for the learners,” said one of the other counselors. “Even the teachers are impressed.”

  Now Rachel wanted to cheer. Many on the staff had been skeptical when she introduced the program. Thought the sessions would be a waste of time without a real teacher. Rachel suspected their uneasiness might stem from fear of being upstaged by some of the better student tutors. But the staff had come around at least on this issue, and Rachel felt satisfied.

  “There’s going to be some fallout on Tuesday when report cards are distributed in homeroom,” said Rachel. She handed a printout of student grades arranged by caseload to the appropriate counselor.

  “There’s always some fallout with grades,” said Judy. “On the top end as well as the bottom.”

  “Well, this time, expect the worst,” said Rachel, staring at the papers in her hand. “For starters, the football team is going to be shaken up big time. Jimmy Williams, the quarterback, is out. And so is Steve Yelton, the running back.”

  Suddenly, an uneasy silence filled the room. Rachel could hear the rhythmic clicking of a distant photocopy machine as it ran off a long job. She heard a car backfire in the street outside. Looking into the faces of her supporters, she felt her stomach plunge to the floor. “You, too?” Her voice almost cracked.

  “We understand where you’re coming from,” said Judy quietly, “but we don’t agree in this particular situation. Sports competition brings the school together. In fact, a football game brings the whole community together. It also brings in money. These boys have been on the squad since their freshman year, and their parents are all for them playing—despite their grades. Grades that have never been more than passing. They’re not scholars, Rachel.”

  Rachel took a steadying breath. Then another before answering. “And since when do we allow parents to dictate the terms of their children’s attendance here?”

  “Your theory’s got merit,” said one of the guidance counselors, “but in practice…it won’t wash in Pilgrim Cove. New Englanders love their football. Good football.”

  “At the expense of these boys’ futures?” She leaned closer to the counseling staff. “Come on, now. Do you really think they’ll turn professional and have big careers? Every one of them? Not likely. But I can guarantee they’ll all need a high school diploma to get anywhere in life.”

  Another silence followed her speech, and disappointment flooded Rachel.

  “Kids have big dreams,” Judy said quietly.

  “Dreams are fine,” said Rachel, “but our job is to provide the safety nets.”

  No further comment came from the staff, and Rachel stood, her hand gripping the back of her chair. In the end, she was alone after all.

  Gesturing to the printouts, she said, “Please keep these locked in your desks. Grades don’t come out until Tuesday.” She turned to leave, then looked back. “Whatever happened to the ‘no pass, no play’ policy? Has no one paid attention to it until now?”

  Judy looked startled for a moment, then studied her list of grades. “We’ve abided by it. These boys usually managed to pass all their courses.” She looked at Rachel. “But not this time.”

  Rachel’s mind raced. She opened the printout again and searched for the boys’ names and thei
r teachers. Mrs. Drummond. Mr. Maggio. Other old-timers. Emotion filled her. Redemption.

  “My God!” she said. “I think I get it. Teachers finally feel confident enough to tell the truth. Confident enough to fail a star athlete.”

  Confused faces stared at her.

  “Finally confident?” asked Judy. “Mrs. Drummond thinks she owns the place!”

  “I’ll check on what I’m saying, but I believe Mrs. Drummond has been pressured on this issue,” said Rachel. “Made to feel she had to go along. Probably for years.” Full of conviction again, Rachel went to the door with a sure step. “And suddenly she doesn’t.”

  “Rachel—”

  “Yes?”

  “Be careful,” said Judy. “The impact from this particular fallout might have the force of an atomic bomb.”

  “Then I’ll have to try to defuse it.” She headed for Dr. Bennett’s office, and then…she’d treat herself to a long swim in the high school pool.

  HE LOVED THE SPARKLE in her eye. He did not love the fact that she’d lost weight. He blamed it on her job. In the lane next to Rachel, Jack paced himself to her perfect freestyle, admiring her form in more ways than one. He hadn’t expected to go swimming that afternoon, but when he’d stopped at Rachel’s office to invite her to the football game with him that evening, she’d invited him to join her in the pool. She didn’t have to ask twice! He’d grabbed a suit from his truck and met her poolside. Towels came courtesy of Pilgrim Cove High.

  They’d now completed three steady laps, and Rachel grasped the pool’s ledge and turned toward him with a teasing grin. “Warmed up enough for a little race?”

  “You might not win,” he said with a chuckle, also pausing.

  “But I might,” she replied, echoing his thoughts. “At any rate, I need some competition to keep my edge!”

  “Then how about making it real interesting?” asked Jack. “If I win, you’ll have dinner with me tomorrow night at the Lobster Pot.”

  Her eyes widened, and he thought she’d turn him down as usual. But then she met his warm gaze and slowly nodded. “All right,” she said.

  He wanted to cheer. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to take her in his arms and feel her body next to his, her long legs wrapped around him. In the cool water, his body heated up. His imagination had never been as vivid, as wild. And all he could do at the moment was look at her and grin.

  “Have I really made you so happy,” asked Rachel, “merely by saying that I’ll race with you?”

  “Yes!” he replied without hesitation. Why wasn’t he afraid to show how he felt? Why did he want this woman to know? A confusing first for thirty-five-year-old Dr. Jack Levine.

  THEY’D NEVER ACTUALLY gotten around to racing each other in the pool, so how had she wound up here at the Lobster Pot with Jack? She could barely believe she’d agreed to join him. That she’d broken one of her own rules. But when she’d seen the desire, the heat, and more importantly, the hope in his eyes, her own heart began to beat a hot Latin rhythm. And she wanted to dance. Needed to dance. It had been a long time between dances.

  Rachel glanced at the man behind the wheel of his truck as he pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot. Funny, he’d hardly spoken since he knocked on her door fifteen minutes ago, taken one look and muttered, “I’ll never get through this night.”

  She knew she looked good. Her short burgundy suede skirt was topped by its matching belted jacket, while her legs looked sensational in knee-high boots of the same color. A pink shell provided contrast. It wasn’t an outfit to wear on a job interview!

  She’d been about to make a flip comment when she found she couldn’t talk at all. He looked civilized, but the pirate was back in a short-sleeved gray silk shirt open at the neck, darker gray slacks and a black leather jacket, unzipped. It was more his attitude than his clothes, however. He stood tall in the doorway, arms resting overhead against the frame. His dark hair fell over his forehead, and as he’d looked at her, his eyes sizzled. And she couldn’t speak. Instead, she reached for her handbag and followed him back outside to his pickup.

  Now he pulled into a parking spot far from the main entrance. “I know the lot’s crowded, but I think there’s a couple of spaces closer to the entrance,” Rachel said, pointing toward the big double doors.

  Jack shut the engine and removed the key from the ignition. “Walking in the cool fresh air,” he said deliberately, “is good for our health.” He opened his door and got out. By the time she jiggled her door handle, he was at her side helping her down. And holding her in his arms for an extra second…or two.

  “Hell,” he murmured. “I knew I wouldn’t need this when I’m with you.” He threw his jacket onto the seat, slammed the door and reached for her, his arm encircling her back as they walked to the entrance of the Lobster Pot.

  She leaned into him slightly, comfortable and intrigued. Definitely enjoying the pressure of his body against hers, enjoying the spicy fragrance of his cologne.

  “My goodness!” she said, lifting her face toward him. “Are we actually on a date?”

  Deep, genuine laughter was the immediate answer. As well as a hard, fast hug. “Sounds good to me,” Jack finally replied.

  Sounded good to her, too.

  Wide wooden terraces surrounded three sides of the building, but no diners were outside on the chilly night. They walked up two steps and opened the door.

  The restaurant was busy. “It’s Saturday night, and it’s the best place in town,” said Rachel as Jack gave his name to the hostess. “We should have come earlier.”

  “No problem,” replied Jack. “We’ll have more time on our date this way.”

  She felt herself blush and looked around for distractions.

  “Well, as I live and breathe,” said Bart Quinn, walking toward them. He pumped Jack’s hand and accepted Rachel’s kiss. “If it isn’t the whole of Sea View House coming to get a decent meal.” The agent studied Rachel, then looked at Jack, frowning. “And it’s about time. She’s becoming skin and bone. What took you so long? You know the lass is not her mother’s daughter in the kitchen.”

  A flush crossed Jack’s face and Rachel was astounded. The man almost looked guilty.

  “My fault entirely,” she said. “He’s asked a number of times.”

  “And you turned the good man down?”

  Rescue came in the form of fast-moving Maggie Sullivan. “There you are, Dad. Lila and Katie are waiting for you. And here’s Rachel Goodman. How are you, dear?” Maggie gave her a hug. “Good to see you.”

  “You know Jack Levine,” said Bart. “Don’t you?”

  “Sure do,” said Maggie, smiling up at the big man. “Welcome back.” She turned to her father. “He’s sampled our fish chowder a time or two in the past.”

  Maggie glanced at the hostess’s list. “You’re next and a table’s ready. Come on. I’ll seat you myself.”

  Rachel and Jack followed Maggie into the main dining room. “I’m salivating,” said Rachel. “And my stomach’s rumbling!”

  Maggie laughed heartily as she led them to their table. “Just what I like to hear. I’ll send your server over right away. Can’t have any of my customers fainting from hunger in my restaurant!” And she was gone.

  “Whew!” said Rachel, smiling up at Jack. “She’s still a whirlwind, always was, always will be. Same as her sister, Thea. Knowing Bart’s daughters, I’m sure Thea will be by to say hello before the night’s over.”

  Rachel slowly studied the room and started to chuckle. “Take a look,” she invited Jack. “I was wondering if any new items had been added to the walls lately.”

  “That’s a good one,” said Jack, pointing to a poster of Pilgrim Cove whose caption read “A hull of a place to live.”

  “Cute,” said Rachel, nodding her head. “But I think the best one is their slogan smack in the middle of the wall. “The Lobster Pot: Where no lobster is a shrimp!”

  “It is good,” agreed Jack with a smile as he accepted the menus from
their server. “Thanks. We’ll be just a minute.”

  He handed a menu to Rachel. “Whatever you want, and leave room for dessert.”

  Feeling totally at ease, Rachel could have chosen anything on the menu and have been happy. “Everything looks good.”

  Jack glanced at the waitress. “Any recommendations?”

  “The salmon is wonderful today—fresh delivery this afternoon.”

  “Salmon for me,” said Rachel.

  “Make that two,” said Jack. He reached for Rachel’s hand. “And next week, we’ll try something different.” He paused. “Heck. Let’s come back tomorrow night.”

  Next week? Tomorrow? Her heart rate elevated, and when she looked into his eyes, their normal light green color was streaked with golden hues. She pressed her fingers against his. “Let’s enjoy tonight.”

  “I’ll drink to that. Wine?” he asked Rachel, and she nodded.

  The meal was delicious. And people stopped by to say hello. Mike and Kate Lyons. Chief O’Brien and Dee. People she’d known all her life.

  “In a small town, it never ends, does it?” asked Jack. “It’s so like my own hometown in Maine. Too small. Too insular. I loved it as a kid, but later…later, I had to get out.”

  She heard a strained note in his voice and wondered about it. It wasn’t unusual for small town kids to want something bigger.

  “Pilgrim Cove has easy access to Boston, so most people don’t really feel hemmed in like in other places.”

  “How’d you make out in Kansas?” asked Jack. “No coastline, no ocean, no big city where you lived.”

  Suddenly, Rachel sat very still. Kansas. She’d hardly thought about Round Rock recently. “I liked it very much,” she finally replied. “I guess I’m a small-town girl at heart. At least, when I’m in the right town.”

  Jack’s hand clasped hers. “Pilgrim Cove can be the right town for you, too.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Remains to be seen.”

  “Sometimes, Rachel, what we think we want the most isn’t necessarily what we need,” he offered in a soft tone.