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“You?” he said. “You function in a sphere of wealth, cater to the rich, who indulge themselves in such nonsense as expensive birds for pets.
“You rose above what were obviously humble beginnings, then turned your back on your reality, instead of giving something back. Am I even close to getting through to you, Polly?”
“You’re coming across loud and clear,” she said. “You’re a judgmental, narrow-minded man, with a mind-set that isn’t open for any kind of discussion. You pass censure on people you don’t even know, having no clue as to their personal circumstances.”
“I...”
“Guess what, Joe Dillon? I don’t like you. You might be the most blatantly sexy man I’ve ever met, but big macho deal. Give me the bird, Joe.”
“What?” Joe said, with a burst of laughter.
“You know what I mean,” Polly said, snatching the heavy cage from Joe’s hand. “I’m leaving. Now. I suppose I should be polite and say it was a pleasure to meet you, but it wasn’t. This entire experience has been grim. Goodbye, Mr. Dillon.”
Joe frowned as Polly left the porch and started down the sidewalk, heading for the van.
“Polly, wait,” he said.
“No!”
Joe watched as Polly maneuvered the van carefully out of the tight parking space. He had a smile and a wave ready to execute if Polly should glance back in his direction.
But she didn’t.
And within minutes she had chugged out of his view in the rattling vehicle.
With a sigh and a shake of his head, Joe sank onto one of the lawn chairs and dragged both hands down his face.
Lord, he was jerk, he thought, in self-disgust. Yes, he believed in what he was doing by living in the ghetto so as to better understand the students he taught who existed in this environment. He’d called this little frame house his home for nearly ten years.
But he’d hammered his convictions at Polly, had jumped all over her like a fanatic who gave no quarter to anyone’s opinion that didn’t match his own.
He’d been a totally obnoxious, overbearing, narrow-minded jerk.
Joe rested his elbows on his knees, laced his fingers loosely together and stared into space.
He knew why he’d behaved the way he had toward Polly Chapman. She’d picked up the price tag for the previous evening spent at his parents’ house. The hours with his folks had been worse than usual, and he’d arrived home wired, angry, unable to sleep for more than snatches at a time during the long night.
So what did he do? He slam-dunked the first person who crossed his path who even hinted at embracing the world of money. Damn.
Polly had not deserved the way he had treated her. So, okay, he believed she had sold out, was catering to the idle rich when she was in a position to give something back to the world she had come from.
But Polly had been right when she’d accused him of passing judgment on her without knowing her personal circumstances. He’d never done that to anyone before and he definitely felt like the scum of the earth for doing it to Polly.
With a muttered expletive, Joe planted his hands on his thighs and pushed himself to his feet.
He had to apologize to Polly, he thought, stepping off the porch. He still believed in what he’d said, but that didn’t excuse the way he’d said it. It was a conditional apology, he supposed, but one that definitely needed to be extended.
“What a lousy day,” he said aloud, as he began his trek back to the school. “Polly want a cracker? No, Polly Chapman would probably like to punch me right in the nose.”
Polly was so furious that she was halfway back to the office before she realized it. She blinked, telling herself to pay attention to the surging traffic, then sighed as a wave of fatigue swept over her.
She wasn’t accustomed to engaging in confrontations like the one she’d had with Joe Dillon. It had left her emotionally drained, so exhausted she could weep.
She had to forget it, push the disturbing memories from her mind, along with the lingering images of Joe. The entire morning and the people involved in it were going to be erased from her brain.
Somehow.
“Give me the bird, Joe,” Jazzy squawked. “Joe. Joe. Give me the bird.”
“Oh, great, just dandy,” Polly said, shooting a glare at the macaw. “Shut up, Jazzy.”
“Shut up, Jazzy. Give me the bird, Joe.”
Polly mumbled a very unladylike word and forced herself to concentrate on her driving.
Doctors Nancy and Robert Dogwood were an attractive, friendly couple in their early forties. They’d chosen not to have children, stating that their maternal and paternal instincts were lavished on the animals they cared for. They were both standing by the receptionist’s desk when Polly entered the office.
“There they are,” Robert said, smiling. “Our ambassadors to Abraham Lincoln High School. How did it go, Polly?”
Polly hoisted the heavy cage up onto the counter.
“Give me the bird, Joe,” Jazzy squawked.
“I beg your pardon?” Nancy said, laughing. “That’s a new one. I hope he forgets it before his owners return. So, Polly? Who’s Joe?”
“It must be Joe Dillon,” Robert said, “the teacher who called to ask if I’d speak at the career day assembly. You don’t look too happy, Polly. Did something go wrong at the school?”
“Everything went wrong,” Polly said miserably. She plunked her elbows on the counter and rested her chin in her hands. “Students in that part of town get a tad hostile when you tell them a bird costs thousands of dollars and its owners are gallivanting around Europe.”
“Whew,” Robert said. “I never thought of that. I’m sure I would have rattled off the same information if I had given the speech.”
“Yes, well, Joe Dillon seemed to think I should have known better than to divulge that data. He was not pleased with me. Then to add spice to the soup, Jazzy bit Joe on the tush in front of all the students.”
“Oh, good heavens,” Nancy said, laughing. “You poor dear. What an awful morning you’ve had.”
Polly nodded, mentally cataloging the things she couldn’t, wouldn’t, share with her employers, who were also her friends.
To relate how Joe Dillon had accused her of selling out by working for the Dogwoods was a direct, negative reflection on the doctors themselves. That they definitely didn’t need to hear.
And she certainly wasn’t confessing to the strange, sensual reaction she’d had to Joe Dillon, nor the fact that there was still a lingering heat simmering within her that had been caused by Joe’s touch.
“Go to lunch, Polly,” Robert said. “You look done in. I sincerely apologize for sending you to the school in my place.”
“It wasn’t your fault it was a disaster.” Polly glanced at the empty chair that belonged to the receptionist. “Don’t you want me to cover the phone, per usual, while Becky is at lunch?”
“I’ll do it,” Nancy said. “We’re on schedule here. The next appointment isn’t for an hour. We’re waiting for the restaurant to deliver Pookie’s food.”
“Pookie the poodle is having her meals catered by a restaurant while she’s boarding here?” Polly said.
“Yep,” Robert said, smiling. “Isn’t that a hoot? No ordinary canned dog food for that pooch. Today she’s having custom-made dog food and a few thin slices of medium-rare steak. Do you think she’d notice if I ate the steak?”
“She’d notice,” Nancy said. “Don’t you dare take one bite of that meat when it arrives.”
Catered restaurant meals for a poodle? Polly thought incredulously. How many of Joe Dillon’s students had ever had thinly sliced steak, or eaten in a place fancy enough to serve it? She’d never even dined in an establishment like that.
If the students at Abraham Lincoln High School knew about Pookie’s culinary delights, Joe would probably have a riot on his hands.
“Don’t...don’t you think that this nonsense about Pookie’s food is a bit much?” she asked.
Robert shrugged. “The Hendersons can afford it. Pookie is like a child to them. They never would have boarded her if it wasn’t for a family emergency back east. They’ve already called twice to check on their little darling. Once from the airport and then from the plane, thirty thousand feet up in the clouds.”
“Oh, good grief,” Polly said.
“I think it’s sweet,” Nancy said. “We see our share of abused and abandoned animals. The Hendersons love Pookie and have no qualms about letting it be known how they feel about her. There’s no harm in that.”
“But...” Polly began, then stopped speaking and pressed her fingertips to her throbbing temples. “Forget it. I have a killer headache, my mind is mush, and the events of this morning are a nightmare I intend to erase from my memory bank.”
“Go to lunch and take extra time,” Nancy said.
“Yes, all right,” Polly said. “I’ll get my brown bag from the refrigerator and go eat in the park. That ought to fix me right up.”
“Give me the bird, Joe,” Jazzy hollered.
“Oops,” Robert said, lifting Jazzy’s cage from the counter. “You’re going out of sight, Jazzy. Polly definitely has murder on her agenda in regard to you. Come on, I’ll give you a piece of apple.”
“Apple,” Jazzy repeated. “Apple and a bottle of beer.”
Robert left the reception area with the chattering bird.
“Polly, are you really all right?” Nancy asked, frowning. “You’re awfully pale.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said, managing to produce a small smile. “This morning’s adventure was rather unsettling, that’s all. After some food and bit of peace and quiet in the park, I’ll be as good as new.”
The bell over the door chimed as someone entered the office.
“Oh, here’s Pookie’s lunch,” Nancy said.
“I’m gone.” Polly hurried away in the direction of the back room where her packed lunch was waiting in the refrigerator. “Thinly sliced steak? Cripes, I’m having peanut butter and jelly.”
Three
The next morning, Polly sat at the round wooden table placed in front of the windows at one end of her narrow kitchen.
Sipping from a mug of hot tea, she willed the brew to infuse her with energy, render her wide-awake and ready to face the new day with vigor and enthusiasm.
It didn’t work.
She plunked her elbows on the table, nestled her chin in her hands, then closed her eyes.
She was so-o-o tired, she thought. She’d hardly slept last night, had tossed and turned for hours. When she did manage to doze off she’d dreamed about Joe Dillon, the rotten bum.
In one of her dumb dreams, Joe had been decked out in a tuxedo and was waltzing with a six-foot macaw wearing a top hat. The bird was the same colors as Jazzy and she knew, just knew, that the trouble-making creature had been in subconscious cahoots with Joe to rob her of blissful, peaceful slumber.
But then the scene had shifted to a misty clearing in a wood. The trees had leaves of glittering silver that shimmered like a million stars.
Joe was still wearing the tuxedo, but this time she was his dance partner, emerging from the ring of magical trees in a gorgeous, full-length dress to step into his embrace.
Polly sighed wistfully as she allowed the dream to replay in her mind like a movie.
What an elegant couple they made as they waltzed to music that was floating over them from a source unknown.
Even now, in the light of the new day, she could remember the heat of passion that had suffused her in the dream, and could vividly recall the desire radiating from Joe’s compelling brown eyes as he kept his gaze riveted on her.
He’d dipped his head and she’d known, and gloried in the fact, that he was about to claim her lips in what would be a searing kiss.
Closer and closer his lips had come to hers. Closer and closer and then...
“I woke up,” Polly said, opening her eyes and smacking the table with the palm of one hand. “Drat. No, forget it. I wouldn’t want to kiss that grouchy, opinionated man anyway.”
Joe Dillon was a menace. He was totally disrupting her peace of mind. Granted, her quiet lunch in the park yesterday had soothed her jangled nerves regarding the angry outburst from the students at Lincoln high.
She understood why she’d upset those kids, although she still felt it wasn’t her fault. She should have been coached about what to say, or not say, before being thrown unprepared on the mercy of the Abraham Lincoln Grizzlies.
So, live and learn, and put the disastrous morning behind her. Fine. But as she’d left the pretty park to return to the office, the image of Joe came with her and refused to budge from her mental vision for the remainder of the day.
And the long, long hours of the night.
“Darn him,” Polly said.
She sipped some more tea, then swept her gaze over her small apartment. From where she was sitting she could see the living room, with its sofa, easy chair, rocker and television set. Out of her view was the bedroom and bathroom.
The sofa and chair were a splash of vibrantly colored flowers. The rocker was the one her mother had used to lull her babies to sleep.
This was usually one of her favorite times of the day in her little abode, she thought, with the morning sun streaming in the sparkling clean windows, touching everything with a warm, golden glow.
But not today.
Not with Joe Dillon still haunting her, seeming so close, so real, she might as well offer him a cup of tea.
Why? she thought, aware of a bubble of anger growing within her.
Why couldn’t she dismiss Joe Dillon, along with the memories of the fiasco at the school?
Why could she still feel that incredible heat that had suffused her when their hands had brushed against each other?
Why could she hear that rumbly, sexy chuckle of Joe’s, see those fathomless fudge-sauce-colored eyes, his wide shoulders, muscled legs and that—shame on her—gorgeous, tight tush?
Why was Joe Dillon having such a lingering, disturbing, sensual, ridiculous impact on her?
