Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | The Oldest Virgin In Oakdale

The Oldest Virgin In Oakdale
Wendy Warren
Sweet, shy Eleanor Lippert had had it! She now held the dubious title of oldest unmarried woman in Oakdale–and virgin, to boot. It was high time she shed her scholarly shell and unleashed the temptress within. Problem was, she didn't know the first thing about men, let alone seducing one….Heartbreaker Cole Sullivan had been away for twelve years, and boy, had things changed! The innocent girl who once had tutored him in math now was a woman in need of his help…to snare a man! He'd always admired Eleanor, but her stunning transformation was too much for any man to resist–even a sworn bachelor like him…



“The only way to learn something is to study hard and apply yourself. You said that.”
Cole’s dark brows furrowed. “What is this in reference to?”
“In reference to me.” Like a snowball, Eleanor’s idea got bigger and bigger the more she rolled it around in her mind. “When you didn’t think you could pass chemistry, what did you do? You asked me for help. Do you remember what you said when you passed the calculus midterm?”
Cole shrugged. “Eleanor, it’s been twelve years.”
“I know. And I probably wouldn’t remember it, either, except you made me a promise.” She took a deep breath. “One I hope you can keep.”
Eleanor was too old for the kind of fantasies she’d harbored as a young girl with a terrible crush. And yet she knew that Cole’s reappearance had ignited something inside her once more.
At twenty-eight she’d never even been kissed properly.
She wanted love. She wanted passion. And she didn’t want to wait anymore.
Dear Reader,
There’s no better escape than a fun, heartwarming love story from Silhouette Romance. So this August, be sure to treat yourself to all six books in our sexy, sizzling collection guaranteed to keep you glued to your beach chair.
Dive right into our fantasy-filled A TALE OF THE SEA adventure with Melissa McClone’s In Deep Waters (SR#1608). In the second installment in the series about lost royal siblings from a magical kingdom, Kayla Waterton searches for a sunken ship, and discovers real treasure in the form of dark, seductive, modern-day pirate Captain Ben Mendoza.
Speaking of dark and seductive, Carol Grace’s Falling for the Sheik (SR#1607) features the mesmerizing but demanding Sheik Rahman Harun, who is nursed back to health with TLC from his beautiful American nurse, Amanda Reston. Another royal has a heart-wrenching choice to make in The Princess Has Amnesia! (SR#1606) by award-winning author Patricia Thayer. She survived a jet crash in the mountains, but when the amnesia-stricken princess remembers her true social standing, will she—can she—forget her handsome rescuer…?
Myrna Mackenzie’s Bought by the Billionaire (SR#1610) is a Pygmalian story starring Ethan Bennington, who has only three weeks to transform commoner Maggie Todd into a lady. While Cole Sullivan, the hunky, all-American hero in Wendy Warren’s The Oldest Virgin in Oakdale (SR#1609), is coerced into teaching shy Eleanor Lippert how to seduce any man—himself included.
Then laugh a hundred laughs with Carolyn Greene’s First You Kiss 100 Men… (SR#1611), a hilarious and highly sensual read about a journalist assigned to kiss 100 men. But there’s only one man she wants to kiss.…
Happy reading—and please keep in touch!


Mary-Theresa Hussey
Senior Editor

The Oldest Virgin in Oakdale
Wendy Warren

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Books by Wendy Warren
Silhouette Romance
The Oldest Virgin in Oakdale #1609
Silhouette Special Edition
Dakota Bride #1463
Previously written under the name Lauryn Chandler
Silhouette Romance
Mr. Wright #936
Romantics Anonymous #981
Oh, Baby! #1033
Her Very Own Husband #1148
Just Say I Do #1236
The Drifter’s Gift #1268
WENDY WARREN
lives with her husband, Tim, and their dog, Chauncie, near the Pacific Northwest’s beautiful Willamette River, in an area surrounded by giant elms, bookstores with cushy chairs and great theater. Their house was previously owned by a woman named Cinderella, who bequeathed them a gardenful of flowers they try desperately (and occasionally successfully) not to kill, and a pink General Electric oven, circa 1948, that makes the kitchen look like an I Love Lucy rerun.
A two-time recipient of Romance Writers of America’s RITA® Award for Best Traditional Romance, Wendy loves to read and write the kind of books that remind her of the old movies she grew up watching with her mom—stories about decent people looking for the love that can make an ordinary life heroic. When not writing, she likes to take long walks with her dog, settle in for cozy chats with good friends and sneak tofu into her husband’s dinner. She always enjoys hearing from readers, and may be reached at P.O. Box 82131 Portland, OR 97282-0131.



Contents
Chapter One (#u5869d184-90dc-5c46-94f2-04f40106f9ee)
Chapter Two (#u236a3330-507b-57c4-9e04-3a739f70824e)
Chapter Three (#uf3ea31f3-aa6a-5184-8878-db7fcc38eae6)
Chapter Four (#ub41c4397-82c4-568c-84fc-26194d5870a5)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One
“Ohh, Ralph, you handsome boy. No, don’t kiss me yet. I want to reach right…there…yes! Mmm. Ohh, that feels good, doesn’t it?”
Eleanor crooned softly while her hands worked their magic on dear Ralph. She touched with a confidence bred from pure enjoyment of what she was doing—and lots and lots of practice.
“Talk to me, Ralph. Does that feel wonderful? Hmm? Does it?”
Ralph turned soulful brown eyes to her and gave a low growl that made Eleanor grin. “You’re turning into quite a hedonist.”
Cupping her hands, she gave Ralph a nice percussion thump, then patted him on the back and announced, “Okay, time’s up.” Leaning down, she whispered in his ear, “But we can do it again tomorrow, big guy.”
Waiting for Ralph to rise and stretch, she helped him off the table, then turned to pick up the chart she’d brought with her into the examining room. Pulling a pen from her breast pocket, she started scribbling. Under Diagnosis she wrote “arthritis”; under Treatment she penned “Shiatsu massage.”
A knock on the door heralded the entrance of Eleanor’s assistant, Chloe. “How did Ralph like his massage?”
Rubbing her nose beneath her glasses, Eleanor smiled. “Loved it.” They looked at Ralph, who gazed back sleepily, a huge grin on his bulldog face. “He’s much better today. Mrs. Kaminsky wants him to have cortisone, but I’m going to talk her out of it.”
Chloe nodded, unclipping and then refastening a barrette on her unruly red hair. “Are you still planning to try acupuncture?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Eleanor glanced at Ralph, who gazed back adoringly, his big droopy eyes twin puddles of sheer devotion. “I know it would do the poor baby a world of good.”
The baby in question barked once, as if he were in total agreement.
Chloe laughed. “Come on, lover.” Approaching the bulldog, she slipped a blue nylon lead over his head. “Time to go back to your home away from home. Dr. Lippert has other patients to see.”
Reluctantly Ralph allowed himself to be led to the door.
“Mrs. Kaminsky should be here to pick him up around four,” Eleanor murmured. Swiftly and efficiently she finished Ralph’s chart, closed the folder, and requested, “Let me know when she arrives, will you? I want to speak with her.”
“Sure.” Chloe paused at the door. “Your next appointment is in room two. A boxer cross named Sadie, in to be spayed.”
“Thanks.”
Eleanor crossed to the sink to wash her hands while Chloe lingered in the doorway. She simultaneously raised her brows and lowered her voice. “The puppy’s cute, but check out the dish on the other end of the leash.”
With her hands beneath the running water, Eleanor froze. “Dish?”
Chloe nodded broadly. “Wait till you get your first glimpse of this guy. It’s like…like—” she circled a hand in the air “—finding a filet mignon in a meat case crammed with ground chuck. Definitely not from around here, or my hunk radar would have picked up by now. We are talking six feet of pure masculine perfection.” Her eyes began to glow with missionary zeal. “A match-maker’s dream!”
Oh, no. Eleanor’s stomach muscles clenched in dread. “How do you know he’s single?” she challenged, certain of what would come next unless she derailed Chloe right now. “He could be married with four children.”
“No way.”
“Or engaged.”
“Uh-uh.” The redhead shook her head. “His pheromones scream ‘single!’ Now—” she pointed a finger, pinning her boss with a narrow-eyed stare “—if I were single like some veterinarians in this room, you know what I would do? I would—”
“Yes!” Eleanor turned off the faucet, shaking her hands over the sink. “I know what you would do.” Attempting to rip a paper towel from a mounted dispenser, she yanked too hard and sent a cascade of white sheets billowing forth. “If you were single—like me—you would go into examining room two and flirt with the steak.” Slapping the excess towels away, she tore off one, wiped her hands and tossed the paper in the trash. Then she grabbed her stethoscope and hooked it around her neck. “Fortunately for the reputation of this office, you are neither single nor me.”
Chloe’s offended huff did not persuade her. Without further ado, Eleanor gathered her pens and charts. “It’s almost noon. Why don’t you go to lunch,” she suggested. “Have something calming. Like soup. And Valium.”
Chloe stayed put, propping a fist on her hip. “Fine, make jokes if you want to, but I don’t think your social life is a laughing matter. I’ve worked here almost a year and a half. As far as I can tell, you have not gone on a single date in all that time.”
Battling sudden nausea, Eleanor fiddled with her eyeglasses. “Chloe, we’re in the middle of a workday here. What does this have to—”
“I told my cousin Frank to call you. He said he left four messages. You never returned a call.”
“Oh.” Eleanor had the grace to look chagrined. “Well, I apologize for that. I…it was such a busy…” She snapped her fingers. “That was the week Mrs. Smalley’s ridgeback swallowed a compass, remember?”
Chloe narrowed her eyes. “Have you gone on even one date in the last year?”
Eleanor fought not to wince. She didn’t want to have this conversation. She couldn’t win this conversation.
Moving past her assistant, she placed a hand on the doorknob. Familiar with the adage “the best offense is a good defense,” she hoped the opposite was also true.
Lifting her chin, she spoke firmly. “Chloe, this is a veterinary medical office, not the Hard Rock Café. Our clients expect dignity, focus and professionalism, and that is exactly what they’re going to get.” She jerked open the door. “Now, we have a patient waiting in examining room two. Let’s try to keep our eye on the ball!”
Blatantly unimpressed, Chloe shook her head and stomped to the door. “Come on, Ralph, we know when we’re licked. For now,” she tossed over her shoulder as she led the bulldog to the kennels.
Stepping into the hallway herself, Eleanor closed the door behind her and breathed deeply.
Good grief! She shook her head. This was happening more and more often lately. Chloe, her parents—they were sending out single-man alerts like flares to a lost hiker. Even Mrs. Pierce at the dry cleaner’s had gotten into the act. Last Friday the elderly woman pulled a navy-blue pinstripe suit off the revolving clothes rack and whispered, “See this? Belongs to a lawyer.” Nodding pointedly, she stroked the lapel. “Nice.”
“What’s the matter with everyone lately?” Eleanor muttered. She was twenty-eight, for pity’s sake, hardly ancient for a single woman in the twenty-first century.
Patting the pockets of her lab coat to make sure she had dog treats, Eleanor adjusted her eyeglasses and moved down the hallway. Her rubber-soled shoes squeaked on the linoleum.
Pausing outside examining room two, she smoothed ash-blond hair behind her ears. Okay, so maybe she’d neglected her social life a bit. But she had a career to contend with, and she was a grown-up; grown-ups prioritized. Besides, she was good at her job; no one could deny that. Work was where she felt comfortable. Work gave her a confidence missing from certain other areas of her life. When she aided animals and the people who cared for them, she felt, well, a kind of grace.
Calling forth a genial smile, Eleanor reached for the doorknob and strode purposefully into the examining room, eager to greet her new clients, human and canine. “Good afternoon, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long. I’m Dr. Lippert, and I… I— I’m…”
Behind her wire-rimmed glasses, Eleanor’s eyes opened wide. Her mouth went dry, and so, apparently, did her brain. The words she’d been about to speak blew away. She didn’t have “hunk radar,” not like Chloe, but it didn’t take Doppler to realize that standing before her, next to a steel examining table atop which perched a panting boxer pup, was the single most attractive man she had ever seen.
Black hair, the color of India ink, waved thick and shining around a face that belonged on the cover of a movie star magazine. Brows that were dark as night framed eyes that were as blue as morning glory, and his smile… Eleanor actually felt goose bumps race up her arms. Slow, liquid, his grin flowed like a lazy river, creating a lopsided curve that seemed oddly, deliberately personal.
Good Lord, Chloe wasn’t kidding: This man…that is, her client was…steak.
Glancing to the chart in her hands, she gave herself a mental shake. Her brain felt fuzzy suddenly, like a TV screen filled with snow. “I’m—” Pushing at her glasses, she scanned the patient information sheet quickly. “I’m Dr…. Uh, Sadie… I’ll be neutering Eleanor today.”
Turning, she deposited the paperwork on the countertop. Brushing her perspiring palms on her lab coat, she pulled a pen from her breast pocket, dropped it, bent to pick it up and hit her head on the edge of the counter.
“Ow!”
“Are you all right?”
The rich, masculine voice resonated with concern.
“Oh, yes! Fine.” Eleanor rubbed the top of her head. “Fine, fine.” She nodded briskly, like a drunken Jack-in-the-box. Smile frozen in place, she moved toward her patient.
Avoiding the man’s gaze, Eleanor lifted the bowl of her stethoscope and placed it on the boxer’s square chest. For a moment, and it seemed like a long one, all Eleanor could hear was the thundering of her own heart. It wasn’t only the man’s looks that affected her so. It wasn’t even her own awkwardness where members of the opposite sex were concerned. It was…the man’s aura. There was something mysterious, yet familiar, and—
When she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder, she almost yelped. “Yes?” She looked up, smiling again, though the stretch of her lips felt as genuine as a three-dollar bill.
“Hear anything important?”
This time his voice was honey and rum. And frankly amused. Eleanor swallowed. “No. Not yet.”
His hands came toward her neck. Reflexively Eleanor backed up. Ignoring her surprise, he reached for the ear-pieces of the stethoscope, brought them up—and placed them in her ears, where they belonged.
One handsome brow arched. “Better?”
Eleanor blushed bloodred. His grin deepened. Of all the humiliating…! Furious with herself, furious with him, furious with Chloe, she clamped her lips shut and got down to business. With a rigid efficiency that precluded conversation, she listened to Sadie’s heartbeat, checked the dog’s eyes and ears and examined her coat. She refrained from saying another word, refused even to glance in the man’s direction, until the examination was complete.
Keeping her head down while she made preliminary notations on the dog’s chart, she murmured, “Her health seems good generally. She’s on the thin side, though. What are you feeding her?”
“Big Macs. Fries. Hold the ketchup.”
The pen stilled. “You’re kidding.”
“Why? You think she’d like ketchup?”
Glancing up at last, Eleanor was rewarded with a wink that made the blue eyes sparkle and dance. This time the curve of his full lips was downright roguish. “You know how I feel about ketchup, Teach.”
“I beg your—”
Teach.
Eleanor felt a surge of déjà vu so strong, it made her dizzy.
Teach? Only one person in her life had ever called her that. Only one person on the planet…
Gaping through her glasses, she looked at him, then down at the chart, then back up. It couldn’t be… No, definitely not…
“Colvin?”
The hand that was stroking Sadie stilled immediately. He crossed both arms over his chest and scowled. “No one’s called me Colvin in over twelve years… Eleanor Gertrude.”
Eleanor’s heart thumped like a jackhammer. It was him. Colvin—or rather Cole—Sullivan. Her words rushed out on a breath.
“When did you get back?”
“A couple of days ago.” The grin returned with devilish implication. “Miss me?”
Dumbstruck, Eleanor could only stare. Her heart fluttered. Miss him? It had been twelve years since she’d last set eyes on him. If Cole Sullivan had been in Oakdale at all since their high school graduation, she hadn’t known about it. She hadn’t spoken to him, hadn’t heard from him.
Not that that was surprising. They hadn’t parted on the most congenial of terms. She should have recognized him by the small crescent-shaped scar on his chin—she’d put it there.
He caught her looking at it and touched two fingers to the twelve-year-old brand. “Still hurts, you know.”
Eleanor blurted her first thought. “You deserved it.”
Cole tilted his head back and laughed—rich, full-bodied laughter that held not a single grudge. “You’re right, Teach. I did.”
Feelings Eleanor couldn’t begin to identify—and didn’t think she wanted to—swelled inside her. Quickly she reached for Sadie’s chart.
She cleared her throat. “So. You brought Sadie in to be spayed. I don’t see any record of shots.”
Cole’s gaze narrowed. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the examining table and studied Eleanor leisurely, in no rush to answer, as if he were deciding whether to accept the abrupt change from the personal to the professional. “I found the dog,” he said finally, keeping his gaze on Eleanor, “a few days ago on the drive up here. She was taking a stroll along the I-5 Highway. No collar. And no sense of direction.”
Eleanor reached out to touch a grouping of small scars on the boxer’s left flank. “Abandoned, probably,” she murmured.
“And abused by the look of things.” Cole’s tone hardened, but his hand moved absently, gently over the dog’s spine. “I found you in the phone book, by the way.” He arched a brow. “Eleanor Lippert, D.V.M. Is this your own practice?”
“Yes.”
“Very impressive,” he commended, nodding slowly, his voice low and tinged with approval.
A frisson of pleasure skittered up Eleanor’s spine. She squashed it ruthlessly.
“I can spay Sadie this afternoon,” she said, forcing herself to stick to the business at hand. “We use a general anaesthetic. Has she eaten?”
“Not since last night. Your receptionist gave me the drill when I called.”
Eleanor nodded and penned the information on the chart, noting as she did that Cole had listed Los Angeles as his permanent place of residence. Was that where he’d been all these years?
“So, is this going to hurt?”
She glanced up. The hand smoothing Sadie’s back had stilled on top of her sturdy head and the dog had lifted her muzzle as if to fit herself into Cole’s palm.
“No,” she said, smiling when he looked relieved. “Spaying is a very safe procedure. Not as simple as neutering a male, of course, but—”
Cole’s eyes widened, and Eleanor felt her smile falter.
“What I mean is, castration is very straightforward.” He winced.
Heat suffused her neck and cheeks. She’d explained this unhesitantly dozens of times in spay and neuter clinics.
Raising her chin, she stated with forced calm, “We’ll keep Sadie overnight—”
“Is that what you do with the easily neutered males?”
Closing Sadie’s chart with a snap, Eleanor tucked it under her arm. As matter-of-factly as she could, she replied, “Males don’t need to be kept overnight.”
“Hmm. I never did know as much about biology as you—” his voiced rolled toward her like a slow rippling tide “—but I’d say that all depends on the male, Teach. It all depends on the male.”
The bottom half of her glasses fogged. Wrapping the examination up while she still had a modicum of composure, she said, “You can pick Sadie up tomorrow.”
“What time do you close?”
“Six. So if you can’t get here earlier, we can keep her until closing. She’ll be very comfortable.”
“Are you married, Eleanor?”
“I— Am I— Uh, no. Mmm. No.”
“Living with anyone?”
Returning her pen to her breast pocket—three jabs before she got it in—she raised her brows, a study in forced nonchalance. “Why? What do you mean?”
“Just a friendly question. If we grab dinner, catch up on old times, is there anyone whose feathers could get ruffled?”
Slowly Eleanor shook her head.
“Good.” He nodded. “I’ll pick you and Sadie up tomorrow evening.”
“Well, I…”
“Be good for the doctor, Sadie.” Reaching over, he gave the big puppy a solid pat.
Moving past Eleanor, Cole grasped the doorknob, then turned. “I realize you’ll be working, but try not to be late.” He gave her a long, steady look. “I may be ‘straightforward,’ but I’m a devil when I’m hungry.”

Chapter Two
Eleanor, who in a dozen years of driving had never had a ticket, managed to run a stop sign on her way home from work.
Inside her apartment she tossed keys, coat and purse onto a bar stool, deposited a paper sack of take-out Chinese on the kitchen counter and atypically ignored her cat, Gus, who yowled in complaint while she made a beeline for the hall closet.
Sliding open the closet door, Eleanor stood on her toes to extract hats, mittens and other winter gear, sending items sailing to the floor until her hands closed on a box shoved all the way to the back of the shelf. Lugging the heavy carton to the floor, she rummaged through the contents until she found what she was looking for.
Oakdale High 1990. Her senior yearbook.
The broad flat album smelled musty. Sitting on her heels, Eleanor wiped a finger across dusty gold lettering while her heart beat with anticipation. She opened the stiff maroon cover, turning pages without pause until she came to the senior high students whose last names began with S, then scanned the page until she reached “Sullivan, Colvin Orson.”
From a black-and-white photo the size of a tea bag, Cole stared up at her, looking exactly the way she remembered.
“Cole,” she murmured, letting the name linger in her mouth again after all these years. She shook her head. No wonder she hadn’t recognized him.
Long necked with a lean jaw and defined cheekbones, in high school Cole had worn his hair in a military-style buzz cut that gave no clue to the ebony Samson’s locks he sported now. He’d been quite thin then, too, with a teenager’s sinewy vitality, not the blatant power and muscular grace of the body he had grown into.
He had come to her for tutoring in their senior year of high school. Working nights at the same meat-packing plant that employed his father, Cole had faced challenges the other, more affluent students at Oakdale had known nothing about. There had been mornings when he was so tired he had barely stayed awake in class. By first-semester midterms, he’d realized he was in danger of failing his math and science classes, and that was when he approached Eleanor one day at the school lunch tables.
She had been sitting with her usual lunch mates, a small group of girls who, like her, excelled more scholastically than socially.
“I need a scholarship to college.” Cole had seemed brusque and straightforward.
Gazing up at him while he stood over their table, Eleanor had nearly choked on her tuna sandwich. He’d never spoken to her before. Few boys had. It wasn’t that she’d been unpopular, exactly. More like…invisible.
Blinking behind her glasses, Eleanor forgot to chew the bite of sandwich she’d taken. One of her friends elbowed her in the ribs, and she managed a dazed, “Huh?”
Cole stood with his hands in his pockets, blue workshirt open to reveal a white T that had been bleached one time too many.
“I need a scholarship,” he repeated. “But I’ve got to bring my math and science grades up.” His gaze remained fixed on Eleanor exclusively, but she could feel her friends holding their breath. “I can’t pay you, but Mr. Howell says he’ll give you extra credit toward final exams in physics. You want to be my tutor?”
Eleanor struggled to swallow. Tuna on white stuck to the roof of her mouth. Reaching for a carton of milk, she sucked up as much liquid as she could, gulped, then replaced the carton clumsily on her lunch tray. “Okay.” She gave a jerky nod.
It was without question the best “okay” she’d ever uttered.
A plaintive meow from Gus commanded Eleanor’s attention, and she set the yearbook gently on the floor. Curving her arms around the big orange cat, she murmured, “What do you think he’s been doing all these years, Gus?” Gus purred and used her chin to scratch his nose. Eleanor rested her cheek on his head and sighed.
Once upon a time, Cole had given her what no one else ever had—the chance to see herself as something special.
As long as she lived, she would never forget the day Cole set his pencil down during one of their study sessions, leaned an elbow on the desk and stared at her while she described in detail the function of stomata in plant respiration.
“Hey, Teach,” he’d murmured lazily, using the nickname he’d given her. Unabashed admiration shone in his eyes. “How come you know so much?”
Pressing her nose to Gus’s fur, Eleanor closed her eyes. Being admired by Cole Sullivan had been heavenly.
“Until I ruined it.”
Gus meowed, alerting Eleanor that she was holding him too tightly and that his patience regarding dinner had come to an end.
“Okay.” Standing with the cat in her arms, she walked to the kitchen, set Gus on the floor and spooned cashew chicken into his bowl. His tail twitched as he attacked his supper.
“I let my imagination get the best of me, Gus.” And there had been no end to her humiliation once that happened.
After that moment with Cole in the library, Eleanor had begun noticing things. The triumphant wink he gave her when he turned in his physics midterm, for example. Every glance, every smile started to seem profoundly personal. And Eleanor began to daydream in a way she never, ever had before.
She—straight-A, left-brained she—had become a closet romantic in less time than it took to say, “I think I love you.”
One afternoon, with fewer than three weeks before their senior prom, Eleanor found herself standing in front of Fortmeyer’s department store, somewhat dazed, as if she’d arrived by osmosis, staring at a window display of taffeta dresses.
Without any awareness of a conscious decision, she was inside the store, putting a deposit on the frosty lime-green dress with the little shoulder-strap bows.
“Gardenias would be the perfect complement to a dress this color,” the saleslady advised her. “Tell your date you want gardenias in your corsage.”My date. “Yes.” Beaming, Eleanor promised. “Yes, I will!”
Somehow at that moment, the fact that Cole hadn’t asked her to the prom didn’t seem like much of a hurdle.
She began dropping hints, subtle ones, she thought, about how hard they’d worked all year and didn’t they deserve a little fun?
Preoccupied with grades and final exams, Cole hadn’t paid much attention. When there was only a week left before the big night, Eleanor got worried. So, during one of their regular afternoon study sessions, she mustered her courage and broached the topic as directly as she dared.
“I was thinking about the prom.” Her gaze was riveted to the textbook in front of her. Her voice barely reached the decibel level of a whisper.
Cole, on the other hand, sounded almost offhand as he replied, “So was I.”
For a moment Eleanor didn’t move, could barely think. “You were?”
“Yeah.” Hands clasped behind his head, he leaned back in his chair. His eyes narrowed, and a smile appeared. “What kinds of flowers do girls like, Teach?”
“Flowers?”
As if it had grown hummingbird wings, Eleanor’s heart fluttered against her rib cage. It was happening! Not the way she’d planned—in the library courtyard, underneath the elm tree—but it was happening!
“Gardenias,” she said, anticipation singing in her veins. She would pay the balance on her beloved dress that afternoon.
“Gardenias,” Cole murmured. “Hmm. They’re white, aren’t they?”
“Yes.” She nodded happily. “With waxy petals. They’re subtropical of the genus Gardenia…”
Ohh! Eleanor cringed the moment the words left her lips. This was not the time for a botany lesson! “They smell nice,” she concluded, frowning when a new thought occurred. “Gardenias may be expensive, though. Carnations would be just as nice.”
“No problem.” Cole shrugged. Raising his arms, he stretched, pulling his T-shirt taut across his chest. “I’ve been saving money lately. You’ve fed me so many Oreos, I haven’t had to buy lunch for weeks.”
Eleanor blushed. She packed the icing-filled cookies in her lunch bag and brought them to the library on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays not because she liked them—chocolate gave her a headache—but because she knew Cole had a particular fondness for them. Lifting her shoulders, she murmured, “You like Oreos.”
“Yeah, I do. So,” he gazed up at the ceiling, “gardenias, hmm? Okay.”
Lowering his arms and leaning forward, he leaned over his textbook. “I hope you’re right, Teach. Because Sue Ann Corning strikes me as the type of girl who needs a lot of color.”
Eleanor’s smile froze. “Sue Ann Corning?” Her lips barely moved.
Cole nodded. “I asked her yesterday.” Glancing up, he grinned. “She said yes right away.”
Eleanor felt the sudden urge to guzzle air.
Sue Ann Corning? Sue Ann, who filed her nails in U.S. History class?Sue Ann? The same girl who’d flunked algebra two years running because she forgot what time the class started?
“You’re going to the prom with Sue Ann Corning.” It was a dazed statement, rather than a question. Sue Ann had earned quite a reputation in four years at Oakdale, but not for studying.
“Last week you said you thought we worked too hard, that we needed more fun. Remember?” Cole’s grin broadened. “I can’t think of anything more fun than a date with Sue Ann.”
Eleanor felt the rest of her congeal right along with her smile.
One moment—that’s all it took for her dream to thud to earth like a hunted duck. Cole enjoyed her company, sure…when passing midterms was the goal. When he wanted a date, he didn’t give her a second thought.
Frustration burned in her belly. For the first time since the start of their friendship, Eleanor felt as invisible in Cole’s eyes as she did with the other boys in their class. Except this was worse.
Well, the next time Cole Sullivan wanted to impress a scholarship committee, he could ask Sue Ann Corning to explain the difference between molecular and population genetics!
Hot with unshed tears, Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. For once in her life she didn’t stop to think. Picking up her copy of Neutrons in Motion, she flung the slim volume at him. Fortunately his reflexes were sharp, and the book glanced off his chin.
“Hey!” Putting a hand to his jaw, he stared at Eleanor in disbelief. “For crying out loud, Teach! What are you trying to do, kill me or something?”
“Sorry, I must have slipped. I was aiming at your thick skull!”
Quickly Eleanor gathered her belongings and fled to the door. Through glasses fogged with tears, she gave him a last look. “And don’t call me ‘Teach’!”
With the vehement command ringing in the air, she ran from the library.
Seated on a bar stool in her kitchen, Eleanor crossed her arms on the counter and buried her face in them. “I can’t believe I said that!” She raised her head slightly to peer at her cat. “You may find this hard to believe, Gus, but Mama was a little awkward in high school.”
Gus may have missed the irony in that revelation, but Eleanor couldn’t. Twelve years later she still felt like a blithering ninny around attractive men. Sighing, she sat up, rummaged in the bag from Yee’s and pulled out an egg roll, submerging it morosely in a container of plum sauce.
Her relationship with Cole never had regained its footing after that day. She’d commanded herself to forget about him, to view the experience as an opportunity for learning. And she supposed she had learned a few things—like never to confuse fantasy with reality. Or respect with romance.
If she was truly smart, she would stay home tomorrow night. She could swing by the bookstore on her way home from work, pick up a copy of Ten Stupid Things Women Do To Mess Up Their Lives, eat leftover Chinese food and go to bed early.
“That’s what I ought to do.”
She squeezed her eyes shut tight.
It wasn’t what she was going to do.
She’d acted like such a fool in her office today, stuttering and dropping things…
“I can’t let that be his last impression of me,” she muttered, crumbling the egg roll between her tense fingers. “The man probably thinks I still have a crush on him.”
She glanced at Gus, who gazed back critically.
“Don’t look at me like that. I just want to close the door once and for all on an up note. I’m entitled to some dignity.”
Bending, she scooped Gus into her arms. “This may be hard to grasp from your perspective, but at some point, Gus, a person has to decide whether she’s going to spend her whole life clucking like a chicken or roaring like a lion.”
Gus meowed. Like a cat.
“Very funny.”
Eleanor decided to roar. Like a woman.
Unfortunately, by 6:00 p.m. the following evening, there was a whole lot of clucking going on.
In half an hour Cole would arrive at the clinic to pick up Sadie and to take Eleanor out to dinner, and Eleanor knew she couldn’t face it.
So by 6:05 p.m. she’d talked herself out of the decision she’d made last night and into a new one. “I’m not going.”
Ten minutes later, having completed her rounds in the kennel, she gathered her things and walked to the reception area.
“I’m leaving, Chloe,” she told her assistant, striving for nonchalance while her heart beat hurry, hurry, hurry. “Mr. Sullivan will be here in—” unnecessarily, she checked her watch “—about fifteen minutes or so to pick up Sadie. I’d like you to bring her out to him and give him the postsurgical spiel.” Eleanor dug through her purse for her keys, avoiding eye contact with her perceptive receptionist. Palming her duties off on others was not her habit. “Sadie’s doing well, so she’ll just need to rest tonight, et cetera. Well, you know the routine, so I won’t worry about it. Okay. Goodbye.”
Pitching a bland smile in Chloe’s general direction, she headed for the door. “Oh! Also,” she added in a poorly feigned afterthought, “would you tell Mr. Sullivan I’m very sorry, but I can’t make it tonight, after all? Something came up. Thanks. See you tomorrow.”
“Hold it!” Chloe bounded around the front desk, planting her petite figure squarely in Eleanor’s path. “What? What are you saying? You have a date with that…that hunk tonight?”
“Mr. Sullivan and I had plans, yes, but they were tentative, and—”
Chloe’s jaw fell. “You couldn’t possibly be telling me you’re not going!”
“Chloe,” Eleanor searched her meager experience for the best way to handle this. “Chloe, I don’t have time to explain.” According to her wristwatch, it was only ten minutes to liftoff; she had to jettison this mission while there was still time. “Just tell Mr. Sullivan that I forgot I had other plans.”
Chloe closed her eyes, shook her head and tapped her ear as if she was certain she’d lost her hearing. “I must have misunderstood. A man who is living proof of a loving God asks you out and you have—” she drew quotation marks in the air “—‘other plans’? No.” Pressing her peach-tinted lips firmly together, she wagged her head. “I don’t think so.”
Eleanor spoke as coolly as she could, given her urgency to flee. “I have other plans. They slipped my mind yesterday.”
“Today is Wednesday,” Chloe argued. “Wednesdays are only egg foo yung night at Yee’s. You can miss egg foo yung.”
Eleanor’s face grew hot. This is what comes from getting chummy with your employees. “I have other other plans tonight.”
Chloe eyed her doubtfully. “Cancel them.”
“No. Now I’m going. Just give him the message.”
“But—”
“Good night, Chloe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Ignoring Chloe’s plea to discuss this further, Eleanor escaped the building and hopped into her Toyota.
When she arrived home forty minutes later, she was carrying a bag from Yee’s Chinese Takeout, which she virtually slammed onto the kitchen counter. Gus leaped up, enthusiastically sniffed the bag, then hissed.
“Szechwan eggplant,” Eleanor informed him grumpily. “You need a change.”
Her mood was turning darker by the minute. Mr. Yee had greeted her tonight in his customary manner—with a big smile and a booming, “Hello, egg foo yung!” He never called her by name, anymore; he simply referred to her as the daily special.
“I’m in a rut.”
The feeling of dissatisfaction with her circumstances was unlike her. She was twenty-eight, owned her own town home and had a wonderful career. She had a frequent-diner punch card at Yee’s and a cat that liked egg rolls. What more did she need? Even with all the badgering her parents and Chloe had been doing about her social life, Eleanor hadn’t been discontent—until the day before yesterday. Already, Cole Sullivan’s reappearance in her life was wreaking havoc with her peace of mind.
“I’m grateful I didn’t go out with him tonight. I definitely am,” she told Gus, who had settled atop the heat vent. “You and I are going to have a terrific evening, Guster Buster. We’re going to get out of this rut, and we don’t have to prove anything to anyone in order to do it. I can’t wait to try that spicy eggplant, and after dinner we can tune in to the sci-fi channel. That’ll be a change, won’t it? See? Already this is good. It’s a good evening.”
Eleanor kept up a running commentary as she unpacked the dinner from Yee’s. One whiff made her eyes water.
Mr. Yee had frowned heavily when she said she wanted the eggplant dish. “No.” He’d shaken his head, waving a hand emphatically. “Too spicy for you.”
That was all it had taken for Eleanor to insist, “The hotter the better, Mr. Yee.” Carrying her tray to the coffee table in the living room, Eleanor was about to sit down when the doorbell rang. Who— she wondered, then winced. “Mrs. Grilley.” Shaking her head, she crossed the living room. The elderly woman had slipped her mind until that moment.
Florence Grilley was her eighty-three-year-old neighbor, whose King Charles spaniel, Pearlie, suffered from ear mites. Eleanor had promised to make a house call earlier this week. She readily agreed to her neighbor’s frequent requests because she knew that, in part, Mrs. Grilley simply needed the company.
Opening the door with an apologetic smile, Eleanor exclaimed, “You must think I’m the most absentminded person in the world—”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
Eleanor froze in surprise.
Cole Sullivan stood in her doorway, dressed in a fawn sport jacket, straw-colored shirt and pants. His wavy hair had been trimmed since yesterday, falling in thick waves, neat enough for a boardroom, but enticing enough to tempt a woman’s fingers to comb through it.
Never had he looked more wonderful.
Never had she felt more awkward. “What are you doing here?”
Cole gazed at her with pointed irony. “I think that’s my line.”

Chapter Three
Glancing at his watch, Cole arched a brow. “We had an appointment at six-thirty.”
Relaxed, as if he didn’t mind at all conducting this discussion in Eleanor’s doorway, he leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms. “I haven’t been stood up in years.”
“I told Chloe to tell you—”
“Ah, yes, the ‘prior engagement.’ Did you know Chloe’s neck itches when she lies?”
He reached out a hand. Eleanor stood rooted to the threshold as his index and middle fingers grazed her just below the jaw.
“Right there,” he said, folding his arms again. “Copious scratching.” He shrugged. “It’s a dead giveaway.”
His tone and words were pleasantly ironic, but his kaleidoscopic eyes darkened from Pacific blue to stormy gunmetal gray.
Eleanor cleared her suddenly dry throat. “I asked Chloe to tell you I forgot I had a previous engagement, because I do.” The aroma of Szechuan eggplant called her a liar. “Did,” she amended awkwardly. “I had plans, but…now I don’t.”
She should probably wash her mouth out with soap. She hadn’t lied since the third grade when she broke her father’s favorite petri dish and told him the dog did it.
“My plans were canceled,” she ended in a small voice.
“Yours, too?” Cole glanced toward the living room. “Mind if I come in, then?”
He straightened away from the door frame and walked past her without waiting for a reply. Stopping a few paces into the room, he made a brief study of Eleanor’s small home.
When his gaze found the coffee table, where her solitary meal awaited her, she blushed.
Cole turned to regard her, noting the heightened color in her cheeks, the way she fiddled with a pearl button at the top of her sweater. He felt a measure of satisfaction in her discomfort—unchivalrous, he knew, but he wasn’t used to being stood up. He didn’t like it.
Worse, he had not been stood up by just any woman, but by Eleanor Lippert.
A lot had changed in the dozen years he’d been away from Oakdale, superficial changes like the landscape around Quinn Park and new businesses along California Street. Other things appeared to be exactly the same, and he found himself wanting, fairly or not, for Eleanor Lippert to be one of those things.
He had not returned to Oakdale for pleasure or because he’d had a sudden urge to stroll down memory lane. He was not a sentimental man.
Moodily Cole gazed at Eleanor, who looked hopelessly awkward, then glanced again at the food laid out on the coffee table. Plowing a hand through his hair, he shook his head. Maybe she’d had a prior engagement, after all.
“I’m interrupting your dinner.” The words emerged more gruff than graceful.
“How did you find out where I live?”
Cole tried not to wince visibly. Eleanor hadn’t given him her home phone number, let alone her address. Arriving uninvited, he’d invaded her privacy as well as her home. He could have retreated at that point; he probably should have. Instead he felt his lips curve into a smile. Easily—a little too easily—he shifted to the slick charm he used to persuade boards of directors across the continental U.S.
“I coerced it out of your assistant. She was very reluctant,” he assured, then paused, musing. “There are two ways we can handle this. One, I can apologize for barging in here, leave and get something to eat on my own…”
Ducking her head, Eleanor mumbled the response she knew he was waiting for. “What’s the second way?”
Cole felt his muscles relax. “You always did like multiple choice, Teach. The second way involves a bit more participation on your part. I still apologize, of course, but then you take pity on me, pull another plate out and invite me to share your Chinese food.”
“Where’s Sadie?”
“Sadie? I dropped her at home on my way here.”
“Oh.” Eleanor nudged her glasses. “Does she have a soft, clean place to rest? I don’t think I’d leave her unattended so soon.”
Cole grinned.
Eleanor blushed, unsure of whether she was being a responsible vet or simply stalling for time.
“There’s a housekeeper in residence,” Cole informed her. “Jasmine loves dogs. Sadie’s being looked after.”
Jasmine, the housekeeper? Eleanor blinked. Cole had changed in more ways than one over the years.
It had been common knowledge when they were kids that Cole lived in “Butcher’s Row,” a distressed area of company-owned housing for the employees of Orly’s Meat Packing and their families. There’d been terrible stories circulated about Butcher’s Row, the kind kids told to distance themselves from their less fortunate peers. The most enthusiastically whispered rumor was that if you spent a night in Butcher’s Row, you could hear the haunted moo’s of deceased cattle. Or worse, that everyone who lived in the row smelled like raw meat.
No one had ever taunted Cole, though, with such gibes. By tacit agreement, the young people with whom he attended school each day either forgot or overlooked the fact that he returned to The Row each night. And yet to Eleanor even this had seemed somehow discourteous. Ignoring the situation had made it impossible to help when his clothes clearly had suffered one washing too many or when he’d appeared exhausted again after working the graveyard shift at Orly’s on a school night.
It was hard to reconcile the memory of that boy with the man who stood before her today. Cole had clearly become a man of substance, someone who had seen and, no doubt, sampled the world well beyond Oakdale.
Silently she studied his broad frame, clothed beautifully in a suit that must have been tailored especially for him.
It was all too easy to imagine the contemporary Cole Sullivan hiring some gorgeous young woman, some Jasmine, to putter around his kitchen. Jasmine. Right. Eleanor might be naive, but she wasn’t born yesterday. No one had to tell her that women named Jasmine had a lot more on their minds than ridding the world of dust bunnies.
“Okay, stop frowning, Eleanor.” Cole sighed. “If you’re that concerned, I’ll go back and check on her.”
“Why?” Unable to help herself, she scowled. “Doesn’t Jazz-min like to be alone?”
Cole shook his head. “Jasmine? I was talking about Sadie. And you’re the one who’s worried.”
Eleanor grimaced. Sadie! Of course. She shook her head. This was no good, no good at all. Barely two days back in his company and already she was on the fast track toward making a fool of herself.
“Still the most responsible woman in Oakdale,” Cole observed quietly, mistaking her frown for concern. “Some things do stay the same.” His voice was soft, almost inaudible, and the lines on his forehead gave way to fine crinkles around his light eyes.
Eleanor’s scowl deepened. He made her sound like Miss Crumrine, the Oakdale High librarian: tidy, constant, prim.
“I’m not responsible,” she protested in a tight grumble.
Cole quirked a brow. He said nothing, but his lips began to curve. He didn’t believe her.
Eleanor bristled. Did he think she was so predictable? That he could walk away twelve years ago and return to find her unchanged?
“I’m responsible in my professional life, of course,” she restated, raising her chin. “But not in my personal life. Not at all.”
His lips curved a bit more. “That’s terrible.”
“Yes, it is,” she agreed. “I’m way too impulsive for my own good.”
“Tell me.” Placing his hands on his hips, Cole leaned forward. “What awful, irresponsible things have you done, Eleanor Gertrude?” His voice was silky smooth and baiting.
Oh, how she would love to wipe that smile off his face. She’d love to tell him something really disgusting. “I…”
Cole’s brow raised a notch.
Eleanor dragged the recesses of her memory for one shocking indiscretion, the kind everyone had tucked away somewhere in their closet. She chewed her lower lip.
The best she could do was the time she’d clipped an article about mad cow disease from a library copy of Farm Companion Monthly. But she’d felt so guilty, she’d returned the next week with three dollars and change so the library could purchase a new issue.
“Don’t keep me in suspense,” he murmured. “Will I have to make a citizen’s arrest?”
Eleanor ground her teeth, an old bad habit. “Never mind!” When deep grooves appeared in his cheeks, she waved her hand like an irascible crossing guard. “Come in, come in!”
Pretending to ignore his amusement, Eleanor retreated to the kitchen to fix another plate of food while Cole took a seat in her living room. Stealing a quick sideways glance as she placed rice, eggplant and egg rolls on serving plates, she saw that he was watching her. Ducking her head, she searched a drawer for cutlery.
Feeding a man take-out Chinese was a simple thing, but suddenly Eleanor felt like she was in competition with every woman who had ever served Cole dinner—and had done it better. And how many women would that be? she wondered.
The thought came suddenly: What if she and Cole had become a couple in school? How many meals might they have shared by now? How many of the small details of his everyday life would be as familiar to her as her own? She’d spent so many hours thinking about him and yet she didn’t even know if he preferred cereal or eggs for breakfast, or how he whiled away a quiet evening at home.
Who are you now, Cole Sullivan? she mused, unable to deny a rush of longing. So many things could have been different if he’d asked her to that prom.
“Mind if I take off this jacket and tie? I’ve been sitting in meetings all day.”
Eleanor shook her head.
And watched him.
It was impossible to disregard his shoulders as the jacket came off. He’d filled out well in the years since high school. Tonight Cole wore a long-sleeved dress shirt, but Eleanor could see clearly that his body was still perfectly conditioned and much, much broader than she remembered. Removing his tie, he unbuttoned his shirt collar, exposing a tanned neck and a grove of dark chest hairs. The sight was hypnotic.
As he sauntered toward the kitchen, Eleanor realized he had a most unnerving way of holding a person in his gaze while he moved.
She released her breath slowly. “So. What kind of business are you in?”
Cole stopped before her, frowning at what she considered a fairly innocuous question.
“You said you were in meetings all day,” she prompted.
Leisurely he nodded. “That’s right. But business is the last thing I want to talk about right now. I haven’t seen you in twelve years, Teach. We have a lot to catch up on.” His smile seemed to move him closer without his taking another step forward.
Eleanor felt her face and neck prickle with heat. “Well, telling each other about our careers is part of catching up, isn’t it?” And it was a lot safer than having him ask about her love life!
“I’m in business,” Cole answered after a moment’s deliberation. “Nothing too interesting. Just your typical type A career.”
“What kind of business?”
His blue eyes narrowed. “It’s dull, Eleanor. I acquire other people’s businesses. It’s a little complicated and not very interesting.”
What he didn’t realize was that she found everything about him interesting. “Have you found a business you want in Oakdale?” There were a couple of modest factories and lately some light industry moving in just outside of town, but nothing really impressive yet. Nothing she could imagine anyone moving in from Los Angeles to acquire.
Again Cole deliberated obviously before answering. “We’re in the negotiating stages. Nothing’s definite yet, but yes. There is a company I’m interested in acquiring.”
Eleanor felt her breathing grow labored. “You’ll be staying awhile then?” Forced out on a puff of air, her voice rose an octave. Wonderful. She sounded like an asthmatic mermaid. Maybe where Cole was concerned, there were no casual topics.
“I’ll be here a short time, yes.” He fingered one of the serving spoons she’d set out.
Eleanor studied the back of his hand, tanned from all that California sunshine. His nails were clean and trimmed, and she wouldn’t have been at all surprised to discover he had them professionally manicured nowadays. So different from the clean but rugged appeal of his youth. And yet for all his polished sophistication, he was still intensely masculine.
“Need any help here?” He gestured to the meal she was about to set out.
Yes. Blinking, Eleanor fought to collect her thoughts. It was far too warm in this room. “Ginger ale.” She pressed the word through dry lips. “In the refrigerator. And ice—” she waved indistinctly “—in the freezer.”
Cole extracted an ice cube tray, and Eleanor moved aside as he approached the sink, watching his strong hands twist the plastic tray. Ice cubes popped up.
“Glasses,” he requested, and she passed him two tumblers.
Using his hands, he scooped out the ice. Almost on contact, it seemed, the cubes began to melt in the grasp of his long fingers.
So would I, Eleanor thought dazedly, her skin beginning to tingle in a way that was wholly unfamiliar and not at all unpleasant.
Glasses filled with ice, Cole turned his amazing incandescent eyes on her again. “Anything else?”
“Yes.” You.
Shocked for a minute that she’d spoken part of the thought out loud, Eleanor slapped a hand over her mouth.
Cole regarded her bemusedly. “Want to let me in on the punch line?”
Lowering her hand, Eleanor shook her head. Pouring ginger ale into the tumblers, she listened to the ice cubes crackle and realized she felt the way they sounded. The punch line is going to be me unless I get a grip on myself.
She’d never been the master of her thoughts—or her tongue—where Cole was concerned. That last day in the library, she’d run outside, hiding behind the building as she tried to stop crying before her next class. She’d sworn then and there that she was going to change, no matter what. Forget physics, forget calculus; she was going to learn something useful, namely how to become sexy, alluring, flirtatious. And the next time, the very next time she fell in love with someone, she would be prepared to do something about it.
A pall settled over her as she stood in her kitchen, pouring soda for two. If she’d known it was going to take this long to develop sex appeal, she could have had herself cryogenically frozen in the interim.
“Whoa! That’s going to spill.”
Cole nudged the neck of the soda bottle just in time to prevent Eleanor from overfilling the glasses.
“You all right, Teach?” His soft query had the most alarming effect. Eleanor felt like melting into a happy puddle…and screaming in frustration.
Teach again!Teach. It was the only nickname she’d ever had, and she’d loved it. Until that last day.
She’d bet a dollar to a doughnut that the women Cole dated had nicknames like “Bunny” or “Kitten,” endearments evocative of small cuddly creatures, not one’s high school algebra teacher.
Who could imagine murmuring sexy endearments to a “Teach”?
Glumly, Eleanor shoved serving spoons into the food. “Let’s eat.”
Before they moved to the dining room, Cole spied today’s edition of the local paper lying on one of the bar stools. The Oakdale Sentinel. He lifted the thin paper. “‘Our commitment,”’ he read from the top of the front page, “‘to educate, inform, illuminate.’ The good old Sentinel.” He grinned. “Always a leader in gritty journalism. What’s the big story today? Mayor grows two-pound zucchini?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t had time to read it yet.”
“Mind if I take a look?”
She shook her head. “I should reheat this food, anyway. It’s probably cold by now.”
Perching on one of the kitchen stools, Cole snapped the community paper open and laid it on the counter. “New skateboarding area opening in Quinn Park. City council approves longer parade on Labor Day. Looks like the hometown is still hoppin’.”
Eleanor depressed the latch on the microwave door and placed their dinner inside. “I suppose Oakdale seems pretty tame after living in Los Angeles.”
“Oakdale seemed pretty tame when I was living right here. Ah, this item hot off the press,” he quipped, “‘Nun passes away at the age of eighty-nine.”’
Standing at the microwave, Eleanor turned around. “What?”
Cole read the front page. “‘Sister Marguerite Bertrice died peacefully at her niece’s home in Oakdale late Sunday evening.”’ Quickly he scanned the rest of the article. “It says she was from an abbey in Mount Angel. I wonder what she was doing in Oakdale?”
“She had a hip replacement four years ago and moved here to be closer to her family.” Abandoning their meal, Eleanor scurried to the counter and spun the paper around. Her lips moved silently as she read the article.
“She was a friend of yours?”
Raising her gaze slowly, Eleanor nodded. “I took care of her cat. Mr. Winky.”
“Mr. Winky.” Cole suppressed a smile.
The full impact of Sister Marguerite’s passing settled on Eleanor bit by horrifying bit. “Oh, no,” she whispered, then groaned. “Oh, no!” She leaned over the counter. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Her breath began coming in gasps. Immediately Cole crossed to her side. “Hey. It’s okay, Teach. Take a deep breath. You’re hyperventilating.”
With effort, Eleanor lifted her head. “It is not okay!” She continued to suck air in choppy gasps.
“I’m sorry about your friend, Teach, but you’ve got to calm down. You’re going to make yourself sick. Come on. Try to take a deep breath. In—” he breathed with her “—out. Shooo.”
Straightening up, Eleanor nodded and followed his instruction. Three deep breaths in, three slow breaths out. Her body quivered like the bow of a violin. She rubbed beneath her tearing eyes.
Cole handed her a paper napkin. “You want to talk about it? Maybe that’ll help.”
Grimly Eleanor studied the man who’d passed her by on prom night twelve years earlier. He met her gaze with intrinsic kindness. Pressing the napkin to her nose, she shook her head automatically, then changed her mind and nodded. “Yes. All right. Sure. Why not? Talking helps.” Carefully she daubed her eyes. “You see, Sister Marguerite turned eighty-nine in March. Her family threw a party at Der Schnitzel Haus. Lots of fondue. Good cake.”
Folding her makeshift tissue, she took a shaky breath and looked into Cole’s impossibly warm and attentive eyes. Pressure built in her chest and throat. Forcing herself to continue, she spoke with as much control as she could muster. “Sister Marguerite has passed on, and that must mean—” her voice caught as the tears began again “—that must mean…”
“Go on, Teach, let it out. What does it mean?”
Eleanor’s chin quivered. Her brow began to pucker.
“If Sister Marguerite is dead, that must mean that I…that I’m—” It took three tries before the next sentence emerged, but then it burst forth like an uncorked geyser: “I’m the oldest living virgin in Oakdale!”

Chapter Four
She couldn’t have said what he thought she said.
Stunned, Cole stood by uselessly while Eleanor began to cry in earnest.
Most of the women of his acquaintance cried daintily, without disturbing their makeup. Eleanor cried like a woman who hadn’t had a lot of practice—with big, hiccuping sobs.
Cole shook his head. Eleanor, a virgin? After all these years it was hard to believe. It was difficult to conceive of anyone remaining innocent that long, even in Oakdale.
Raking a hand through his hair, he swore silently. So much for a simple evening.
Comforting people was not Cole’s forte. He’d already stretched his capacity. Charming, intimidating, manipulating—those were the skills he’d put to good use since he’d seen Eleanor last.
Wondering where to go from here, he reached out tentatively to place a supportive hand on her back. He and Teach had gotten along famously in high school, but as far as he could recall, they’d rarely touched. Half expecting her to recoil or release a cascade of fresh sobs, he was caught off guard when she turned toward his arms without the slightest hesitation. It was almost a reflex reaction.
He wound her in a light embrace.
Eleanor was tall, five-seven, at least, to his six feet, but reed slender and with a certain fragility about her. Her arms, legs and fingers had a willowy length he’d always admired. He recalled watching her fingers curve around a pen as they studied. She’d frown lightly as she scribbled notes, her scantily freckled skin and hair the color of a caramel apple reminding him of a Southern school-marm—genteel, methodical, comforting.
Cole smoothed a hand over the hair she still wore straight and all one length to her shoulders. A half smile creased his cheek. She had virgin hair, too. No spray, no stiff mousse, just the fine silkiness of the real thing, with a scent that was baby fresh.
“You have nice hair, Teach,” he murmured. Her snuffles stopped abruptly. Cole smiled and continued to hold her.
He’d been selfishly pleased to find her still single on his return home. His response had surprised him at first. He never dated women like Eleanor—women with whom emotional entanglements were part of the terrain. And romance in general was the last thing on his mind right now. It was his intention to take care of the business he had in Oakdale, then get out of town again as swiftly as possible.
The wet spot on his shirt, where Eleanor’s tears soaked the material, grew larger. She had her nose buried in the crook of his neck. He smiled. “You okay in there?”
She nodded without lifting her head, but arched her body slightly away as if she’d just become aware she was pressed full-length against him.
Removing her glasses to wipe her eyes, she said, “You’re probably wondering what I meant when I said I was the, um… You know…”
“Oldest virgin in Oregon?” Matter-of-factly, Cole filled in the blank.
“No!” Eleanor protested. “Not Oregon! I never said all of Oregon! Only Oakdale.” Her eyes widened. She put a hand to her mouth, struck by the awful possibility. “Oh, my Lord. I hope not in all of Oregon!”
Cole couldn’t help it, he laughed. “As long as there’s a nun in the state, you’re probably safe.” Eleanor’s eyes filled with reproach. “I’m sorry. But you seem to regard this as some sort of dilemma.”
“Dilemma? Try ‘disaster.”’ Wiping her eyes, Eleanor replaced her glasses. “I’m twenty-eight.”
“Hmm. You must have had a boyfriend at some point.” Cole studied her, his eyes hooded and difficult to read. “You’ve dated, haven’t you?”
Acutely aware of the difference between dating and having a boyfriend, Eleanor shrugged. “I went out with Sheldon Kuznitsky in college.”
“And?”
“And nothing,” she admitted. “We were in premed together at Davis. He doesn’t count.”
“Why not?”
Feeling fidgety, Eleanor decided that as she’d already gone this far, there was no point in hiding the truth. “We went out three times, and he never even tried to kiss me.”
“Ah, Teach.” Cole wagged his head. “The first thing you’ve got to learn about kissing is not to wait for someone else to do it. There are times when a man wants the woman to make the first move.”
His voice was laced with humor, rich with warmth. Eleanor felt the familiar weakness steel over her. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
To save her life, Eleanor could not have wrenched herself from the tenderness in Cole’s blue eyes. Tenderness was a far cry from sexual attraction, she knew, but coming from Cole, it wasn’t half-bad.
“The first move.” She sighed. “I suppose I could have made the first move with Sheldon. Except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t think he would have liked it. He had this thing about germs.”
Cole’s expression turned suspiciously straight-faced. “Sheldon had a germ thing?”
“A phobia.” She nodded. “Germs, body fluids.” Her brow furrowed. “Actually, any fluid. He had to drop out of premed because saline solution made him feel faint. I think he became a librarian.”
Cole attempted to maintain a sober demeanor. She could see him trying, but the twitch of his lips gave him away. Ruefully Eleanor smiled, too.
“I think you can do better than Sheldon Kuznitsky,” Cole assured her. He reached out, brushing his knuckles lightly along her cheek. When he grazed her jawline, he paused, his hand—and time—hovering, suspended. “You can definitely do better.”
“Can I?” she whispered.
He nodded, his magnetic eyes turning darker and more serious.
Cole leaned toward her then, or maybe, Eleanor thought, it was merely wishful thinking. Either way, longing swelled inside her, and with it a corresponding ache that felt strangely like grief.
Why wasn’t courtship something a person could study, like chemistry or physics? She’d always been an excellent student. If there was a textbook on basic romance, maybe then she would know how to bridge the yawning gap between what she had and what she wanted—
The thought stopped her cold. A course in basic romance.
“Oh, my,” she whispered. “Oh, my.”
With a suddenness that stole her breath, the answer to her present dilemma emerged, crystal clear. While memories of her past with Cole had been flooding her mind for two days, there was one moment, one critical memory of a promise between them that had eluded her until now.
“You can help me.”
Cole had let his hand return to his side. He cocked a brow. “Help?”
Eleanor nodded. “It’s possible,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “It could actually work.”
“What could work?” Cole regarded her warily, as if he knew instinctively he wasn’t going to like what was coming.
She blinked at him. Her idea was outrageous, not at all something she was likely to follow through on. Which made it that much more appealing.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/wendy-warren/the-oldest-virgin-in-oakdale/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.