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“Thank you,” Joe said, raising both hands for silence.
Polly started tentatively forward.
The students quieted slowly, then silence fell.
Polly lifted her chin and kept moving.
“The purpose of this first career day at Lincoln,” Joe continued, “is to give all of you the opportunity to...”
“Call the cops,” Jazzy squawked, loud and clear.
The students whooped with laughter.
“No way, Bird Lady,” a boy shouted. “The cops come calling on me more than I want to see them.”
Polly felt a warm flush stain her cheeks as she quickened her step, mentally clicking off ways to murder Jazzy.
What in the hell... Joe thought frowning, as the noise level increased to full volume again. Who was this? It sure wasn’t the Dr. Robert Dogwood he’d spoken to on the telephone. It was some kid with a talking bird, who had managed to totally disrupt the program before it had hardly begun.
No, wait a minute. The girl had to have been sent by the vet. Otherwise, it didn’t make any sense for her to be here. He didn’t envy her the walk she was marking, that was for sure. Well, she was getting closer now and...
Whoa, Joe thought. That wasn’t a kid, it was most definitely a woman. A very pretty—in a fresh, wholesome way—woman. She was wearing pale blue slacks that defined her feminine curves and a dark blue blouse that hinted at womanly breasts beneath it.
Oh, yes, she was young, but she was a woman, no doubt about it. He was going to take pity on her and escort her past the remaining students.
Joe came from behind the table and strode toward the woman carrying the birdcage, his long legs covering the distance in short order.
Polly stopped and looked up at the man she now knew to be Coach Dillon.
“I...” she began, then forgot what she was about to say.
My stars, she thought. In the midst of this embarrassing chaos she was in close proximity to one of the most ruggedly handsome men she’d ever seen.
Oh, yes, one certainly should appreciate Coach Dillon. He was tall, with wide shoulders, his chiseled features were tan, his dark brown hair thick and in need of a trim, and his yummy eyes were the color of fudge sauce.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Polly said, amazed she had enough air in her lungs to speak. “I couldn’t find a place to park and I had to walk a couple of blocks. This cage is heavy, so I had to set it down once and...”
“You’re not Dr. Dogwood,” Joe said, frowning. Very, very pretty, now that he was close enough for a full perusal. But how old was she? Twenty? Twenty-two? Twenty-five? He really couldn’t tell. “I’m assuming he sent you, though?”
“Yes. Robert had an emergency surgery to perform. His wife, Dr. Nancy Dogwood, is covering the appointments at the clinic. I’m Ms. Polly Chapman, a veterinary technician.”
“I see,” Joe said.
“I’ve never done anything like this before. I have no idea what you want me to say, Coach Dillon. Robert didn’t have time to explain things to me.”
“It’s Joe...Polly. You won’t be first on the program, so you’ll have a chance to hear some of the others speak before it’s your turn. May I carry your bird for you?”
“What? Oh. Yes, thank you.”
Polly lifted Jazzy’s cage and Joe slid his fingers through the brass ring at the top, brushing Polly’s fingers as she released her hold. A sudden and startling heat exploded from the feathery touch, shooting up both Polly and Joe’s arms.
Their eyes collided with matching confusion; summer-sky blue eyes and eyes of fudge-sauce brown.
“Wanna snuggle, bunny?” Jazzy squawked.
Polly snapped her head around to glare at the bird.
“Jazzy, for heaven’s sake,” she scolded, “hush.”
Joe spun on his heel and strode back to the area containing the table and chairs, Polly following more slowly behind him.
Gracious, she thought, what a strange sensation that had been when her hand had met with Joe Dillon’s. She could still feel the heat tingling along her arm and across her breasts.
It was probably static electricity.
No, she thought, in the next instant. That was an easy-out explanation, but she somehow knew it wasn’t true. It had been a man-woman thing, a sensuous something, that was disconcerting, to say the least.
Joe Dillon was one of those dangerous men who oozed blatant masculinity by doing nothing more than standing there. He was the type who had to beat women off with a stick. Oh, yes, Joe was very, very dangerous.
Polly settled onto a folding chair, smiled politely at the people on either side of her, then nodded her thanks to Joe as he set Jazzy’s cage on the floor in front of her. She folded her hands primly in her lap and plastered what she hoped was a pleasant, professional expression on her face.
Only then did she realize she was seated directly behind Joe, where he was now standing at the microphone on the table.
My, my, Polly thought, such delectable scenery. Coach Dillon certainly did have a nice tush, and those long, beautifully muscled legs weren’t too shabby, either. The man just didn’t quit. He had it all, from head to toe.
Oh, goodness, there was that heat again, only this time it was traveling in the opposite direction, swirling low within her. This would never do. She didn’t have reactions like this to men she’d known for about three seconds. She didn’t have reactions like this to men she’d known for three years.
Enough was enough. She was going to quit staring at Joe Dillon’s buns and get herself back under control.
Slowly and admittedly a tad reluctantly, Polly shifted her gaze to the side wall of the building, where a huge, snarling head of a bear had been painted with vivid yellow and blue colors. Beneath the bear was the blockletter word Grizzlies.
That must be the school mascot, Polly thought absently. The Abraham Lincoln Grizzlies. How nice. The years in high school were such fun. But then again, maybe they weren’t for the kids in this neighborhood. That was a depressing thought.
“Polly want a cracker?” Jazzy said.
“Shh,” she whispered, nudging the cage with her toe.
Joe fiddled with the papers he’d picked up from the table, then cleared his throat.
Lord, he thought, he felt like he’d been punched in the gut. When his fingers had slid over Polly Chapman’s, heat had rocketed up his arm, then slammed into his lower body.
That wholesome-looking, freckles-on-her-cute-nose woman had had a potent impact on him. He wasn’t accustomed to things like that happening to him, and he didn’t like it, not one damn bit.
Cripes, Polly wasn’t even his type. He didn’t keep company with women who looked like they could be a model for a box of cornflakes. He dated savvy gals, the single scene game players who knew the rules. No one got hurt, and a good time was had by all.
Enough mental talking to yourself, Dillon, he thought. If he didn’t get this show on the road, he’d have a mutiny on his hands. The natives of Lincoln High were definitely getting restless.
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, speaking into the microphone, “settle down, please.”
“Bring on the Bird Lady, Coach,” a boy yelled. “We want the Bird Lady.”
The students cheered and stamped their feet, obviously in favor of the hollered request.
Oh, dear heaven, Polly thought, the building was going to fall down. All those stamping feet pounding on the bleachers was creating a deafening roar. Well, Joe Dillon, who must coach something or other, better not make her speak before the others, because she had absolutely no idea what to say.
“Chill,” Joe said, slicing one hand through the air. “Now.”
Silence fell so quickly it was as though someone had pulled the plug on a boom box.
“All right,” Joe said. “This career day is being presented for you, and I respect the fact that you should have some say in how it’s conducted. Therefore, please welcome Ms. Polly Chapman.”
Joe turned and smiled at Polly, who glowered at him and stayed glued to her chair. Joe closed the short distance between them and bent over slightly to speak to her.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “If I try to cram this program down their throats they’ll tune out from word one. You’ve peaked their curiosity and that’s terrific.”
“Terrific?” Polly said, raising her eyebrows. “What am I supposed to say?”
“Just tell them what you do and the kind of training it required to be able to do whatever it is you do.” Joe shrugged. “Wing it.” He chuckled. “That wasn’t a pun, Bird Lady.”
“Cute,” Polly muttered.
Joe smiled his best hundred-watt smile, picked up Jazzy’s cage and returned to the table, placing the cage in front of the microphone.
“Oh, dear, dear,” Polly mumbled, getting to her feet.
Joe stepped back to allow Polly access to the microphone. Polly moved to the table, then out of the corner of her eye she saw Joe settle onto the chair she’d vacated.
Her eyes widened as she remembered the clear view of Joe’s tush she’d had while sitting in that chair. She was going to have enough difficulty talking to this rowdy audience without knowing that Joe Dillon was probably indulging in a thorough scrutiny of her bottom.
Polly spun around. “You can’t sit there.”
“Why not?” Joe asked, confusion evident on his face.
“Because you’re making me nervous by sitting there.”
“Why? A chair, is a chair, is a chair.”
“Shoo,” Polly said, flapping her hands at him. “Go somewhere else.”
Joe planted his hands on his thighs and pushed himself to his feet.
“Yes, ma‘am,” he said. “Whatever you say, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” Polly said, then turned back to the microphone.
Joe sat down again in his chair.
“Good morning,” Polly said, sweeping her gaze over the students. “I’m Polly Chapman and I’d like to thank you for inviting me here.”
Ho-ho, Joe thought. No wonder Polly was all in a flutter about his having taken up residency in her chair. The pretty lady had executed a perusal of his butt, and figured he’d do the same to her.
How right she was.
And what a nice, feminine bottom Ms. Chapman had.
An instant later Joe frowned as he felt that heat again, that damnable heat, coiling deep and low within him.
This was ridiculous, he thought, with self-disgust. His body was reacting to Polly Chapman the way one of his students with a hormone rush might.
He wasn’t a randy seventeen-year-old, for Pete’s sake. He was a mature, in control, thirty-three-year-old man. The absurd effect Polly was having on him was becoming very, very tiresome.
So, quit staring at the woman’s delectable rear end, Joe ordered himself.
He shifted his gaze to the back of Polly’s head and immediately wondered what those silky-appearing, blond curls would feel like sliding through his fingers.
That’s it, he thought, getting to his feet. He’d definitely had enough of sitting in this chair.
Joe moved to the end of the table and crossed his arms over his chest. Polly looked at him questioningly.
“Carry on,” he said. “Ignore me.”
Oh, right, she thought dryly. About the last thing a woman would be able to do in regard to Mr. Masculinity Personified Dillon was to ignore him. He was so male and so incredibly there.
“Yes, well,” Polly said, directing her attention to the students again, “ever since I was a little girl I wanted to be a veterinarian. I was always toting home dogs, cats, birds, frogs, anything and everything that I was convinced needed my tender loving care.
“That dream for my future career didn’t dim as I grew older, but I had to face reality. The amount of money it would take to become a vet was far beyond my reach. Even with the numerous resources available for student loans, my dream was not obtainable.”
Joe swept his gaze over the students, seeing their rapt attention, hearing the total silence as five hundred pairs of eyes remained riveted on Polly.
She had them, he thought. These kids knew, they understood, about dreams that would never come true. Keep talking, Polly. They’re listening to every word you’re saying.
“To my utmost joy,” Polly continued, “I discovered a program of study at the University of Arizona that would enable me to become a veterinary technician in half the time and less than half the cost of the veterinary medicine program.
“So, I looked at the bright side, saw a way to be included in the career arena I’d dreamed about, even if it wasn’t in the capacity I had initially hoped for. For several years now I’ve been employed by Dr. Robert and Dr. Nancy Dogwood, a husband-and-wife veterinarian team who have an office on the northwest side of town.”
“So what do they let you do, Bird Lady?” someone yelled. “Poop scoop after the dogs and cats have been there?”
Polly laughed. “Sometimes. But I’m capable of giving examinations, inoculations, doing follow-up treatment of animals who have had surgery—and the list goes on. It’s very rewarding, very fulfilling.”
“That’s cool,” a girl said. “So, what’s with the bird?”
“This is Jazzy,” Polly said. “In addition to their regular practice, the Dogwoods also offer a boarding service for pets. I thought it might be fun to bring Jazzy with me today. His owners are in Europe for six months.”
“Oh, ain’t that a shame?” a boy quipped.
Be careful, Polly, Joe mentally directed. Don’t cross over the line into a world where these kids will never go. Don’t lose them now.
Polly flipped open the door of the cage and Jazzy hopped out onto the table.
