Moonlight Madness


Denise Hawkins Camp







Hard Shell Word Factory




Copyright 1999 Denise Hawkins Camp
Published July 1999 by
Hard Shell Word Factory
PO Box 161
Amherst Jct. WI 54407
books@hardshell.com
http://www.hardshell.com

All electronic rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work is forbidden without written permission from HARD SHELL WORD FACTORY

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatever to anyone bearing the same name or names. These characters are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

Moonlight Madness
A Peanut Press Book

Published by Peanut Press
www.peanutpress.com




ISBN: 0-7408-0684-X
First Peanut Press Edition




To Davie, Who Believes

And to Amelia and Jeri who made

writing this so much fun.
Chapter 1

"I'm going to kill Lynnie." That was the only solution Fleming Prescot could conjure in her state of mind.

It wouldn't be the first time her friend had involved her in a harebrained scheme gone sour. And as usual, Fleming ignored common sense and went right along with the plan.

After driving fifty miles on the causeway for the mentally insane, also known as interstate 55, her head throbbed in exact rhythm with the honking cars. She wondered if she'd somehow been trapped on the set of a new meteor-destroys-the-world movie.

All because Lynnie discovered a new restaurant.

With one hand, Fleming wrestled hair pins that locked silver blonde tresses primly in a bun. She shook her head and tried to enjoy the feeling of her hair hanging free around her shoulders. If she could just relax, she might stop the headache before it turned into a three-day killer migraine. It had been years since that had happened, but she couldn't afford to waste any time in the week before she started her new job.

That's why she agreed to join Lynnie. It was sort of like the prisoner's last meal before execution. Lynnie hadn't changed. Just like when they were children, she promised, "Don't worry it will be fun."

Fleming should have known the evening was doomed when she tried to leave the high school parking lot that afternoon. It was like bumper cars at an amusement park, only she wasn't amused— especially since it was the faculty parking lot. Students and teachers vied for right of way like they were escaping a prison camp.

It served as a visual aid to remind Fleming of all she needed to accomplish at Damon, aka "Demon" high. Her official title was "Interim Principal." Sacrificial Lamb might have been a better one. It was no accident the school board only considered candidates for the job with no family ties to the area. It was much easier to blame all that would go wrong on an outsider.

She was hired just to keep the school out of the news and out of trouble until the end of the year, not quite four months work. Fleming's goal was to bring some order to a chaotic, scandal ridden high school. If she could, she would be a viable candidate for administrator of a proposed center for reading enhancement.

Fleming found the Interstate exit, clearly marked and near a giant billboard advertising blackened Cajun cooking right next to an old burned out building, just as Lynnie promised. Lynnie loved the absurd.

She often reminded Fleming how their childhood friendship was the ultimate absurdity. Tall even in elementary school, Fleming did look an unlikely candidate to be tiny Lynnie's best friend. Even more paradox was Lynnie's foster home background compared to Fleming's prosperous family. Their diversity united to cause bedlam that probably still haunted a few teacher's memories.

Supposedly the restaurant was just a few miles from the exit. Lynnie loved never-heard-of places and sometimes found some truly fine eateries, but Fleming was beginning to fear this wouldn't be one. Anything so far from civilization was doomed. And it generally involved some man if Lynnie was "intrigued."

Fleming's stomach growled. It was a wonder it wasn't in knots. She'd been too nervous to eat much at the luncheon meeting with some of the school board officers. She wasn't one to worry about which utensil to use at formal occasions, but she didn't know which knife to use to cut the tension among the board members.

She'd assumed they would be relieved. Fleming's past may have had its troubles, but she'd never been involved in a scandal— not counting the one in fourth grade with Lynnie. Besides, no one could ever prove who sabotaged the school restrooms anyway.

No, the Delacort county school board welcoming committee was definitely nervous about something. Fleming was just paranoid enough to think they were nervous about her. It might be her age. She was young for a principal, high school or otherwise. No school board would be thrilled about discovering their principal had been functionally illiterate when she started high school.

Fleming spent the afternoon pouring over faculty files for what seemed like the umpteenth time. She wanted to be familiar with everything and make no mistakes. The records were out of date, inadequate, and difficult to read— or at least she hoped it was the files and not her.

Even after all she had accomplished, completing college and graduate school, Fleming still felt inadequate when it came to reading. It was a skill only a non-reader could respect with such mystic awe. Fleming could read now, but she'd never entirely lost her fear of making mistakes. She'd never drawn as much pleasure from it as she did old movies on the late, late show— her escape from worries.

She hoped Lynnie's directions, given to the school secretary temp, were accurate. If they were, the Friday evening might be salvaged. Lynnie warned the place was a little off the beaten track, but she didn't mention the track hadn't been made yet. The country made the movie setting for Deliverance seem urban.

Thankfully, the pain behind her eye eased once her car left the interstate. Fleming played one of her favorite CD and lowered the car windows. It was sheer heaven enjoying the breeze and listening to the music.

Her brother Max had given her the red sports car as a graduation present from college. He declared it her reward for the Prescots never believing enough in her. On evenings like this, Fleming hoped she'd thanked him enough. She'd never be able to afford such a luxury otherwise.

Fleming soon lost track of the time, the odometer, and almost the speed. She zipped through a stop sign almost loosing control of her car when she tried to obey.

That's when she realized she had come too far without passing anything that resembled a restaurant, let alone civilization. The stop sign seemed a macabre joke. She only heard the silence of no traffic around her, punctuated with a faint thud from the car's engine. Scenes from the movies Cujo and Macon County Line flashed through her mind.

The thud was followed by an all too familiar grinding noise. "Please car" she groaned aloud. "Not now, I can't afford you to break down now, and certainly not here."

The car didn't listen. Fleming tried to find a place to turn around on the road. The grinding worsened. She finally surrendered and pulled the now hated vehicle off the road. Just past the shoulder, the ground disappeared into nowhere. The "road" that the stop sign halted traffic for was barely more than a pig path.

Fleming turned off the engine. The silence roared. She made another death threat against her childhood friend— and meant it. She tried to recall anything she might have passed after leaving the interstate. She'd been so caught up with the school problems and then trying to relax she hadn't paid attention.

All the rules of the road books said to sit still and wait for help. That was fine and dandy on a busy highway or a road that actually went somewhere, but Fleming knew she may as well have been in the heart of the Amazon. Not one car had passed her. As for houses— she hadn't seen anything that even resembled a path leading to a native shack.

With no street lights and huge tress on either side of the highway, Fleming felt the approaching darkness like an illness taking hold of her body. All the horror stories of women stranded on the road scratched at her memory.

She cursed her brother Max for buying her a stupid sports car that only attracted unwanted attention and too many breakdowns. He should have purchased a lifetime membership in an auto club for her. She should have purchased a car phone or even a citizen band radio.

Finally bright lights gleamed in her rear view mirror. The height indicated it must be a truck. Judging by her surroundings, Fleming reasoned it was truck driving country. Scenes from one too many sleep-overs with B-bomb movies lighted before her. As the truck approached, she questioned whether she would let anyone help her if they did offer.

It was one of those big ones on monster wheels. It slowed to go around her. Fear triggered shudders down her spine when one man turned around and looked again. All Fleming could see were two big men. The man who turned to look had long shaggy hair topped by a hat.

The truck stopped in the middle of the road and started to back up. Fleming's stomach twisted and threatened to escape without her. She'd never felt so helpless, not even as a child struggling in a classroom.

Don't unlock the car or open the windows she reminded herself. That's what all the safety classes said. When she saw the shaggy haired man get out, she had the sinking feeling that mere steel and glass would not stop him. He was twice as big as her little car and darn near as big as the truck.

With hat in hand, he leaned over, his straggly hair hiding his face.

"Are you out of gas?" he asked.

There was a lightning scar across his cheek that almost glowed and he wore an eye patch. Fleming closed her eyes and swallowed. An urge to laugh almost overcame her. He looked like a crash car dummy with hair. A huge, giant economy sized crash car dummy.

She shook her head, too scared to speak. She wished suddenly she had kept her hair trapped in the prim old maid school teacher's bun. With the dark night surrounding her she felt like every other victim in a Freddy Kruger movie.

"Do you have a flat?" he called out. He didn't offer to try to get in or get her to roll down the window. Fleming shook her head, her tongue still paralyzed from fear.

The guy stood up, his chest size stretching like a gladiator in Ben Hur driving a chariot. He motioned toward the hood for her to pop it open. She shook her head and clutched the steering wheel like it was a shield. He shook his head again then put on his straw hat. It looked like something straight out of the Land of Oz. Lynnie would have loved it— Ben Hur wearing the Scarecrow's hat.

She finally gathered the courage to call to him. "Could you just phone for a tow truck, please?"

Fleming cringed after she spoke. The magic word "please" never stopped Godzilla in the movies. Up, close he was darn near as big as the monster— or at least what she imagined the monster to be.

Godzilla took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck. Fleming was impressed by his biceps until she thought of what arms like that could do to a person. He walked over to the truck and talked to the driver. The driver shook his head and drove on. This left Fleming, her car, and Godzilla— alone.

He bent down to talk through her window. "My friend is going to call a tow truck. I'm going to wait with you until help comes."

"Great," Fleming grumbled to herself. "He's gone to get the motorcycle gang from Calhoun county while I sit here" She rubbed her temples telling the headache to go away.

"Or is it Macon county?" she asked herself. It was bad enough she had a tendency to compare life to movies— now she was confusing movie comparisons with life. At least with a movie you could turn it off or leave the theater. This time she was stuck.

The monster man leaned against her car with his arms crossed. His biceps bulged as if his skin were one size too small, from under the torn out sleeve of his chambray shirt. Fleming couldn't figure out whether he was staking his territory or actually being a gentleman. Considering his ragged clothes and straw hat, she couldn't quite believe he was Sir Galahad from Camelot.

Godzilla Galahad finally left the car and started walking around. Fleming decided a man his size probably needed a lot of room to move. She knew she was going to feel awfully embarrassed if he turned out to be a helpful citizen, but who could blame her for being afraid when he was dressed like an escapee of some awful chain saw slasher movie.

Fleming lost sight of him and really didn't care. When she saw more headlights in her rearview mirror her hopes rose. "Please let it be a tow truck!" she prayed aloud.

If it was a wrecker, it was speeding pretty fast, even for a deserted road. By the time Fleming realized it wasn't a white charger to the rescue, it passed her, then screamed to a stop, doing a fishtail in the road. The tires squealed as it raced back in reverse to her immobile car.

The catcalls began. These were definitely not Robin Hoods, they weren't even Robin and the Seven Hoods. More like a midnight motorcycle gang movie in a truck, judging by their yells.

"Look at the Blonde Babe with the wheels!"

"Wouldn't I like to…."

Fleming was spared the obscenity by everyone's laughter, which didn't make her feel any better. Fear washed over her like a wave at the beach over driftwood. Her neck craned over the steering wheel to see if her gargantuan scarecrow were around.

"Godzilla where are you?" she asked aloud. Her throat felt as gritty as if the wave of fear had dumped sand there. Suddenly the giant Galahad looked pretty good— or would have if she could see him.

Two of the new truckers from hell got out and stuck their faces right against the car glass. One made disgusting kissing noises while the other practiced his obscenities again. Fleming vaguely wondered if she was to grade him for his presentation.

She knew all too well it was a performance of sorts, a performance among peers to see who had the most courage to terrorize. Fleming cursed her psychology courses that gave her too much insight on unacceptable social behavior. The fear that threatened to paralyze her was instinctive among all women, whether educated or illiterate.

"Hey! The rest of you come out and take a look at this blonde babe," one yelled back to his companions in the truck. Another began rocking the car back and forth, laughing like a child with a new toy.

Fleming clutched the steering wheel and tried to think what she could do, if anything, to escape her tormentors. She tried again to start the car. This time the grinding sounded like a buzz saw aimed at her heart.

Two more guys jumped from the truck. They surrounded her like Indians around one pitiful wagon.

"Where'd you get those wheels Pretty Lady?" one called out.

"Do you have some sweet sugar daddy up Memphis way?" another taunted.

"Sure she does, she's just out lookin' for a good time."

"Well, we aim to please."

Fleming screamed when one of them started pounding on the back window with his fist. The alarm Max insisted on installing went off suddenly like a band without a conductor. An alarm that no one but she and the mob could hear.

They got bolder with their words and gestures. At any moment one would dare the other to break the glass. The only defense weapon she had in her grasp was a rolled up newspaper she'd not had time to read that morning. She didn't think that would deter them.

The fear and the blaring alarm threatened to destroy what was left of Fleming's mind. She fumbled while trying to turn off the alarm, wishing she could turn off the whole nightmare like a bad movie.

A yell worse than the Hound of the Baskervilles shattered the air. Fleming wasn't sure the screams of fear came from her or her captors.

For a split second her tormentors quit rocking her car and looked at each other. Then there was another roar and an explosion of rock pounded the hood of the truck. It was followed by a thud of metal that sounded like a car crash. Godzilla or something worse, had jumped from nowhere on their truck's hood.

His hat and clothes had disappeared. He now wore fluorescent swirled tights with a Spandex tank top— a perfect display for massive pecs. His arms were gargantuan, every muscle outlined by his clenched fists. His muscled legs were twice the size of his arms.

As frightening as his size was, it was his contorted face with the glowing scar that really terrorized Fleming. He looked more demon than man.

In a fairly graceful move for someone so big, he leaped from the hood of truck to the cab roof. From there he bellowed his best Incredible Hulk imitation, scaring Fleming and her assailants. He jumped back to the hood. The sound of dented metal echoed into the night.

Three of the guys who had rocked her car started to run down the road. Godzilla roared again and jumped to the ground, still big and impressive. He walked with Frankenstein slowness toward Fleming's car and she could have sworn he grew with each approaching step.

Two other attackers, who must have been paralyzed with fear themselves, finally screamed and raced for the pick-up, well around the monster. They jumped inside the truck, taking only time to lock their doors. They sped off, barely slowing enough for their friends to jump into the bed bed.

Fleming would have laughed if she hadn't already started to cry.

He knelt beside her car, his face no longer contorted. The scar was the only remnant of the monster he'd portrayed moments before.

"Can you turn your alarm off?" He called through the window.

Fleming nodded and finally found the master switch that eluded her earlier. The silence only made the memory of what the boys had said louder.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She barely managed to nod. Even through the glass she could hear the softened drawl of a southern gentleman, not a character of a creature feature. Fleming felt hot then cold as her body started shaking. The car that had offered so little protection, now suffocated her. She opened the door breathing the night air like she'd been underwater too long.

He held his hand to her as gallant as King Arthur and Fleming felt as shamefaced as the unfaithful Guinevere. When she placed her hand in his, she pledged her trust to her new protector with more sincerity than any knight of the round table did its king.

Fleming was not petite. Her feet were unladylike elevens, necessary for holding up someone five foot ten. But resting her hand in his, she felt as delicate as a baby bird.

She wanted to gather some dignity around her like a robe but instead she burst into sobs and buried her face in his chest. His arms wrapped around her, strong and protective.

He carefully pushed her away from him and tried to push strands of her hair away from her face. "Are you all right? Physically, I mean."

Fleming sniffled and shuddered when she breathed like a child. She managed to answer, "Yes. They just scared me."

He pulled her once more in his arms and this time Fleming reveled in the feeling of a man so much bigger than herself.

In high school, few boys attempted to court so tall a girl, but as she got older, men of all sizes asked her on dates. She always told herself what was inside the person was important and never dwelled too much on a man's height. Right now, the giant economy sized male felt very nice.

"They scared the Jehosaphat out of me, too," he said.

Fleming enjoyed the rumbling from his chest. It was like a low motor of a well tuned car. Correction told herself. A well tuned semi described him more adequately.

Lights came again and the giant stiffened. He pushed Fleming toward her car and turned to face the oncoming headlights like a modern day gladiator. His shoulders sagged in relief when he recognized the truck as the one he'd arrived in.

He walked out to meet his friend who jumped from the truck.

"Is she all right?" he asked, but the words didn't register in Fleming's mind.

He walked toward her car with Godzilla and she could have sworn he was even bigger than her new friend. His face was scored with rows of glittering, blood red sequins.

He was dressed in tights— black tights. Almost as black as the void that surrounded Fleming's mind as she fainted.
Chapter 2

"Man, didn't those two guys look something' else?" The garage mechanic shifted his grimme oil company cap back on his head and grinned. His skin, what part not covered by a skimpy beard and grease, was work roughened. He could have been anywhere from thirty-years-old to sixty.

"The Vampire Eater came knockin' on my door askin' me for a tow truck and one of the kids that works here just took off runnin'. I didn't know 'til later the guy with him was The Demonator. I'd of asked them for an autograph if I'd known. My grandkids just love Saturday morning wrestlin'."

"Your rescuers were the Vampire Eater and the Demonator?" Lynnie squealed like a teen-ager who caught first sight of a singing idol. "Why didn't you tell me!"

"I had a few things on my mind that night when you came to pick me up at the hospital, if you'll remember." Fleming frowned at both mechanic and friend.

"Besides," Fleming added, "they were just men— dressed in tights."

The absurdity of the statement sent Fleming and Lynnie into giggles. Heaven help her, she needed Lynnie's sense of humor. It had been a week since the incident on the deserted road, but the memory could almost send Fleming screaming into the night if she let it.

Professional wrestlers. No wonder none of the nurses or even the deputies batted an eye when they delivered her to the emergency room of the nearest hospital. After answering the deputies' questions, the men just disappeared into the night. Fleming actually wondered if they were ghosts or if she'd watched one late night horror show too many— which is why she didn't mention their appearance to Lynnie.

It proved a smart move on Fleming's part. After Lynnie discovered her rescuer's identities she bombarded Fleming with tales of the new legends of Saturday morning wrestling in Memphis.

Luckily, Lynnie dropped the subject after lunch when Fleming drifted off into another nap. There were no physical injuries from her near attack but psychological terror exacted a toll. Lynnie, within hours of her masters in psychology, claimed it was Fleming's escape mechanism. It didn't take a psychologist to know why it took three days before Fleming would leave her friend's apartment.

She did manage to wake in time to join Lynnie on a walk of the apartment complex grounds. Fleming relaxed and enjoyed the sunny February afternoon. It was common weather for the Memphis area. A few almost warm days that lulled residents into false security before a cold front zapped.

Lynnie decided to use nature's false spring to spring her own news.

"We're going out tonight," she announced. "It's the right of all principals, to go out and have a good last meal before execution. I know of a great place with wonderful country food."

"You mean prisoners, not principals, and your 'great place' is what got me in trouble, remember?" Fleming grimaced. She supposed Lynnie meant well, but Lynnie's good intentions had a way of going haywire.

Fleming stretched in the sun, wishing she didn't have to begin her job in just three days. She actually felt like she was going to prison but she wasn't going to admit it to Lynnie. Wasting a week's preparation time by recovering from a near assault didn't help.

Lynnie argued all the way back to the apartment. "You have to go with me. You need to be with other people."

"To quote Greta G., 'I vant to be alone.' " Fleming kicked her shoes off as soon as they were inside and fell on Lynnie's oversized couch like a teen-ager just grounded.

But not totally alone, Fleming thought to herself as she stared at the ceiling. Since they were children, Lynnie intuitively knew what bothered most people and how to "cure" it. The psychology field gained a natural when her pint-sized friend entered its ranks.

As if voicing Fleming's thoughts, Lynnie continued her campaign. "I'm a psychologist, remember? You're jumpy and I know you too well. You'll curl up into a little ball and never go out to play again. A good, healthy dose of people will help."

It wasn't until they turned into the drive of the country swing bar that Fleming remembered Lynnie's cures were sometimes worse than the ailment.

"I thought you said it had great country food not dancing," Fleming growled.

"CowPokes does have great country food— and dancing." Lynnie replied. "It's time you learned the Texas two step."

"Remember me? The one with two left feet when I did the hokey pokey?"

"You've competed in triathlons, Fleming, you are coordinated and…." Lynnie stopped mid-sentence to pound her car horn as someone turned into the parking place she wanted.

It was barely dusk and the parking lot was filled with everything from Mercedes to Ford pick-ups straight from the dust bowl. Couples in coordinated jeans and shirts walked arm-in-arm and music filled the outside air.

"I'm not even dressed for this place, Lynnie," Fleming protested. "I'm wearing one of those expensive silk blouses Lyla gave me."

Lynnie raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you wear anything your sister Lyla gives you? Besides, you are wearing nice slacks that can pass for jeans and sensible shoes. Gads, Fleming! Sensible shoes. Just like Old Lady Henson in study hall. "

"Old Lady Henson wasn't five years older than we are now, Lynnie," Fleming said then shook her head. "Okay, I'll go in, but when I want to leave, you have to go."

"Don't I always?" Lynnie turned enormous green eyes to her friend that looked as innocent as a babes.

Fleming resisted comment and opened the car door. She had to admit the place had a certain charm. It was wood, built like a large country home, with a porch that wrapped around the front and sides. There was a smell of baked bread that intertwined with the music, like it was dancing too.

They wooden stairs creaked loud enough to be heard over the music as they stepped on them. "This might have been nice without the dancing," Fleming commented.

Lynnie made a face at her and opened the door. Inside was a surprise, too. Checkered tablecloths and candles flickered inside Mason canning jars. Each waitress wore a cowboy hat, boots, denim shirts and Daisy Duke cut-offs. They moved food to the tables in the crowded room like drovers herding cattle.

The music was louder than Fleming liked and she wasn't a true country western fan, but when they brought fresh baked biscuits and cornbread to her table, she had to admit the place held promise.

They ate in the silence of the truly famished. Lynnie wasn't the best cook in the world and neither female liked fast food much, so it had been a meager week. They each ordered and ate a small banquet sized meal.

As she finished, Fleming eyed her tiny friend with near hatred. Lynnie had just packed away a quarter of a chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, and fried okra. She was sure Lynnie would order desert too, and Monday morning would show no unwanted pounds.

Fleming, on the other hand, was a dedicated runner, not because of high school success on the track team, but due to an alarming tendency to convert every meal into unwanted inches.

"So…." Lynnie leaned back in her chair with a smug expression. "How are things in God's Little Acre or was it Peyton Place-The high school years?"

"Remember Up the Down Staircase and To Sir With Love?" Fleming asked. She sipped a large jar of iced tea and tried to imitate Lynnie's relaxed manner.

Lynnie nodded while she eyed a rugged looking piece of manhood walk by. "The movies that made all of us want to be teachers? I used the twelve step method of recovery to resist the idea, myself."

"Well, any semblance to a caring teacher like those in the movies disappeared. The faculty and staff left are like the inmates in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest— shell shocked. Or at least the few I've met were. The head of maintenance quit last week and two of the secretaries. There is only one left and she seems shaky. And they still haven't replaced the phys ed teacher."

"Did they check all of the strip joints in Memphis? Maybe another one has a teaching certificate." Lynnie laughed. "Never would that have happened when we were in school. The principal has an affair with the p.e. teacher who happens to moonlight as a stripper in the big city. I couldn't write science fiction any more unbelievable."

"Don't forget the school secretary who embezzled club funds." Fleming sighed setting her jar down with a thud. "It is pitiful. If the adults act like this, how can we expect better behavior from the students? The school board is almost afraid to investigate anymore, they couldn't take another revelation."

"They investigated you pretty good," Lynnie said. She leaned toward her friend. "Did they give you any grief over your academic records?"

"None," Fleming replied. She frowned as she dabbed her napkin at the water ring left on the table. "I'm afraid I received the job because of the 'Prescot' reputation. Mr. Sumpter, the board president, thinks highly of my father's business career and foray into politics."

"Oh he sounds like a barrel of laughs." Lynnie scrunched her face like she'd just taken some bitter medicine. "But I bet he never heard of your mother and her avant-garde free verse."

"No, but Mrs. Lumkin, one of the board members has. She gushed out Mother's poetry every chance she got."

"Oh, to be the offspring of the rich and famous," Lynnie feigned.

"Yeah, I have a sister who is the bold and the beautiful, a brother with a Midas touch, and another who makes Einstein look like he should be a Nickelodeon game show host. Then there's me, movie trivia queen of a small college no one ever heard of before."

"You forgot the sister who married very, very well," Lynnie sighed.

"That's your sister remember?" Fleming frowned.

"Oh, yeah. The sister who wishes she was part of your family." Lynnie shrugged. "Not that I can blame her from wanting to escape ours."

There was a moment of silence. For all of Lynnie's boisterous behavior, Fleming knew the subject of her friend's family was painful, even if mentioned casually.

"Tell me about the students, Ms. Prescot. The little darlin's have a reputation of their own I hear. It's not nicknamed Demon High for nothing," Lynnie said.

Fleming started to reply when the intercom rang out a high pitch that made everyone cover their ears.

"Cowboys and Cowgirls, let's stop our boot scootin' and listen up! The fun is about to begin."

Judging from the speaker's red nose and general bemused look, Fleming concluded his fun had already begun.

"We told you all last week we were gonna to get bigger than life entertainment— -well-sir-eee we did for sure this week. We got the biggest, giant economy size entertainment in the Mid-south. Let's hear it for the Vampire Eater and The Demon— a— torrrr!"

Hoots and hollers and rebel yells sounded through the barn like room.

"Lynnie Marshal you're a rat! You knew and brought me here on purpose!"

If Lynnie heard her she didn't comment. She was too busy climbing on her on her chair to get a better look. Fleming's head started to pound and when Lynnie let out a war whoop of her own, she knew the pain would only get worse.

"Would you look at the size of those biceps!" Lynnie called down to Fleming. The words thundered louder than the country music had.

Resting her forehead in her hand Fleming said aloud, but not comparatively loud. "No I won't, but then again I've seen them."

"And check out those legs."

"Good golly, Lynnie, this isn't Chippendales," Fleming growled or actually roared to be heard. "The Demonator is a joke… an extra large one."

"Who's talking about the Demonator? I'm looking at the Vampire Eater. What I wouldn't give to…."

Fortunately for Fleming, Lynnie's words were drowned out by more whooping and hollering when one or both wrestlers let out ferocious growls.

"Animal kingdom in tights," Fleming moaned.

Lynnie plopped herself back in her chair. "I'll say, don't you just love it?"

The crummy motel room Fleming stayed in when she visited Delacort county started looking good, even if the television didn't get cable or color.

Lynnie played with her iced tea jar, the gleam in her eye shinier than the light reflected on the stage. "Those men are something else. I can't believe you actually met them. They make the football team in high school look like an elementary T-ball team."

"And now for the menfolk's entertainment," the now annoying announcer said. "We have the luscious, delicious Desdemona….

Raucous jeers and hoots followed by stamping cowboy boots crowded the air.

"And the ever deadly Medusa! "

Fleming dropped her head with a thud on the table. If any of the school board caught her in this place she would be a dead duck by Monday. She didn't care if it was almost a hundred miles away from Damon High, her student's families would find it.

"I can't take this anymore Lynnie, I keep expecting Sheena, queen of the Beasts to swing through." Fleming's yell sounded like a whisper competing with the band and the scuffling boots. "Didn't a waitress say there was a country porch or something we could sit on and rock?"

"You go rock. I'm saving that for when I'm too old for anything else." Lynnie nodded her head toward a side door. "You are such a party pooper Fleming. You're getting just as stiff as your sister."

Fleming made her way across the crowded floor, ignoring the wrestlers as much as she could. She was relieved to find the country porch virtually unoccupied, but not too much so. Lynnie's cure seemed to be working but Fleming didn't want to push it.

The and the cool night air swept through the screen porch. Fleming leaned back in a cane rocker and rocked while the crowd roared on.

Even with the rowdy crowd inside she could hear the sounds of the night and let the peace wash over her. Her eyes closed as she tried to ignore the sounds— especially the giggles as couples slammed the screen door and went out to the night with romantic adventures on their mind.

The next giggle she heard was unmistakable. Lynnie.

"Angel. Look who I brought."

Fleming didn't bother to correct Lynnie's calling her Angel. That was what she'd been called the first half of her life, after all.

Fleming looked up to see The Vampire Eater looming over her, even larger than she remembered. Or maybe it was because he was standing next to Lynnie, whose tiny size and long curly hair might be mistaken for a child if it weren't for the curves of her figure.

Behind them stood the Demonator who looked almost bashful. Fleming was surprised at the emotions seeing him stirred in her. It wasn't pleasure exactly, more like comfort and a sense of well-being.

"Angel's an old fuddy duddy from way back," Lynnie said. Fleming wanted to thump her friend. Lynn looked positively star struck gazing into the Vampire Eater's sequined eyes.

"So's the Demon," the Vampire Eater said. "Can you imagine anyone that boring being a bachelor?"

Lynnie and her Vampire Eater burst into giggles and walked toward other chairs, leaving The Demonator and Fleming to stare at one another. Three's company and four was a social embarrassment was all Fleming could think.

The Demonator eased himself into a chair across from Fleming. "Long week," he apologized then shrugged. "And even longer weekend."

He rocked a little, the poor chair groaning with its burden.

"I'm glad to see you're all right," he said. His voice blended with the calming breeze.

Fleming nodded. "None the worse for wear I guess— thanks to you. Lynnie thought I needed to be around people, though I didn't know it would be quite so… noisy here."

The Demonator's hands grasped the wide chair arm as if it were a sliver of wood. Fleming shuddered, remembering being in his arms and his hands touching her hair.

"To misquote Shakespeare, 'I dream per chance to sleep'," he said leaning back.

"Sleep is all I've done since…." Fleming hesitated. She wished she knew Shakespeare to know what he was misquoting. "I guess there is something to be said for its healing qualities."

"I'll be glad if it just eases my aches and pains. I'm getting too old for this business."

"But I thought it was fake…." Fleming protested then blushed. "I mean…."

"It's ah… coordinated," the Demonator said. "But few people really appreciate it takes strength and fitness to do it that way. Especially these days. Everyone has an act. I need a background in drama to compete with the wrestling crowd."

Fleming started to say more when the screen door screeched open and she felt a presence sooner than she saw it. Or maybe she smelled it. The perfume lived a life of its own.

"So here you two are," Desdemona said. Her cape flowed like a wind blew it when she walked. Fleming was reminded of Darth Vadar. The wrestler's long red hair hung to her waist so perfectly Fleming was sure it was artificial, but with her height and proud carriage, the woman looked like a queen.

"It's time we left to make our appearance in West Memphis, boys," the woman said.

Actually it was more a command. The heavy make-up Desdemona wore might have been part of her stage persona, but Fleming was sure the overpowering manner was part of Desdemona's— or whoever she was— real personality.

Arched eyebrows raised to a peak, Desdemona literally looked down on Lynnie and Fleming. "Groupies I see."

She walked off, her cape flapping and smacking Lynnie in the face. Fleming couldn't jump from her chair fast enough to clamp a hand over her friend's mouth.

"Slut."

The word rolled off Lynnie's tiny little lips faster than a car with no brakes crashing down a hill.

Desdemona swung around, cape flying, like the Wicked Witch of the West. Fleming groaned. At five ten, Fleming towered over petite Lynnie. Desdemona, with her heeled boots, towered Fleming.

And unfortunately Desdemona thought Fleming the one with the mouth.

"Why you!" The wrestler swooped at them, her cape flying like Batwoman.

Lynnie ducked out of the way, leaving Fleming to take the brunt of the attack. The Vampire Eater tried to stop Desdemona but he was too late. Desdemona shoved at about the same time Fleming shoved Desdemona. Desdemona flew through the air and landed on her posterior.

Thanks to the Demonator's long arms, Fleming landed in a rocker. With one hand he stopped the chair's wild motion and with the other cushioned Fleming's head from a nearby post. He waited for the Vampire Eater to physically escort Desdemona from the enclosed porch.

Embarrassed and a little amazed, Fleming wondered if she'd just participated in a Three Stooges routine.

"Are you always so scrappy?" The Vampire Eater asked Lynnie after he gave Desdemona a light push out the screen door. His words were friendly enough, but his eyes had a Boris Karloff gleam as he looked down at Lynnie.

Mouthy you mean, was Fleming's only thought.

"Only when Angel's around. I've got some sense." Lynnie's eyes glittered without sparkled make-up. It was obvious she loved a good fight, as long as she wasn't being the one being shoved around..

"My younger brother used to pick fights with the biggest kids around— if he knew I was there to back him up," The Demonator said. He eased his hand from the back of Fleming's head and knelt down to her level.

"I'm starting to think you need a body guard," he added.

\ He touched Fleming's shoulder as if she were delicate glass. The heated weight of his hand burned through the silk. The emotions it aroused jolted her more than Desdemona's shove.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked.

I am when you're around, was Fleming's unbidden thought as she looked into his dark eyes. What color were they? Brown she thought, but it was hard to tell in the dim light.

"She's fine," Lynnie answered for her. "Fleming is a survivor."

"If I survive you, Lynnie, I probably can survive anything," Fleming said. She returned her attention to the gentle giant beside her. "I probably would be much better off if I avoided Lynnie. I was going to meet her that night in the land of Dark Shadows and that happened— now this."

"It seems I tried to avoid my brother," the Demonator began.

"And he always found you," the Vampire Eater added.

"Were you ever tempted to not back your brother up?" Fleming asked.

"Have you ever not backed Lynnie?" Jake's gaze rested on Fleming, lending warmth and a sense of peace.

Fleming smiled. "No, and I've got the detention hall records to prove it."

Again Fleming ventured to look into his eyes. The door to the dance hall opened and light struck his face. His eyes were definetly brown and for a moment she tried to remember when she had seen such a rich golden color before.

The door closed and opened once more. Its screeching made both of them wince. Their attention to one another was distracted and the sight of Medusa walking out was hard to ignore.

"Where's Des?" she asked. She looked at the four of them, the snakes from her wig bobbing like a hula doll. "Oh, boy. What did she do now?"

"You don't want to know," the Vampire Eater grumbled.

The Demonator grinned at Fleming and squeezed her hand before rising. "I had my brother, you have Lynnie, and Medusa has Desdemona."

"Unfortunately we have to leave," the Vampire Eater said. The way he looked at Lynnie made Fleming believe his sincerity.

Other customers walked onto the porch, some of them slapping the wrestlers on the back and nothing more could be said. Lynnie and Fleming were lost in the crowd. "Let's go back inside," Lynnie said. "He's got my phone number, I'll see if he calls."

"He's three times as big as you, Lynnie," Fleming protested. She braced herself in the doorway as the volume of music assaulted her.

"So? You're twice as big as me, and we've always been friends." She grinned. "Besides, we could double date with the Demonator."

"I don't even know his real name, Lynnie. At least I hope the Demonator isn't his real name. Besides, I refuse to date a man in neon tights."

"A man in tights who quoted Shakespeare, if I'm not mistaken. Or actually misquoted it, which is even better. And his friend, the Vampire Eater, owns a gym in Memphis."

"Can we leave now, Lynnie?" Fleming asked. "I think my therapy session was a success."

Lynnie smiled wickedly. "Was that what this was? I thought it was just a way for me to meet a wrestler, one of my dreams in life."

"More like the Knave of your dreams?" Fleming quipped. "Wasn't there a move, Knave of Hearts?"

"It was re-titled Lover Boy," Lynnie said. "I like that better."

"I'm afraid I'll always associate The Demonator with the late night creature feature," Fleming said. And she was truly sorry because she recognized a gentleman behind the wrestling getup.

She walked past the mirrored bar and the light caught an intricately carved bottle. That was it, of course! Her father had a canister of it in his private bar at home. Amaretto. A deep, golden brown— that was the color of his eyes.

Amaretto, the almond flavored liqueur that could gently warm your insides— the way the Demonator's gaze affected Fleming.
Chapter 3

Fleming's high heels struck the tiled floors of Damon High echoing like Nazi storm troopers in the awful movie, The Hitler Gang. There was no one to hear except Reesa Malkins, head of maintenance. Like Fleming, Reesa acquired her job by default. "Default" as Lynnie might say "of the old maintenance guy who quit, the old principal who was fired, and default that everything was in a mess."

"Ms. Prescot, the week's startin' out as usual. Someone threw a cherry bomb in every one of the bathroom toilets on the first floor."

Before Fleming could open her mouth, Reesa raised her hand. "I know, I know. I'm supposed to call county maintenance and I did, but the facilities are useless until they draw straws and decide who loses and has to come out here. I don't suppose you could call and use your influence to make them get here fast."

Fleming sighed. "To be truthful, Reesa, you probably have more influence than I have, but I'll try."

Reesa shook her head. "We're in trouble, then."

Fleming continued walking down the hall, her confidence ebbing with every step. The private entrance to her office loomed at the end of the corridor like an abyss.

She remembered Reesa's name, that was one small victory. Today she needed to match the entire faculty and staff list she'd memorized. She spent her elementary years depending on her memory and little codes to remember the necessities to get by. One did that to make up for not being able to read.

Of course, Reesa's was easy. On Fleming's first visit to Damon High with other prospective interim candidates, a student called out "Reesa's Peanut Butter cup" mingled with a few much ruder comments about Reesa's dark golden brown skin. Fleming just hoped she'd get the other's names and faces paired as soon as possible.

She rummaged through her purse as she walked. School keys, office key, motel key and the key to her car and the rental she was using gravitated to the bottom. Each on separate rings. Fleming vowed to amend that as soon as she found a place to live and got her car out of the shop.

When her hands landed in the bottom of her purse a third time without the principals office key, Fleming's heart sank. She realized she'd left that key on the dresser next to the bolted down lamp and ashtray.

Her steps now had all the authority of a mouse skittering from hiding place to hiding place. She unlocked the outer office door. All she could do was wait for her secretary to arrive. She sat in an oversized chair and read the name "Mrs. Ashcroft" on the desk nameplate.

She'd been reassured the older woman was reliable and would be of immeasurable help. A regular My Man Godfrey Fleming had thought when she listened to praises of the secretary. All she wanted was reassurance of the woman's honesty, unlike others once employed in the office.

Fleming pulled out faculty files from her brief case and began the paper work that seemed never ending. Her predecessor had not done his part in a very long time. Receipts weren't turned in for bills to be paid, so now no one would come and do what was necessary— like repair the bathrooms. Government forms weren't filled out or turned in on time, and the school was now loosing funds.

The school had a new computer system managed by a staff with no computer background. At least the assistant principal had some experience in programming. Fleming planned on bringing order to the school and sending it on its way into the twenty-first century with the new technology— if she could keep the bathrooms running.

The telephone's ring jarred her like an alarm clock buzzer early in the morning. It wasn't to be answered before eight o'clock, official school hours. Its persistence drove Fleming to pick up the receiver.

She wished she hadn't after she put the receiver down. She could have lived in ignorant bliss another few minutes. She muttered the message aloud, "Mrs. Ashcroft was running late. Mrs. Ashcroft was in a car wreck. No, Mrs. Ashcroft was in no danger, but she would be unable to work indefinitely."

So much for all of that immeasurable help. "Godfrey" had been deported. She wished she could vent her morning's frustration on the track by running, and school hadn't even started yet.

Now Fleming would have to contact Wally Artell the assistant principal. She had met him the same day she first saw Reesa. The man probably resented her. He'd been one of the candidates for interim and one of the first eliminated for the job and wasn't particularly gracious about losing.

She could just imagine the dumb blonde jokes he could spread about her forgetting her key on the first day.

Fleming reached for a pencil on the desk and knocked her stack of papers over. They flew over the room like a sudden snowstorm. She crawled on the floor and finally under the desk to retrieve the last page, her posterior jutting from under the desk in a most unlady-like way. Just as she started to back out, her jacket snagged on a rough edge and wouldn't come free.

Fleming refused to look less than professional on her first day by sporting a tear in her expensive suit. She crouched on her knees as much as she could, and painstakingly pulled the fabric from its snare, millimeter my millimeter.

Jacob McCort was angry and it showed. The few students in the hall tried to get out of his way. At six feet five inches, his height intimidated strangers and quite a few who knew him. At two hundred seventy pounds, he was the subject of a school joke students took seriously: Where does Mr. McCort sit? Anywhere he wants.

His size alone could dictate order in the rowdiest of classes. Yet even his most biased critics admitted his bulk was a waste. Jake McCort commanded the attention of a class without raising his voice.

If anyone asked Jacob his "secret" they would have discovered it wasn't magic or even a gift. He, and any number of dedicated teachers, loved the subject they taught and cared about their students. The ones who considered it mystical were never the ones who never analyzed how he did it.

Teaching ability aside, Jake couldn't have shouted at anyone. He'd stayed out too late the night before and had a royal case of frog throat. Or in this case, tadpole throat. He couldn't croak like a frog let alone roar like a giant, which he deeply regretted. He wanted to yell at someone.

He'd taught four years at Damon High and had yet to receive a new text book. And it wasn't like the class was using a new book when he came, either. When he saw the track coach showing off new equipment, Jake saw red.

He wanted to see black and blue on the new principal or the old principal or whoever he could find to blame.

The hall measured a good length from his room to the main office. Most people complained about the distance. Jake managed to walk it in about two steps. He barely nodded at Reesa Malkins who stood with a ladder near his room. The way Reesa clutched the ladder like a shield, he figured steam must be blowing from his ears.

The light in the administration den beckoned like a red cape to a bull. Jake barely noted how unusual it was. The former principal rarely bothered to show up before the first bell and Ashcroft made up her own hours. There had been a series of temporary secretaries to replace the former administrator and one interim principal who bit the dust in two weeks. Damon High did pride itself on a certain reputation.

So did Jake McCort. He was a good teacher and wanted his students to have a chance to learn and compete in the world outside Delacort County. He knew all the sports equipment in the world weren't going to give them that edge.

He figured Mrs. Ashcroft would stick it out until retirement, which shouldn't be far off for her. She was school secretary when Jake attended Damon High and when most of his friend's parents were in school. She was inefficient, gossipy, and downright spiteful when she wanted to be, but she at least showed up.

Jake threw the door open. He really didn't mean to but sometimes he underestimated his strength and the affect of anger. Papers flew like a blizzard and that's when his eyes locked on the legs and a tight blue skirt sticking out from under the desk.

His anger suddenly simmered down a bit as he studied the nice, long legs that greeted him. He shook his head like an irritated bull, ordering himself to get back to business.

"Where the blazes is this Fleming Prescot?" he demanded.

His mother had taught him better manners, but right now that seemed ancient history. He wouldn't have been surprised if Ashcroft had sabotaged his effort to get new books. Ever since he bested one of her nephews, or maybe it was a grand nephew, on the football team in high school, she'd not been friendly.

Finally the dimensions and attributes of the form sticking out from under the desk registered. "You can't be Ashcroft. She'd never fit under the desk," he said. "Another temp. Just great."

An irritated mumble emerged from under the desk but Jake figured whoever was there was too scared to come out.

"Tell the principal of the day that I want to know why the English department requests have been denied again. It's not like it's equal to expensive football equipment."

He started to stomp out but turned around. "And if it's Wally the Wart, I'm out of here. He wore his pocket protector backwards in high school and he isn't any better now."

He saw her legs move as she tried to back out, then stop. All-in-all it wasn't a bad view from where he stood. The skirt rode up considerably with every wiggle. He couldn't decide which stirred him more, the legs or the jiggle.

"Fleming Prescot is a woman. And lower your voice, you're loud enough to make the school announcements without the intercom."

It was obvious she didn't know what he sounded like when his throat wasn't sore.

The desk muffled her voice, but Jake knew whoever hid under it had a temper to match his own. His anger dissipated every time she moved and her skirt shifted to reveal even more of her legs. And with every move, his anger was replaced with another emotion, just as volatile.

"This may be a dumb question, but why are you under the desk?" Jacob's good nature returned and hinted at his carefree youth.

"I'm enjoying the view," she snapped.

So am I, Jacob thought. He grinned when her hips swayed up and down like she had just taken a deep breath and sighed. He sighed too.

"The top of my skirt is caught on a rough metal edge," she said. "But since you are so insistent on having your say, you might note there are no records of the English department doing their paperwork requesting new textbooks or even a budget for the department."

"Can I help you… with your skirt?" Jacob asked. He was forced to move away from the desk as his body tightened with her every move. Budgets and textbooks were far, far from his mind.

"Don't even think about it," she warned. A noise he could only describe as a large mouse screech followed by the unmistakable sound of fabric ripping sent Jacob out of the office. He fought the urge to laugh, but he knew he ought to be crying. He had a sinking suspicion the shapely posterior belonged to the new principal. And like it or not, and right now he liked her backside very much, she was his boss.

Just as Fleming tore her skirt, determined to confront her nemeses at all costs, he left. He didn't slam the door, but the paper already scattered on the floor flew with new life. Fleming considered remaining in the fetal position for the rest of the day.

She forced herself to squirm out just in time to glimpse the troublemaker who stormed her office. She recognized the gargantuan feet, her only view of him, as they stopped in the hall to talk to Reesa. He sounded like an hoarse bear in the office. Now he stood in the hall laughing like a hyena.

"Great, he's probably telling her about me being stuck under the desk," Fleming muttered.

She smoothed her skirt and pulled the jacket forward to cover the small tear. It wasn't that noticeable but she would be aware of it all day, thanks to him.

He gestured with one hand while he talked and clutched books like they were a football with the other. He looked big next to Reesa, and she was no small woman. If she'd seen his size first, Fleming would have guessed he was the football coach, not the head of the English department.

County residents would never have approved of the russet hair curled over the collar of his shirt. It might have negated the Neanderthal affect and macho appeal of football the male population demanded. On the other hand, it probably appealed to the female population.

Fleming stopped herself. She didn't need to gauge a department head's appeal— unless it was a written request.

She gathered the strewn papers and tried to find the list of faculty names. Of course it was almost the last thing she picked up. Fleming sat on the floor, tucking her long legs under her as ladylike as possible, to study the information.

Jacob McCort. Facts in his personnel file jogged her memory. He'd graduated from Damon High and earned a masters in English literature. A plus for him and the school since few teachers employed there pursued graduate degrees.

And he had been a football player in high school and college, she'd been right about that. Fleming liked knowing the facts, it made her feel in control. She just wished her first meeting with Jacob McCort hadn't been to her disadvantage.

When Wally Artell arrived she still sat on the floor, deep in concentration. "You do have your own office, Ms. Prescot. And I believe there is a chair, also."

The tone of his voice and the smug look of superiority on his face would have infuriated Fleming on another occasion. But thanks to the vivid image Jacob McCort created of the assistant principal, she fought laughter instead.

Wally no longer wore a pocket protector— frontwards or backwards. His glasses weren't held together by tape, though a thin line indicated the nose piece had been broken and glued back together. According to his files, he wasn't much older than Fleming, but his thick paunch made him appear middle-aged, old before his time.

What gave the man away, what declared him still King of the Nerds, were his clothes. The shiny polyester pants held up by both belt and suspenders were a classic. Fleming wondered if the poor man had discovered a store called "Nerds Are Us."

She sighed. "Yes, Mr. Artell, I know I have an office and I'd appreciate it if you would open its door for me."

She could tell he wanted to ask why, but she'd learned from her parents how to give a command that brooked no questions.

He rattled a key ring that rivaled Captain Kangaroo's and unlocked her door. Fleming walked past him with all the dignity she could muster.

She caught the look of resentment on his face. Instinct and experience told her it was her height. She'd purposely worn her tallest heels on her first day for a psychological advantage. Some men liked it, some were wary, most managed a degree of respect. But there were some, usually those with no self-confidence, who resented it. That was Wally.

"Thank-you, Wally," she said. She turned around to add more but he'd already left.

Fleming feared she'd alienated her supposed right hand man within the first hour of work. She sank into the chair behind the desk and wondered how many more enemies she would make before the end of the day.

* * *

As it turned out, the morning events peaked her day. Every disgruntled parent, creditor for supplies not paid, and errant student crossed her door. Without an experienced secretary to at least run interference, she was at their mercy. Fleming resorted to asking the business department to send senior girls to answer the telephones.

When the last bell of the day rang the halls emptied quickly, but the noise seemed to linger. Late, she hurried through the emptiness to the library for a faculty meeting. She'd waited too long in the office for a board member to show up to introduce her, like they should have a week ago. Fleming felt as alone as Don Quixote in the Man of La Mancha— only she couldn't even sing.

She entered the library and saw only half of the faculty present, and no school board member.. So many of the staff had given up or just didn't care. She wasn't sure what the school board's excuse was, but she didn't appreciate it. John Morrison, the principal she'd worked with the previous year warned Fleming idealism died a painful death. She was starting to understand.

Some of the teachers looked at her with expectant faces. Many looked at her with fear and mistrust. Fleming fought an overwhelming urge to giggle and begin "I have gathered you here together to reveal the murderer."

In a sense there had been a murder, or at least the attempted murder, of a high school.

Tough broad. That's what Mr. Morrison had told her she'd have to be— a tough broad. Fleming snapped her briefcase open and pulled out a stack of requisition forms and held them in her hand.

"I have no idea why a member of the board wasn't present last Friday to introduce me, or why no one is here today, but if you haven't guessed, I'm Fleming Prescot, the interim principal."

"No one introduced the last interim, either." A voice echoed from the back.

Fleming tossed the stack of papers on the table with a thud. "This is the paperwork I've accumulated in one day. Everyone has a demand or complaint and they want the solution immediately. It doesn't seem to matter these problems accumulated months, even years earlier. Like two-year-olds, you and the public want it done. Now."

Fleming demanded eye contact as she looked from teacher to teacher. Her eyes lingered on the casual, sometimes sloppy attire, while she pulled her jacket forward to cover her torn skirt.

"We are not two-year-olds, and beginning today," she continued "we will no longer act, dress, or conduct our classes like we are anything less than what we are— professionals. I will try to deal with your legitimate demands so you can teach. Only teach."

She took a big breath, knowing her next announcement would not be accepted without protest. "The school board wants all second jobs, even if it is as song director of your church, to be approved by them. Compliance is voluntary at this point, though it is actually part of your teaching contracts that has been overlooked through the years. Contracts for next year depend on your cooperation." Fleming continued to establish eye contact as she looked around the room. She'd completed the semi-circle formed around her when Jacob McCort slipped into the room. Late.

Dressed in dark brown cotton pants and a tan knit shirt that stretched indecently across his chest, she saw nothing unusual about him, except his size. Fleming cast her sternest school marm glare at him and he returned it with a look of surprise.

She planned to address specific issues to the faculty and focused on the group as a whole. The words formed in her mind but her mouth numbed their exit. She glanced again at the auburn haired teacher as the sun from the side window near the sports section framed his face and her breath caught.

How many giants could there be in the world with amaretto eyes?
Chapter 4

His gaze challenged hers, then raked down her body slowly, as if he examined a rare species of animal. Every inch of Fleming's flesh burned under his visual research. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to recall what needed to be said. Her thinking was as muddled as if she suddenly awakened from a deep sleep.

His dissection began at the crown of her head and descended the length of her legs with incredible precision. Part of Fleming wanted him to stop, but something deep and forbidden within her challenged him to continue. Her knees almost buckled when his perusal climbed upwards again.

His copper brown eyes glowed as if he just heard a joke. Then she realized he stared at her waist where the jacket had fallen open and revealed the tear in her skirt. A tear she held him responsible for. His mouth pulled in a sideways grin— or a smirk— Fleming wasn't sure. The spell he created diminished, but did not disappear.

Her mind and body traveled separate paths. Fleming's normal, one track ambition directed her to continue the meeting, achieve her goals. But the other, the dark road she always resisted, tempted Fleming to stare at every one of his bulging muscles like a primitive woman in awe of a male. Willpower forced her to return her attention to the faculty.

"I have copies of the policy changes instigated by the school board, as well as my own requirements." She glanced down at her notes, thankful for something more stable than her heartbeat to steady her. Otherwise, she was sure she'd be speaking gibberish.

It took a few seconds for her to divide the stapled copies and begin their distribution. Fleming tried to keep her mind on the meeting and her gaze away from the Demonator. The Demonator, an apt name for a man truly becoming a demon in her life.

Fleming wasn't sure what she thought he looked like underneath all the wild paint and disheveled blonde hair, but she never envisioned him as a teacher. Or with hair she wanted to run her hands through. The tiny voice from the darkness refused to be silent.

Fleming's face flushed with heat she hoped didn't show. She forced the school marm in her to take charge. "I'm sure there are and will be many questions. I ask that you take these home and study them. There will another faculty meeting next week and hopefully a member of the school board will be present to answer your questions."

She didn't add that a school board member was supposed to be present that day to introduce her and field questions. Fleming felt like a bridge ready to collapse from the conspicuous lack of support from the office, school board and faculty.

She was sure she also said something to the teachers about hoping to get to know them, but all Fleming wanted was to run away. Away from the school, the faculty, and her demon.

Jake swung the sledge hammer against the weathered gray building as if he aimed at steel instead of rotted wood. Sweat flooded every pore of his body. It dripped from his head and ran a dark V-path on his sleeveless gray sweatshirt.

Again and again he pounded the small building until it crumbled into a pile of dust and rubble. And still his anger burned.

He thought he'd have regrets destroying one of his and his brother's forbidden hiding places, but today he was glad to get rid of it. Just like he wanted to get rid of the memory of Fleming Prescot, interim dictator, standing in the library with all that gossamer blonde hair tied up in a knot.

Angelic. That's how she appeared the first time he saw her on the side of a road. All that spun gold hair looked like an angel with halo and wings. Vince didn't want to stop but Jake remembered his mother's belief in "angels unaware" and always helping others.

When Fleming's crazy friend called her Angel at Cowpokes, Jake thought she was heaven sent. Now he knew it was quite the opposite. The devil sent Fleming Prescot to plague him and the rest at Damon High.

Jake kicked the boards out of his way and loaded the debris into the back of his truck. "So, she doesn't want us moonlighting?" he growled as he pitched a large board into the truck bed.

"As if many of us have a choice with the salary Delacort County pays." The wood rumbled with each toss and he pitched it harder each time until it thundered like war drums.

He talked to himself and was too angry to realize he spoke aloud. A large board banged the truck.

"She wants us to wear suits. Doesn't she know not all of us are not a off-the-rack perfect size like she is?"

Jake hurled a second piece so hard it flew over the truck bed and landed on the other side.

"As if I can afford to even have one suit custom made, let alone a wardrobe full. Of course she somehow can afford a foreign car that is worth more than this piece of land."

He slammed the remainder of the wood in the truck and stomped to the other side to retrieve the piece he missed.

Jake was angriest about the contrast. Fleming Prescot, Ice Maiden verses Angel, who'd been soft and warm and fit in his arms as if she belonged. He should have known the way she shoved Desdemona that this Angel was no saint.

He rounded the corner crashing through the bush like a dinosaur in its prehistoric habitat. He wasn't thinking. He wasn't looking where he was going. And he sure wasn't remembering the reason the old shack was forbidden to him and Caleb as kids was the boarded-up well.

Jake didn't remember until he plunged through boards more rotted than the shed he'd just torn down.

* * *

Fleming found no comfort in a motel room that smelled like disinfectant poured over dirt. She needed a home, a refuge from the daily battles. Never mind that she wasn't sure she wanted to return to work another day.

She changed from her impotent power suit into running clothes and tied her hair back with a long bandanna, ready to out sprint the demons that pursued her. Or more precisely, the demon she feared most, the one within herself that was attracted to Jacob McCort.

An out-of-order bathroom, a no-show secretary, a disgruntled assistant principal… The head of the English department turning out to be a Saturday morning television wrestler in Memphis just iced the cake on her first day.

It didn't help that the man had seen her faint, get in a public brawl with a creature called Desdemona, and knew that she got stuck under her desk by crawling on the floor.

She grabbed a dog-eared piece of paper and headed out the door to her car. The directions were written on the returned homework assignment of the student who answered the phone. Considering the grade on the homework, Fleming questioned the accuracy of the instructions.

As the rural roads seemed to swallow her car Fleming again battled illegible directions in unfamiliar territory. Repeatedly her thoughts returned to Jacob McCort. Why had she thought his eyes a romantic color? Why had she thought him a gentleman? No gentleman would have discussed supply requisitions with a woman's posterior. Fleming didn't ask herself how many ladies got themselves in such a position in the first place.

She spotted a picturesque barn in the distance as she rounded a curve. If she gave herself a chance, she could like Delacort County. Barns and houses adorned only with the changing seasons scattered the countryside. The towns were tinier than Mayberry R.F.D. and seemed as untouched by time and the uglier aspects of modernization.

Unfortunately the rural setting didn't offer many apartments or even houses to rent. When Mrs. Lumkin told her she could rent a furnished apartment by the month at the Scottish Corts apartment complex, Fleming dreamed of tennis courts and swimming pools. She knew better than to raise her hopes, but those were some of the amenities of city living she missed.

The "complex" turned out to be two long buildings with a gravel parking lot. There were four townhouse apartments in each building and the parking places were located entirely too close to the road. Luckily it was the old highway to Memphis and not used very much.

Mrs. Lumkin reassured Fleming there would be a manager to show her the apartment, but no sign indicated which was the manager's office or rooms. A young girl, who didn't look old enough to be in high school let alone pregnant, walked out to meet Fleming.

The woman child wore flowered stretch pants with a fuchsia colored ruffled top barely covering her "great with child" state. Her light brown hair hung loose around her shoulder and framed a pale face with enormous eyes. Fleming was still in her twenty some-things but she felt positively ancient in comparison.

"You must be the new principal," the girl said. She had the smile of a Madonna— the painting, not the rock star. "I'm Lori Lewis. My husband is the apartment manager— when he's home."

Fleming was relieved the young thing had a husband, but it made her feel truly an old maid school marm. It had been a long, long time since she'd allowed herself to think about marriage. She glanced at Lori's protruded stomach. To Fleming, the idea of a baby seemed almost an impossibility.

"I'm Fleming Prescot." Fleming tried to return Lori's smile. "And the last thing I want to be now is a principal."

Fleming was a little shocked at her own confession but Lori burst out laughing. "I don't blame you. You're too pretty to be stuck out here, principal of one of the worst high schools in the state."

Lori still chuckled as she turned and walked down the closest row of apartments. "It will be nice to have someone young in these apartments. So far, most of the tenants have been kind of old. I mean that's okay, that's why the owners hired Randy to be manager, but I'd just like someone younger around."

It was on the tip of Fleming's tongue to ask Lori how old she was, but she stopped herself. Lori was probably as tired of hearing that question as Fleming was "When are you going to get married?" Or even worse, her family's asking "When are you going to quit this ridiculous plan of yours to be en educator." They said it like educator was a dirty word.

The apartment was new, which was about the best compliment Fleming could muster. It was a basic townhouse design with kitchen and living room downstairs and two bedrooms up. It was sparsely furnished with a basic beige decor. Considering a bed and a kitchen table were about all she had in Memphis, Fleming couldn't complain.

She followed Lori up the stairs, wondering if pregnant girls were supposed to climb them.

The bedrooms and bath were tiny but there were large windows that gave it an airy feeling. Fleming walked to look out one and gasped when she saw the view. Fields and trees and a small pond in the distance surround a house and barn, more beautiful than an expensive landscape painting.

"I saw that barn on the drive here. But the house is something out of a Norman Rockwell scene!"

Lori joined her. "It is pretty isn't it? I'd like a house like that someday, with a porch across the front and a really big kitchen. I used to walk over there some with Randy. It's real nice."

"Is that a track or a road around the pond in the distance?" Fleming asked craning her neck.

"Yeah, it's a track. I don't know why the guy has it, unless its for him. He used to own the land where these apartments are. Evidently he sold some of it a while back. That's what one of the ladies here told me. There are trails and paths he's clearing through the place too. Randy goes over there to run, when he isn't working. The guy who owns the place is real nice about letting him."

"I run," Fleming said. "I was wondering where I could work out safely— beside the high school track."

Lori laughed again. "Gee, I don't know why you wouldn't want to wear those little running shorts in front of a bunch of good-for-nothin' guys who'd be sure to come out and watch. Like I said, the guy who owns the place is real nice. You can ask him about using it for running. It would give you privacy and he's generally there during the week so you wouldn't be alone— totally."

"Well, how can I resist?" Fleming open her purse and pull out a checkbook. "A running track just a stone's throw away and not having to stay at the motel for the next twelve weeks like I'd thought."

"And no place else available," Lori smiled. "When I moved here from Jackson, I thought I'd die. I wanted a pool or something. We did well not to rent someone's old garage."

"I'll take the keys tonight and move my things in tomorrow." Fleming tore the check and handed it to Lori. Silently she hoped she could keep up with yet another set of keys.

Lori stared at the check like it was a U.F.O. that landed in her hand.

"Is anything wrong Lori?" Fleming asked. "Did I write it for the correct amount?"

Lori looked up and smiled, but not in time to completely erase the frown on her face. "Oh, I'm sure everything is fine. I was just thinking your light blue checks match your eyes."

Somehow Fleming doubted that was what Lori was thinking, but she didn't pursue the matter. "I'd like to walk to that farm and meet the owner. I'd love to run and run until I forget this day."

"I used to have days like that when I was in school," Lori said. The young girl stared out the window, the frown returned. "I never thought about teachers and principals feeling the same way."

"Neither did I-once upon a time," Fleming agreed.

Fleming knew she had to walk to the farm, no matter how much she wanted to run. Unfamiliar terrain begged to twist ankles and pull muscles. She tried to enjoy just being outside in the fresh air.

The gabled house and porch with a wide oak swing proved as picturesque close up as it did from a distance. What wasn't obvious from the distance was there were no stairs leading to the porch. Instead a wide wooden ramp led to the entrance. Her hollow steps on the wooden platform announced her arrival better than a doorbell. The door was open and Fleming could look through the screen and see inside, but there were no signs of the owner.

"Hello?" Fleming regretted not asking Lori the owner's name. She felt as awkward as a child knocking on a grouchy neighbor's door asking if you could get a ball out of their backyard.

She knocked on the wooden door facing, its sound echoing. "Hello?"

In the distance she heard a dog bark as if it had flushed something from its hiding place. Fleming looked around and stepped off the porch. The smart thing to do was to go back to the apartments, get her car and drive home. The pond beckoned with far more appeal than the thought of the stale motel room.

The dog's baying grew louder and more persistent as she approached the pond. It almost sounded distressed. Fleming followed a small path away from the pond and saw a faded red truck, as dusty as the one used in the movie The Grapes of Wrath. A dog of questionable parentage stood barking down at a hole, his actions growing frenetic as Fleming approached.

"If you were Lassie instead of a highway abandoned mutt, you'd have found me help by now."

The voice was low and deep and definitely came from the opening in the ground. The dog's barking got louder.

"Hello?" Fleming called out. She approached the hole cautiously, almost as if she expected it to swallow her. The dog quit barking and stood vigil with its tail wagging.

"Watch your step!" the voice ordered.

Fleming did. Lumber with nails sticking helter skelter from the back of the truck had already slowed her approach

"I've fallen and…."

Fleming resisted the urge to add "and I can't get up."

She walked closer to the voice from the deep. "What can I do?" she asked.

"There's a rope under the seat of the pickup."

Fleming obeyed without approaching the hole any closer than necessary. It reminded her of the Sinbad voyage movies where monsters materialized at every turn and from every crevice.

"Are you all right?" she called down.

"I've cut my arm, but other than that I'm okay."

She tossed him the rope and hesitated. "I'm fairly strong, can you climb out with me holding the rope?"

She heard him groan and strain. "Tie the rope to the trucks trailer hitch."

His words were short, like he was fighting more pain than he admitted. Fleming secured the rope at the trailer hitch and tugged a few times to make sure it would hold.

"I've tied the rope," she called down. "Pull yourself up and I'll help."

"Better not. Lori, you'll hurt yourself," the voice answered. "I'd tell you to use the truck to pull me but the clutch would kick you out of the cab. Maybe you'd better go get help."

"I'm not Lori and I can do it," Fleming declared. For some reason the guy was really starting to irritate her. She started to pull the rope and heard a groan. She wasn't sure it was hers or her victim's.

"I'll try the truck," she yelled. She slipped behind the wheel of the truck. The seat sat so far back even her long legs had trouble reaching the pedals. She pushed the clutch in and turned the ignition.

Fleming cranked the engine and released the clutch. He didn't lie. The clutch kicked back with a life of its own. She eased the truck forward wishing the dog would quit barking so she could hear the guy in case he wanted her to stop.

The truck lurched forward in spurts, whether from her driving so slow or the difficulty in pulling her load. She kept her eyes on the rearview mirror as it moved. Hands with the rope wrapped around the wrists was her first view of a face she knew too well, a face scrunched in concentration. He looked like Samson after Delilah got hold of him.

Rin-Tin-Tin the dog was not. He was so over-joyed to see the man he jumped up and almost knocked him back into the old well.

Fleming stopped the truck and hurried back to help. She was strong, but the man she hauled in weighed a ton. Half of her hair escaped the bandanna as she dug her heals into the ground and pulled the rope as he struggled to the edge. One last tug on her part sent him sprawling on top of her.

He immediately eased his weight off and rolled over, pulling Fleming on top of him. His hard body triggered a traitorous response in her. Her hair cascaded forward as one of his hands reached behind her neck and pulled her face towards his. He smelled of sweat and dirt and all man. The size of his hand made Fleming feel like Fay Wray next to King Kong. The strength of his body made her feel like taming the beast.

Hot dusty lips touched hers with a resounding smack.

"I'm sure glad you're not Randy cause I swore I'd kiss whoever rescued me."

Before Fleming could vent her anger, his eyes glowed as he pulled her lips once more to his.

Wild heat, as earthy as the terrain around them, surged through her as his hands circled her waist. She wondered how her body could feel so hot when shivers ran up and down her spine. Adrenaline, that's all it is she told herself. Her body told her more than she wanted to hear.

Her last thought as she gave into his demanding mouth was that Randy should be damned glad she was the one to rescue this man. She certainly was.
Chapter 5

His second kiss intoxicated Fleming's senses more than the brandy his eyes resembled ever could. Her body dissolved into melted candle wax— slow, hot, and deceptively out of control.

"Am I dreaming or are you an Angel, Ms. Prescot?"

His words cooled the air between them and stopped the molten advance— temporarily. Fleming barely managed to catch her breath or gather her wits to reply.

"I was having a similar thought Mr. McCort, only I thought it was a nightmare, considering I fished you out from the underground."

The dog, whose barks attracted Fleming's attention, decided to get his licks in, quite literally. Jacob McCort rolled over and rubbed the dog's neck. "Et tu Brute? Lassie you're not, old friend, but you'll do."

The corners of Jake's eyes crinkled in amusement as he scratched the dog behind its ears. Fleming thought she was safe from whatever spell he cast on her until he turned a heat drenched gaze on her. Every inch of her skin burned like she'd been in the sun too long.

"I can about guarantee, Ms. Prescot, I'm the biggest fish you've ever reeled in."

Fleming wasn't ready for a war of words or emotions with the man. She turned her head to break the hypnotic affect of his eyes. Then she saw his arm.

"You are hurt, Jacob McCort!" She yanked off the bandanna that now held only a strand of her hair and wrapped it around the jagged gash. Streaks of dried blood ran the length of his forearm from the wound.

"You sound like my mother, calling me Jacob." He stared at her while she concentrated. "It doesn't hurt. But I swear every muscle in my body aches. I feel as though I've been in ten tag team wrestling matches."

"I've yet to meet a man who'd admit he was hurt after doing something stupid," Fleming complained. She tightened the bandage, not entirely regretting the wince he tried to hide when she did so.

He kept his eyes closed. "Congratulations. It now hurts."

"Come on, I'll help you back to the house," Fleming said. She stopped and raised an eyebrow. "It is your house?"

"Mine," Jake said. He accepted her outreached hand and stood up. Fleming barely had time to brace herself and him as he slid to his knees.

"If it's all the same to you, I think I'll sit a minute," he said.

Jake eased himself near the truck and leaned back, eyes closed. The dog settled beside him and rested his head on Jake's lap. Fleming decided to search for other injuries that he would no doubt deny.

She didn't try to avoid studying his physique in the process. His biceps, even relaxed, were what other men dreamed of attaining when they worked out. His jeans were snug and worn and fit like a second skin over his muscular thighs. She couldn't tell if the tears in his clothes were a result of the accident or wear. Judging from the cuts some revealed, many were from his fall.

"And— what— brings you out this way, Ms. Prescot?" he asked, punctuating each word with a breath.

Fleming didn't like the tightened white line around his mouth but decided there was nothing she could do but humor the man. "I've just rented one of the apartments at the Scottish Corts, mispelled to sound unique, of course."

She eased beside him, daring not to let any part of her body touch his. That was more for her benefit than his. Fleming fought an almost uncontrollable urge to pull his head to her chest and stroke his hair and touch his face. She settled for touching his cheek.

"You're burning up as if you have a fever," she said, starting to push up to stand. "I need to get you to a doctor."

"I'm fine." He grabbed her hand to stop her from moving. "I just need a minute more to rest."

He closed his eyes, but still managed a smile. "A little young for the other residents at the Corts aren't you? Except for Lori and Randy, I thought everyone there was retired."

"I lucked out." Fleming rested against the truck and closed her eyes, too, hoping it would break the affect he had on her. "Two of the renters got married and had a furnished apartment I can use. Lori Lewis told me the owner of this farm, she didn't say it was you, might let me run on the track."

"A runner. Should have known. That's why the track team got their new equipment."

"They received their equipment because the coach last year was one of the few who did his paper work and sent it to the state funding program." Fleming's eyes opened to glare at him even though he couldn't see it. "Unlike the English department, I might add."

"I did the paperwork. It just always seems to mysteriously disappear in the Bermuda Triangle called the principal's office."

Fleming sighed and tried to relax. "I suppose it's possible, especially with all of the other problems the school has. It wouldn't be the first school to trash forms an inept administrator didn't think important."

This time it was Jake who opened his eyes and looked at Fleming. Their color mesmerized her once more, at least outwardly. Inside, her emotions swirled like white water rapids.

"Aren't you a little young to be a principal— interim or otherwise?" he asked.

"Aren't you a little old to be playing dress-up-super hero or whatever it is you do in the wrestling ring?" Fleming countered.

"Maybe," he conceded. "But when I was I kid, playing super hero never paid this well."

Jake reached out and touched an errant strand of her blonde hair. His voice was almost a gruff whisper when he asked, "What's your excuse for pulling all that angel hair back in a spinster's bun?"

Every strand of her hair quivered at his touch. Fleming's hand went to her head to stop the feeling, but instead her hand brushed his, sending pulsing waves through her arms. She tried to form words to answer him in her mind, but it was if his touch had robbed her of speech. With determination from years of iron will discipline she managed to speak.

"It— it gives me a few years," she stammered. "That and wearing heels. W-With my height I can intimidate most people."

"You think that will stop students from hassling you?" Jake winced as he shifted his weight. He sounded angry, though she couldn't tell if it was from pain or what she had said. "Think again, Fleming. I've seen guys no bigger than gnomes challenge me head on."

"The students aren't the problem, Jake." Talking of her problems at school was like blowing a fuse to Fleming's emotions.

She sighed, the sheer frustration of the situation had become a litany of grievances she recited leaving work. "I know to expect it and can deal with them. It's the faculty that presents a problem. I intend to be taken seriously. There are enough challenges here without my age, or lack of age, becoming a liability."

"Amen to that," Jake muttered. He took a deep breath and straightened his back. "I'll try it again. Kiss me for luck?"

Even with a grin on his face, Fleming could see the pain Jake was trying to deny.

"Save your strength," she said, pushing herself up.

He steadied himself on the side of the truck and pushed up slowly. The dog stood close to him wagging his tail. Fleming hovered close by, waiting for the man who was as big as the Empire State Building, to fall like King Kong.

With each step he took, she half expected him to raise his arms like Boris Karloff in Frankenstein for balance. By the time they neared the house he walked a little easier and more naturally. Fleming felt more drained than when she ran a marathon.

"Are you sure you don't need a doctor?" Fleming asked. "If nothing else, you need a clean bandage."

Jake smiled and when he did, all of Fleming's movie monster comparisons evaporated. The man could be positively charming.

"You're just worried about getting your bandanna back." He maneuvered up the ramp using the substantial railing. When he reached the door to the house he opened the screen and paused. "I really am okay, and if you can wait a few minutes for me to clean up, I'll repay your Nightingale efforts with a cup of coffee."

Fleming started to refuse but in truth, felt weak-kneed herself. Battling school budgets by day and rescuing wrestlers by afternoon was tiring. She also knew that Jake's wound was more serious than he let on. She walked past him into a room that surprised her, if only if for its incongruity.

The couch and chair were enormous, built for a man Jacob McCort's size, yet were slipcovered with blue toile prints she hadn't seen since her great-aunt Emmie died. A delicately carved round table lent a lady-like air amidst shadows of massive bookcases lined with row after row of books.

"I take it you like to read," she said.

Jake shrugged. "My whole family liked to read and my mother never believed in getting rid of a book." He walked toward a doorway. "If you will excuse me, I'm going to get rid of the remnants of my fall."

Water from bathroom taps started, reminding Fleming of how grungy she was. She dared not sit on the fabric colored chairs in this state. Instead, she walked to the bookshelves and scanned the titles. It almost rivaled the school library, which she supposed wasn't saying much. Damon High was woefully understocked, a fact that probably infuriated Mr. McCort.

He mentioned a family, and from his records, she knew he wasn't married. The house was obviously Jake's childhood home.

A picture sat on one of the shelves, an enlarged snapshot of a family posed on the porch, confirming that.

In the picture, Jake's identity was obvious, even with bright red hair instead of the rusty auburn it now was. His height was impressive even then. He posed with another young man with blonde hair who sat in a wheelchair. Beside the wheelchair was Brutus. Behind them stood an older man and woman, equally impressive in proportion.

"That's my parents and brother Caleb."

She'd not even noticed that the water had stopped running. Jake just about filled the doorway where he stood, drying his hair with a towel. He'd changed to gray sweats and looked relaxed, his coloring improved. The sight of him and his very presence threatened to flood Fleming's already heightened emotions.

"So you come by your size honestly?" she asked.

Again his charming smile. Fleming had no doubt he'd been a darling little boy— if someone his size were ever truly little.

"My father was big, my mom's parents were even bigger than him. It's in the genes."

Fleming set the picture down carefully. The people in it fit the house and its other generation furniture. She thought of the Prescot Family portraits. Always professionally done, always perfect, except for her. Her hair was always in her face, her knees skinned, and she looked like what she was— a surprise baby the family had never adjusted to.

"Caleb is the one who always got you in fights?" She picked up the photo in the time tarnished frame.

Jake nodded, his smile almost sad. "More times than I can count. What's so bad is he was on his way to being bigger than me when he had his accident." He paused a moment. "My brother was injured from a diving accident when he was in junior high."

The wheelchair, the ramp up the porch steps… Fleming waited for him to say more, but the smile that brightened his face had disappeared. The man who stood before her was more like the stranger that challenged her at the faculty meeting.

"Ready for that coffee?" he asked. His voice was quiet, its deep timber striking a chord of response in Fleming.

She hesitated, her senses threatening to rebel against all manner of control. "I— I really don't like coffee. Do you have tea?"

"A southern girl, I could tell," Jake's smile returned and the whole room brightened. "One iced tea coming up."

"I, ah, I actually would prefer hot tea. It sounds silly, but I even like it on hot summer days."

"Hot tea it is," Jake said.

Just hearing him say the word "hot" fired unwanted emotions in Fleming. She followed Jake to the kitchen, furious with herself for not leaving. She couldn't afford to stay near him.

Like the living room, the kitchen was full of contradictions of style. A massive oak table filled the room, but from a tall hutch Jake pulled out the most delicate of teacups for her. Their tiny pink flowers looked as overwhelmed by the surroundings as Fleming felt.

The room smelled of vegetables and meat cooking. The walls were lined with glass front cabinets and flowered wall paper. Any country decorating magazine worth its salt box would have loved to photograph it.

Jake pulled out a huge stoneware mug and sat it on the table beside the teacup. "My mom always said the china was to be used but my dad and I never could get our fingers through the little handles."

Fleming laughed as she studied the dainty china. If Caleb and Jacob were Mrs. McCort's only children, she knew the woman had yearned for a daughter.

"Are your parents still alive Jake?" Fleming was almost certain she knew the answer already. A woman that loved her home as Mrs. McCort obviously did, would never leave it willingly.

"My parents died a few years ago, within a year of each other."

He paused to pour hot water for their tea. "Caleb was always susceptible to pneumonia and lung problems after his accident. The wear and tear of caring for him, and then loosing him was too much for them."

Fleming felt an overwhelming loss herself, though she had never met his parents. Everything about the house bespoke a loving family. It was a house she'd want to come home to. And the man that traitorous voice within voice her taunted.

Jake brought the tea kettle to the table and poured it carefully into her cup. "Mom and Dad sold part of the farm, the part where you live now, and mortgaged the rest to pay the medical bills. He died while I was in college."

He sat the kettle on an iron trivet. "My parents were older when they had us. Mom said we were both unexpected surprises— -kind of like I was at the faculty meeting for you."

Fleming half smiled as she played with the tea bag in the hot water. How could a man so obviously kind and gentle drive her senses to madness? "I was unexpected, too," she said. "Only with three older siblings, two in high school, I was an unexpected 'interruption.' My sister has yet to forgive my arrival interfering with one of her dance recitals."

"Ouch," was Jake's only comment as he blew over the top of his mug. Whether it was from the hot tea or sympathy with her, she wasn't certain.

"You said they sold the farm, Jake," Fleming said, fingering the handle of her teacup. "How did you get through college?"

Jake lifted the mug to his lips, testing the temperature. "Scholarships and loans. The bank here helped a lot, reducing mortgage payments and all. What I didn't have I earned wrestling."

He looked over the mug at her as if he were testing her temperature over the subject. A rattle of glass from the cabinet top drew both their attention and Jake walked across the room and raised the lid of a slow cooker.

"You cook, too. I'm impressed," Fleming said, inhaling the stronger whiff of meat and cooking vegetables.

"Necessity," Jake said. He flashed his good natured grin at Fleming as if he knew it made her knees buckle every time he did it. "My mom took Caleb to a physical therapist in Memphis a lot and she worried about my dad and me eating. She actually wrote down recipes for us."

"There aren't exactly an abundance of eating places around here are there?" Fleming said. She sipped her tea then wrinkled her nose. She forgot to put sugar in it. She dipped a generous spoonful of sugar to put in her tea then decided to indulge in another.

"Or apartments or anything else," Jake agreed. "Which brings me back to an earlier question. Why would you want to live here, let alone take over the high school? You should be out being a model or something."

The second spoonful of sugar missed the cup and spilled over onto the saucer and table. Never in her life had anyone suggested she be a model. That was her sister Lyla's domain. Lyla the ultra thin, ultra beautiful Prescot. Just like no one in the family dreamed Fleming would go to college. They'd even laughed when she filled out application forms.

Lynnie understood, but she doubted anyone else could. Certainly not an English teacher surrounded by books and who needed glasses if he thought she could be a model.

Fleming decided to concentrate on her reasons for taking the job at Damon high. She needed to remind herself in his presence, since his closeness turned her backbone into jelly and sent her self discipline out the window. Her goals didn't include a man, not now at least.

"There weren't many candidates for the job," she began. She sipped the tea carefully. It was still too hot but she continued to hold it in her hand.

Concentrate she told herself. Better to be burned by the tea than in a relationship you don't need.

"Not many other people wanted the job for the reasons you just cited," she continued. "Some didn't want to be associated with a scandal high, and some couldn't justify the two month job. The school board was adamant that the interim would not be a candidate for next semester."

"You're evading my question, Fleming. You just explained why the school board hired you. I want to know why you wanted the job."

Jake took a healthy drink from his mug. Fleming wondered if his mouth were lined with asbestos because her tea was still steaming. She also wondered how much warmer his lips would feel on hers again.

Concentrate on your goals she commanded herself. You can't afford this.

She clutched the tea cup even harder.

"You don't have some five year plan or something, like all those new age seminars teach?" Jake asked.

Fleming's teacup clattered when she set it down. She needed to leave, to get away. None of this was in her plan, none of it. She tucked her hands in her lap to hide their tremor. He came so close to the truth she was as rattled as the china. Always make a joke of it, that's what Lynnie advised.

"Why— Why yes I do," Fleming said. She smiled but the effort made her wince slightly. "My sister was the model, so I decided to become a principal in one year, superintendent in two and within five years be Secretary of Education on the President's cabinet."

Jake smiled, but there was concern in his eyes when he reached to take one of her hands in his own. The warmth surged up Fleming's arm and charged her body like an electrical current.

This has got to stop she screamed to herself. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to snatch her hand away.

"What do you really want Fleming Prescot?" he ask.

His voice dropped to the deep pitch remembered when he tried to comfort her the night they met. She fought the urge to put her head on his chest and feel his arms around her.

You. The answer jolted Fleming more than his touch.

"I," Fleming licked her lips slowly, her mouth as dry as the well Jacob had fallen into. "I want to do the best job possible, Jacob."

"And that means following the rules?" he asked.

His hand reached behind her head and he pulled her forward. Fleming wasn't sure what the right thing to do or say was, but she knew what she wanted to do and that was to fall in his arms and forget everything— her goals, her plans, and herself.

Brutus started barking outside and Jake's hand relaxed, but he didn't move it. She turned slightly to look out the window, shocked to see it was dark. She'd been well on her way to losing herself and definitely a sense of time and place.

A shiny pick-up that looked like an insolent pup compared to Jake's beat-up red model sat in the drive. A young man, all arms and legs and Adam's apple knocked at the door.

"Randy, come in!" Jake called.

The door screeched open and the young man entered. Fleming stood behind Jake as the visitor nodded politely at her.

"Lori was worried about the new principal at the high school. She walked up here earlier and never came back. Her car is still at the apartments."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I never thought she'd worry," Fleming said, stepping forward.

The look of shock on Randy's face was comical. "You're the new principal?"

Fleming guessed she didn't look too professional with her hair hanging loose and her running shorts and T-shirt.

"She doesn't look like any principal I ever saw either, Randy," Jake said. "May I present Ms. Fleming Prescot. Fleming, this is Randy Lewis. I believe you met his wife."

Fleming offered her hand, more embarrassed than the blushing young man. "I discovered that Mr. McCort here, was one of the teachers," she said, raising an eyebrow. "We were talking and I guess time got away from us."

"Oh, well, like I said Lori was a little worried. I'll be going now." Randy backed away awkwardly and Fleming feared he'd actually fall down the steps after he backed through the doorway. He finally turned and took a couple of steps to his truck with Fleming and Jake looking on.

"I wondered what type of man Lori was married to, she's so young," Fleming said as Randy drove off. "He doesn't look much older."

"And neither of them look old enough to be married with a family on the way," Jake agreed. "But he's a good kid and talented. He keeps the machinery running at the one remaining factory around here."

Jake stretched, making Fleming almost duck back out of his way. Like she thought the night she first saw him on the lonely road, a man his size needed a lot of room to move around.

"I'm getting sore from sitting. I don't suppose you'd walk around the pond with me?"

Fleming started to decline the invitation. She knew she should refuse, but being around Jake was like not eating a second potato chip— she just couldn't resist. It wasn't like her to let a man have such an affect on her. It wasn't like her to let her emotions shadow her self-discipline. A moonlight walk by a pond was not in her five-year plan, either.

"Did you name Brutus from Shakespeare?" she asked as he tucked her arm inside his as they started towards the pond.

"Nope, Caleb named him Brutus from the Popeye cartoons. My brother went through a phase of living in cartoon land after his accident. He'd do a Popeye imitation and taught the dog to growl like Brutus. It was kind of funny."

"I was like that as a kid," Fleming said. She knew she should pull her arm from his, but it felt so right in the moonlight. "Lynnie and I watched the worst movies possible every weekend. Mindless activities can get your mind off your problems sometimes. And believe me, I probably hold the record of watching the things. Lynnie and I have won our share of movie trivia contests."

Tree crickets started their chant as they walked. They must have known they outnumbered two people and a dog the way they just kept on singing.

"I don't care too much for movies," Jake said. "Too many of them, even the bad ones, are books made into movies. It's just not the same. I'd rather read the book."

One more reason this could never work Fleming thought. She didn't ask herself what "this" meant.

He'd been walking fast, like something was chasing him. When he finally slowed, Fleming was relieved, she was still worried about the cut on his arm. She tried to concentrate more on their surroundings, and less on Jake.

"Why do you have a track built?" she finally asked.

The moonlight danced on the pond and made it appear a special effect instead of an ordinary wonder of nature. There was the hint of pine in the air and the breeze was cool, nipping at her arms. Every one of her senses seemed sharper, more aware of their surroundings. Fleming knew it was Jake's nearness that made it so.

"That's my special project I'm not ready to share with anyone— not just yet." He stopped to pick up a small rock in the path and throw it across the pond. A small rock, a small action, but the muscles in his arm bulged like Hercules.

It was a Herculean battle that raged inside her. The woman who wanted only to enjoy the moonlight walk vs. principal faced with a problem with her faculty. What would it be billed in a wrestling match she wondered. The School Marm vs. The Vixen?

The school marm won.

"If you don't report your moonlighting, Jake, you know I have to." Fleming's voice was quiet, but there was no missing the resolve in it.

"You mean my walking in the moonlight with the school principal or my second job?" His grin was as infectious as a disease for Fleming.

"Guess." she said, trying not to smile, trying not to get angry.

"I don't know." He stopped to look Fleming in the eye.

Rarely in her life had she needed to look up at someone. And rarely had she ever had to fight wrapping her arms around a man's neck.

Jake seemed unmoved as he glared at her. "It's unusual, I'll grant you that, but it's not illegal or immoral."

"But it's not the kind of publicity the school wants or needs," Fleming protested.

And wouldn't my parents just love my taking you home to dinner if they knew. Actually that thought almost made Fleming giggle.

"I saw that, you almost smiled." Jake tucked a finger under Fleming's chin. His dusky eyes intoxicated her, the glare of just a moment ago erased.

"If you don't report it, I have to Jake," Fleming said. She didn't like feeling like a Lestrad in Casablanca.

"If I don't report what? Your smile or my job?" Jake grinned at her once more, then knitted his eyebrows together. "It doesn't interfere with my teaching, no one even suspects. You wouldn't have except you met the Demonator before you met Jake McCort, the teacher."

"And if you hadn't stopped to help me on the road, I would have never known," Fleming added. "I feel like a first class heel."

"You look like an Angel."

Fleming's breath caught somewhere between her diaphragm and her throat. A war waged in her between desire to beat him senseless and simply desire for the man. "I am not an angel, Jake. I am a principal with obligations to fulfill."

"Well, I have promises to keep, too," Jake said. He reached to the ground and picked up a stick throwing it far into the darkness.

Fleming knew it was past time to leave. She started to make her excuses when he pulled her into his arms once more. She put her hands against his chest for balance as his made a long lingering path down her back side. Her body molded to his with very little coaxing.

"I could fight you in court on this Ms. Fleming. But neither I or the school want that kind of publicity."

"The rules state that you cannot hold another job that is in conflict with your teaching position," she said, sound like an old prim and proper school marm even to her ears.

His head leaned closer to hers, his breath sting heat across her face. "There's probably a rule against teachers kissing, too."

Passion soared through her as high as the moon above. His lips covered hers, more persuasive than any argument he could have made. I shouldn't be here, I shouldn't be doing this she thought.

She pulled away for a moment to protest. "I'm not a teacher," she said just her hands reached behind his neck to pull him back to her.

That's not what I meant to say a voice said. A voice that was growing weaker and weaker with every caress.

Bright truck lights shattered the night like a prison camp check. Somehow they'd missed the steady drone of Randy's on coming truck. Fleming pulled away from Jake bringing her hands to her lips. Jake looked at her regretfully, but stepped back, too. He pulled Brutus close to him.

Randy's baseball cap was all Angel could see of him behind the bright lights.

"When I told Lori how your arm was hurt Jake, she sent me up here to get Miz Prescott, so you wouldn't have to drive her back," he said.

Jake started to shake his head no when Fleming touch his upper arm. "Jake, it's better if I go."

She could tell he was going to argue, then something stopped him. "Maybe it is best," he reached out to squeeze her hand. "Good-night, Angel," he said quietly. "Sweet dreams. Unfortunately, I have miles to go before I sleep."

Later that night, her last night at the motel, Fleming stared at the yellowed ceiling trying to exorcise the memory of Jake McCort from her mind. Instead, each caress replayed in her head like reels of a movie and his parting words served as sound track.

"…miles to go before I sleep…." The words were vaguely familiar and she was quite sure she hadn't heard them in a movie.
Chapter 6

Fleming tugged at her full bias cut skirt caught in the office door. If she hadn't slammed it so fast behind her, it would have never happened. It would probably be another tear in her clothing that couldn't be repaired.

All she wanted to do was lean back in the over-used leather chair of her office and close her eyes.

If she'd any hopes of her first week getting better, she was disappointed within the first five minutes of arriving Tuesday morning. The place smelled like a sewer dump. It was Friday and it was even worse. Reesa would just shake her head in defeat every time their eyes met. No one would come to take care of the plumbing.

The secretary's desk had been filled each day by a new person. By the end of each day, that person would declare they would not be back. Fleming wanted to leave with the last one, screaming the same thing. She spent hours after school making data entries to bring everything up to date.

Wallace Artell proved less than useless. He was never around when she needed assistance, yet every where she went in the school, he seemed to have been there before her, giving everyone different instructions than she planned to give.

Fleming rubbed her temples where her head ached constantly. The chair screeched like a cat with its tail caught in the door, but she didn't care. She'd oil it later herself. Reesa and her minuscule staff of helpers had enough to do.

As if you don't, that tired little voice whispered. The voice that seemed to constantly tell her she was a failure and that she should quit.

Why on earth did she think she could do this job? She couldn't even get the stupid plumbing repaired— the most basic of necessities. The county board of health had just contacted her over parent's complaints. Fleming couldn't blame the parents, the situation was intolerable.

She was having no more success with the staff, either. Not one teacher turned in a single report she'd asked for and judging by the afternoon chaos in the parking lot, discipline was even more lax. So much for revised policy changes.

The only thing positive she could say is she hadn't forgotten her keys again.

Well, that and the fact that Jake McCort kept his distance. Dealing with a teacher moonlighting at a crazy job pushed her closer to the edge of failure. She couldn't ignore his kisses and the affect they had on her, but she tried her best to avoid him and he seemed to oblige.

As if her thoughts had conjured him, The Demonator himself appeared. Great. Her week was totally wrecked now.

She wondered if there was a doorway that he didn't fill when he entered a room. Even with his arm in a sling and bandaged from his fall on the farm, he looked like he could take out several cities in a bad Japanese movie in one blow.

"I would ask you how you are doing, but it would be rhetorical." His voice sent ripples down her spine that threatened her balance sitting in a chair.

"One whiff in the halls tells all," she said. "How's your arm?"

He held it up in the sling. "Fair to middlin', you'll be glad to know this has taken me out of the ring for a few weeks."

"But not out of the classroom, I'm happy to see." For one wild, careless moment she wanted to lean against his broad chest and hear his heart beat as she had on the first night they met. Then it had been strong and protective and she was ready for someone to do a battle or two for her again.

"I heard the board of health is getting complaints about the plumbing." He shifted his weight to lean on the door facing with his good arm. "Are they threatening to close the building down? The school can't do with that kind of publicity."

"Since I just got their telephone call, I suppose I have my assistant principal to thank for spreading the good news." Fleming grimaced when she saw Wally Artell come in to the outer office. She felt like taking a baseball bat after the little weasel. It was obvious he not only spread every piece of bad news she heard, he'd arrived to eavesdrop on what they were saying. She straightened in her chair, picked up a pen and pretended to write something down.

"Could you close the door Mr. McCort," she said in her primmest voice. There was a slight hoarseness to it that wasn't always present, thanks to how often she used it when walking through the halls.

Jake frowned, then turned around to see Wally. He closed the door and sat in one of the ripped vinyl chairs opposite her. Fleming knew it was probably a mistake to be this close to him in a confined space, but she wasn't about to let Wally wag his tongue over anything either of them had to say.

She just wished Jake didn't smell like the outdoors— the outdoors she longed to be in with him.

"I agree we can't afford the publicity, but the board of health is doing its job. This place is a menace to everyone! I can't get anyone to come because the board is so behind in paying bills." Fleming leaned back in the chair again, her shoulders sagging more than the chair's springs.

"I know what it's like to need things done and there is no money," Jake said. "Way back when folks just donated their services to the school, before they paid taxes I guess. People used to volunteer their services, as a patriotic thing. These days, with the economy being tight as it is in the area, no one can afford to be generous. But can they afford to let the school go and ultimately the student's education?"

Fleming drummed her pen on the desk blotter, the dull thud sounding like rain dripping off a roof. "I guess we could appeal to the people of the county to pitch in to be good citizens until things are better," she said doubtfully.

They looked at one another and shook their heads at the same time. "Not hardly," Jake said. "There's too much to do."

She thumped the pen again, it's rhythm matching the throb in her head. "The plumbing is so bad in the locker room, they may have to call off track practice," she said. "The school board won't like that."

"No practice, no competitions," Jake said. He looked up at her, his eyes looking dark brown in the fluorescent lighting. "No season and Micah Phillips may not get a scholarship at the University. He ended up the star runner in the state last year."

Fleming immediately straightened in her chair. "Micah Phillips… and several others. What of it?"

"Well, yeah, it will knock several out, but Micah is a sure thing. And you had no way of knowing this, but Micah's daddy owns Tri County Plumbing."

In one leap, Fleming jumped from her chair and threw her arms around Jake's neck. "That's it! I'll appeal to Mr. Phillips sense of community, his sense of pride in the school…."

Jake reached up and held her hands at his neck. "And don't forget pride in his number one son."

"Oh Jake this is wonderful! If I can get one thing going right, everything else will start falling into place!"

Fleming's excitement over a possible solution to her problem was quickly replaced with another excitement. One that pulsed through her body faster than a football player going for a touchdown in an clear field.

Her breath quickened and her heart pounded as his lips came down on hers. The thrill of a minor victory in her job coupled with the powerful seductiveness of his kiss. His hands moved down her arms and sides, pausing midway at the swell of her breasts.

"You don't know how I've missed holding you in my arms," He words rushed in her ear like wild rapids crashing over a cliff.

Fleming answered him with a long, luxurious kiss that threatened to buckle her knees even though he held her tightly. His head lowered from her lips to her cheek and down to her neck. Gasping, she tried to find words to fight her emotions.

Slowly she pulled away, removing his hands from her. "We can't, Jake— I can't… I don't believe this… what is it with this place? I'm starting to act as evil as my predecessors."

Patting her hair in place she took a deep breath then returned to her chair. "Jake… thank-you— you just helped me solve a major problem. But you've also created one I can't take the time to deal with now."

Jake ran his fingers through his hair distractedly. "Woman, I can't afford it either. I don't have the time but," He looked at her with his umber eyes and her bones started to melt. "When I'm with you, I loose all reason."

Fleming took measured breaths as she looked at his face, but tried to avoid his deadly eyes. "Then the solutions is to not be with one another."

He nodded. "I've tried my best this week."

"I know, but Jake… you're already walking a tight rope with your moonlighting. It would be bad enough for my career if that were exposed, but anything else…."

She turned from him and went back to her chair, glad to have the desk as a physical barrier between the. Looking at his large arms and long, muscular torso, Fleming shivered. This man wouldn't let such a short distance stand between him and whatever he wanted. Suddenly she felt sorry for his opponents in the wrestling ring, even if everything was "coordinated".

"Your career comes first, of course," he said. Fleming heard the sarcasm, but wasn't sure why or where it was coming from.

"And you don't have the time," she retorted. She sat down in her chair feeling even more defeated than before. "Just leave Jake, it will be easier for both of us."

The muffled sound of the bell signaling class change filled the silence between them. Jake reached back and opened the door behind him, his eyes not leaving her face. Fleming leaned back in her chair, unconsciously wanting to put more distance between them.

"Fleming, don't!" He stepped forward, his arm outreached.

Wally Artell stood right outside the door, his ear perked up like a terrier. The chair spring groaned louder than the students' thundering feet in the hall. The next thing she knew her feet were straight up in the air, her skirt in her face. Wally Artell was trying to help her up, but doing nothing to help her pull her skirt down, or maybe pull it up to her knees.

Fleming couldn't fight her full skirt, it had some how twisted around her in the fall. She could only look at her legs and wonder why, today of all days, she'd worn thigh highs instead of panty hose.

Jake leaned down and pulled the chair up to rest on its base with Fleming still in it. "I tried to warn you, this chair has been broken since the first of the year when one of the kids booby-trapped it for another interim. I figured someone had told you."

He glared at Wally, who hadn't hid his lecherous perusal of the creamy white bare skin that peeked above the thigh high hosiery. Jake reached out and gave Wally a light push. "Save your voyeur act for the girls locker room. Wait, that's right, you were caught in junior high doing that and they filled the holes."

"Out! Both of you!" Fleming ordered, her dignity still somewhere between sitting upright and the floor. She stood up, making sure her skirt went down.

"You heard her! Move!" Jake ordered as he glared at Wally's retreating figure.

Putting both hands at Jakes back, Fleming pushed, as if she could have ever budged the giant without his compliance. "You, too, McCort!" she growled.

Fleming went back to the chair and kicked it once before sitting down and reaching for the telephone. Dialing information she asked for "Tri County Plumbing." She was not going to allow Jake McCort or Wally Artell or bad plumbing rob of her of what she'd worked so long to attain.

The door had not been closed all the way when the men left. Fleming was not happy to see it open and her vice principal peer inside.

"What is it Mr. Artell?" she growled. At the moment she could have taken on the Vampire Eater and The Demonator in the ring single handed.

Wally's Adam's apple bobbed up and down the throat as he gulped. "J-just wanted to warn you," he began then looked down at his feet. Fleming was a normally sympathetic person to shyness, but for some reason Wally's actions only irritated her.

"Just wanted to warn you," he began again. "Jake McCort has quite a reputation as, well, a ladies' man. I w-wouldn't put it past him to sweet talk his way to what he wants."

Fleming could only stare at Wally with ice cold hardness. Easy to do when that was how your insides felt.

"Thanks for the warning Mr. Artell. Now, close the door tightly behind you.

As soon as she heard the click of the door latching, Fleming's shoulders sagged. Was she so stupid she had missed the fact that's what the oversized Romeo had been trying to do? Sweet talk her? He'd come a lot closer to things beside talking with her and the good-for-nothing knew it.

Was she as stupid as her sister always claimed? What was it Lilah taunted? "Angel with the lopsided halo?" That was actually one of Fleming's older sister's better remarks. Fleming could never forget the day, though, that she overheard her mother telling a friend "Our little Angel is the family underachiever." It made Fleming feel even more a failure than she already did.

At the moment, all the principal of Damon High wanted to do was hide behind the desk and let everything go away. Instead, she straightened her back and wrote down the telephone number of Tri State Plumbing.

Clutching the pen in her hand she grimaced. She wouldn't fail. She couldn't fail again.

But she couldn't stop the tears from falling.

Jake stormed down the halls ignoring lingering students and slamming locker doors. His heart pumped faster as his hands itched to rearrange Wally Artell's face. The guy had always been a sleaze. He'd never really gotten caught doing anything bad— he didn't have the nerve. But the fool was always on the edge, taunting others, smirking.

Just like he smirked when Fleming's chair flipped back. Jake was scared to death she'd hurt herself. Wally was only interested in perusing her long, uncovered legs.

Jake had to admit under other circumstances he might have been aroused, but it wasn't the time or place. Not to mention one whiff of the stench in the halls killed an appetite for anything.

He snorted, making a few students who thudded by in their expensive tennis shoes give him a wide berth. As if there wasn't a time or place the principal didn't arouse him. He couldn't even glimpse her long, long legs from across the room without becoming uncomfortable in a most overheated way. He had to tighten his hands into fists and grit his teeth when he saw her hair, or worse, she walked near his room and he could smell her perfume.

Bitterness filled his mouth. He wasn't sure it was a result of the situation or the cafeteria lunch. To have a woman who could tempt a monk so near and to know he had to keep his hands off was driving him insane. Especially when he knew she returned his touch with as much fervor as he felt.

"Hey Mr. McCort!" a student called out. It took Jake a few seconds to change gears from angry man to teacher. Waiting patiently outside his room was Jeremy Johnson, shaggy brown hair in need of a haircut, large shoulders and arms thanks to the wheelchair he maneuvered by hand rather than depending on electric controls.

So much about Jeremy reminded Jake of his own brother, Caleb. Jeremy had been a good sized kid, active in sports, and happy-go-lucky when his parents were in a car accident that left the young man paralyzed from the waste down. The kid had worked hard to crawl out of a depression over his dreams been stolen and slowly reestablished new goals and hopes.

"What's up Jeremy?" Jake smiled, but it hurt to do it.

"Not my grade point average, much to my parent's regret," Jeremy said. "No, I saw you coming from the principal's office. Didn't know whether you'd been bad."

Jeremy's grin was contagious. This time it didn't hurt for Jake to return the smile.

"I was no worse than usual. And speaking of your grades, I don't supposed you finished your group project?" Jake raised an eyebrow.

"It's right inside," Jeremy answered.

He led Jake in the room, adeptly manuevering the wheel chair. Jake knew the boy took great pride being able to handle it through the halls and even the parking lot. He remembered Caleb acting in a similar way the first time he wheeled down to the sidelines of one of Jake's football games.

Students looked at him with expectant faces, more so than usual. Several stood in the background and moved aside when he entered. There on the table at the back of the room was the project Jeremy and four others had worked on, a wooden replica of Shakepeare's theater.

To say it was a work of art wouldn't have been enough. The hours it took to build had to have been phenomenal. Jeremy and the others beamed. Jake stood awestruck.

"Jeremy did all the finishing," one of the girls said. "Rick and I drew up the plans, Jeremy used the wood scroll, and all of us put it together."

Jake walked around it admiring it, as were the students. "Wasn't Paul supposed to have been part of this?" he asked.

"I supervised," Paul said and everyone in the room burst out laughing.

Not a lot of formal teaching would be accomplished in that hour, Jake knew, but the type of learning none would ever forget occured. Everyone was opening text books to see how the model compared with pictures, discussing how it would be to see the real thing, how it might have influenced performances.

It was days like this that made it worthwhile to Jake to be a teacher. He didn't want to loose his job at Damon High, he loved it too much. He glanced down at Jeremy who beamed with pride over his work. Jake had helped Jeremy's dad construct a tool shop for Jeremy to continue woodworking and projects he started before his accident.

He wanted a camp that showed kids confined to a wheelchair that their minds and working limbs didn't have to be confined. A place to be outdoors, to participate in sports and learn things like woodcrafting, adjusted to their needs.

Once more Jake was reminded of his goals. He was overdue a visit to the bank to discuss his plans, something he dreaded doing because for every step he seemed to make, he took two steps back. There was no more procastinating. He had to do it. He had to do this for his brother. There was no other way to forget the pangs of longing he saw in Caleb's eyes when he watched Jake play sports.

And he wanted to soothe his conscince. Maybe more than he wanted Fleming Prescott, but at the moment he wouldn't bet on it.

* * *

"It's a shame, Jake. Your project was moving right along." Henry Delaney closed the manila file on his desk and rested his hands on top of it. "You're not in trouble— yet— but much more delay and you will be."

Jake stretched his legs out, wishing the vice-president's opulent office included comfortable furniture.

It wasn't Henry's fault. His trophy wife probably took a hand at decorating it. He'd gone to school with Mrs. Delaney when she was Miss Not-Much-of-Anything and seriously dated her sister, Sandra, in college. Both women had clear cut plans to marry money. Henry's wife married a bank officer, not the man. It would figure she'd over-decorate an office for affect, not use.

Her sister would never consider marrying a teacher who planned on pouring a healthy bank account into an abandoned farm.

Jake stretched his legs once more before speaking. "I didn't think I was in trouble, Henry. I just wanted to let you know where things stand," he continued. "Since I ripped my arm open I've had to limit my wrestling appearances and that's slowed the money coming in."

"If you'd gone ahead and hired people to do more of the work, that accident wouldn't have happened," Henry chastised. "Heaven only knows there are enough people looking for jobs in the county."

Henry leaned back in his chair. To Jake, the man suddenly looked old. His hair was thinning and his shoulders sagged under some invisible weight. Things hadn't been right in the county for a long time and Henry Delaney took it personally.

"Well, even if the arm heals I'm backed in a corner, Henry." Jake shook his head. "The school board has cracked down on second jobs and the principal knows about mine. One hint of scandal and I'm fired."

Henry whistled long and low. "I heard she was a hard nose, but how'd she ferret that one out? I watched you a couple of months ago with one of my kids. I didn't recognize you and I knew it was you."

"It was an accident that she found out and she's giving me the chance to report it." Or to come near her Jake thought to himself. Fleming pointedly turned the other way these days when she saw him coming.

"Well, Jake, I don't know how to advise you." Henry leaned forward and looked over the rim of his glasses. "If you want to finish paying off the farm, and complete your plans to make it a summer camp, you need more money. From what I hear of this Prescot, she'll hound you into it. I never thought the day would come that she'd get Tri County Plumbing to do free work on the school bathrooms, but she did. I also heard she's slapped a few expulsions on students whose families don't take kindly to it."

"She doesn't back down," Jake conceded. He looked at his feet like a little boy who was about to get in trouble with his teacher. "And I don't want to back her into a corner. She's a special lady."

"I hadn't heard that about her," Henry said. Through the glasses, his eyes looked like an owl peering into the night. "But I did hear she was an ice maiden— a beautiful ice maiden. Maybe that information was wrong?"

"She is beautiful." Jake conceded. Beautiful enough to take my breath away everytime I glimpse her his inner voice taunted. "Why haven't you met her Henry? You're on the school board, aren't you?"

"I was out of town the week they interviewed Ms. Prescot and made the ruling to crack down on second jobs. Strange too, I didn't except them to make a decision or to pick someone so young. But it seems like she's doing the job."

Jake thought it time to leave before he wound up telling Henry too much about the new principal. Like how she feels in your arms. Hestood to leave and extended a hand to his old friend. "We're the only ones left Henry. The last of the Delaney's and McCorts of Delacort County."

Henry accepted the handshake though his own modest one was swallowed in Jake's grasp. "I think you're working towards a good cause, Jake. But if for nothing else, I'd like to see your plans succeed so you stay here. I know you understand family ties to the land."

Jake walked out from the bank into the sunlight. He understood family ties all right. And he understood an ache for a woman who could tumble every plan like a house of cards if she chose to do so. He wanted to succeed, he had to, he had promises to keep.

Fleming ran an extra lap around the track at the farm, hoping to catch sight of Jake. The irony didn't escape her. She'd spent three weeks avoiding him and now she felt like a stalker. Only desperate time could have induced her to seek him out now.

Brutus decided to make the last two rounds with her, which consisted of him getting under her feet more times than not. She'd been jogging at his track in the morning for the past three days and had yet to see its owner. She didn't know what possessed her to think this morning would be different. It was obvious he had been avoiding her as much as she had him.

She finally stopped and headed toward the pond. Once there she propped a foot up and tied her shoe string, taking advantage of the position to stretch. The walk from the apartments was a good warm-up for her but she was already feeling the effects of the extra laps around the track.

All of this trouble to "accidentally" bump into Jake McCort. Even in high school Fleming had not descended to such behavior. Of course, she wasn't looking for Jake for personal reasons— not exactly. Fleming took a deep breath and stood. She had something to ask him and it would be a whole lot easier to ask him at the farm rather than at school.

She squared her shoulders and headed toward the house, rehearsing what she'd say the whole time.

"Mr. McCort… would you go out with me?"

Fleming shook her head. Too suggestive and too formal, even if she'd ordered the man to leave her office.

"Jake would you consider…."

Fleming shook her head again. Too wish washy.

Taking an even deeper breath she began, "Jake, I…."

"You what?"

She jumped, quite sure she could have cleared a two foot hurdle when she did. "Jacob McCort, you scared me!"

Fleming blanched. Just the way to butter a man up before you asked him for a favor— get angry and yell.

Jake smiled, the sun at his back, making him look like a warrior god. Fleming was glad the light blinded her just enough that she couldn't fall under the spell of his topaz eyes. His very presence clouded her judgment as it was.

"I'm sorry I scared you, Fleming. Now what were you saying?"

Fleming's breath whooshed out like a runner's after a marathon. "I have a favor to ask," she said. She sounded defeated and pitiful, even to her own ears.

"Come on up to the house for some coffee," Jake suggested, taking her arm. "After you fished me from the well, I figure I still owe you. Besides, mornings start better sitting on the porch. I'll even fix you hot tea if you like."

Fleming nodded, feeling she had a reprieve, if only for a moment. She stepped on the porch with Jake and the feeling of home swept over her as snugly as a blanket on a cold night. She did love his house.

She sat in a cane back rocker, Brutus parking himself at her feet. He rolled over just enough for her foot to rest against his stomach.

"You're spoiled," she chastised the old dog even as her toe reached out to rub him.

The pond and trees and still-rising sun gave testament to Jake's words. Sitting on the porch was a wonderful way to start a morning. By the time Jake returned with a mug of coffee and hot tea, Fleming felt calmer, but no happier about her task.

"Here you go." Jake handed her one of his giant mugs. Fleming gratefully accepted it and silently mused his mother probably told him to never take the tea cups outside. The warmth of the stoneware fought the slight chill of a spring morning.

"Now," he said after he'd sat beside her. "What were you wanting to ask me."

Fleming rested her head on the back of the cane rocker. Leave it to her family, Lyla in particular, to spoil what could have been a wonderful moment.

She took a big breath and then said everything in one whoosh. "I need you or someone or anyone to go to dinner with me tonight. I don't know anyone else to ask."

Fleming held her breath a few moments, as if waiting for her words to explode. When they didn't, she leaned back in the rocker and sipped her tea, the heat keeping her from further babbling like the idiot she felt.

Jake's eyebrow arched in a giant question mark.

"Well it was you or Wally Artell," she said.

"Oh, well, keep me humble now," Jake said.

Flemming returned his infectious grin, wondering how a man could look so wonderful on any given morning. His hair looked a deep red in the early sun and his muscles bulged from under a hunter green cotton knit shirt. His eyes crinkled from sun lines, though she guessed a lot of smiles had gone into making them too. And his mouth, curved in a smile, reminded her all too well how his kisses could warm her lips, as well as every other part of her body.

"Oh, Jake, I feel so juvenile," she said, sitting her coffee mug on the floor beside her. "My sister is in Memphis today and wants me to meet her and a friend for dinner. It would help, beyond belief, if I had a-a dinner partner. She does have some manners and wouldn't be quite so abrasive if I had a guest."

"Let me see if I understand this correctly," Jake said. "You want me to be your date tonight to run interference from your sister— sort of like tag team wrestling when a participant jumps in the ring unexpectedly."

Fleming shrugged. "Something like that. Lyla has a barbed tongue and I'm just not up to dealing with it."

"Can't you take Lynnie?" he asked.

"Bite your tongue," Fleming fussed, then blushed at the connotation that drew in her mind. She moved uncomfortably in the rocker. Asking Jake was a big mistake. She should have asked Vince. Lynnie wouldn't have minded "loaning him out" to Fleming for what she considered a just cause.

"Putting Lynnie and Lyla together in the same room would be worse than putting her in a ring with Medusa and Desdemona. They don't get along." Fleming reached down to pick up her mug. "Besides, Lyla's 'friend' is a male."

Jake took one long drink from his mug then sat it down on the porch with the authority of a judge hitting his gavel. "As a matter of fact I'll be in Memphis tonight anyway," he said slowly. "I've been missing workout time at the weights and need to do it, even with this bad arm now. I'd arranged to meet Vince at his gym this evening."

Fleming closed her eyes before facing him. "I really appreciate it Jake. Lyla and I don't argue exactly, she just rubs me the wrong way. Your presence would really help."

"She's the one whose dance recital was interrupted because of your birth?" Jake asked. His eyes worked their magic when he looked at her.

"That's the one," Fleming said. "My only sister."

"Holds a grudge a long time doesn't she?" he asked.

Fleming knew he was kidding, but Jake didn't know Lyla and how close to the truth his statement was.

Annabelles was not the restaurant Fleming would have expected Lyla to choose. It was at the mall, and while charming with its tropical decor, overall it did not meet Lyla's standards that usually included exorbitant prices with atmosphere, atmosphere, and more atmosphere.

Jake waited for her near the entrance trying to look inconspicuous next to a tree, only he was bigger than the tree. Fleming had emphasized casual dress and Jake looked wonderful in khaki pants and a light button down oxford shirt that covered the injured arm that still needed a bandage. But his very size made him appear anything but casual or maybe it was the affect he had on her.

She unconsciously smoothed her skirt which was a ridiculous action since it was a cotton crinkle that thrived on not being smooth. Always before, when meeting Lyla, Fleming fretted over her clothes. Lyla was always impeccably dressed in the latest fashion and not shy about telling her younger sister what was wrong with her clothing.

This time all Fleming cared about was what Jake thought about how she looked.

"Do you want to wait here for your sister or wait inside?" he asked. He stood close to her, his body radiating warmth that Fleming's stole for its own. For a moment, meeting Lyla anywhere was the last thing on her mind.

"Well, you're on time for a change." A very feminine voice spoke caused both Jake and Fleming to turn.

Lyla had arrived in all her glory. Three inches taller than Fleming and wearing high heels, she could meet Jake almost eye-to-eye. Her blonde hair was swept back into a complicated knot that only brought out her high cheekbones and deep blue eyes. Fleming used to think when the heavens were pouring out color, they'd put too much blue in her sister's and what was left resulted in her own pale gray version.

With Lyla was an attractive man, tall and thin or perhaps he only looked thin next to Jake's great size. His hair grayed at the temples slightly, his eyes crinkled with worry lines or preoccupation.

"This is Keith Troxel, he works at the department store I've assessed this week," she explained. "The store is revamping their entire designer collections and have asked me to be their consultant."

Fleming introduced Jake, relieved that no one made any age old comments about his size. For the first time that she could ever remember, she wasn't worried about Lyla's caustic comments that often hurt her feelings. Fleming was more worried that Lyla might say something to hurt Jake.

"I'm so glad you could meet me here," Lyla said after they'd studied their menus. "I had several meetings with the clothing department and I did want to see you, especially with Mom and Dad out of the country."

Lyla smiled at Keith. "All of the children in our family have flown the nest to live in other cities but our little Angel. Our parents love traveling together now that Daddy is retired and they are child free at last."

Fleming shifted uncomfortably in her chair. It was only natural that her family referred to her as Angel. Angelique was her first name and they'd called her Angel the first half of her life, but something about the way Lyla said it always rankled.

"What kind of business are you in Jake?" Keith asked. Despite the adoring looks the man gave her sister, Fleming realized he was shrewd, aware of everything around him.

"I teach English lit at the school where Fleming is principal," Jake answered.

Jake's manners were impeccable, but he looked so out of place with tropical decorations and wicker chairs that Fleming felt guilty. Then she looked again as the skylight highlighted his hair. Maybe he'd look more at home in the setting wearing a Tarzan's loin cloth.

"Are you a coach, too?" Lyla asked. Her curiosity was in overdrive, Fleming could tell, but with Jake a stranger and Keith someone her sister obviously wanted to impress, her manners prevailed.

"No," Jake answered flatly.

"Fleming's always been such a jock, I figured you were too," Lyla said, her long slender fingers smoothing a fold in her jacket. "And I definitely never expected her to be attracted to a man who taught English literature. Quite an opposites attract situation isn't it?"

Lyla's laughter was light and airy but it made Fleming's heart sink. Lyla turned to Keith, her smile bright and beautiful just like in all the pictures taken of her when she was a nationally acclaimed model. Even with modeling behind her and pursing a career in fashion merchandising, Lyla always looked picture perfect.

"Books and Fleming, as she likes to be called now, were once anathema to each other. The last thing any of the family expected was for her to pursue a career in education. With her choice of friends, we feared she'd wind up mud wrestling or a cocktail waitress."

Keith smiled at Lyla, but managed a quick apologetic glance at Fleming. Or maybe he did it for Jake's benefit. The English teacher from Delacort county was shifting uncomfortably in his chair and it reminded Fleming of a volcano that had been sleeping a very long time, nearly ready to erupt.

"That surprises me since she's at natural at school administration," Jake said quietly.

Lyla burst out laughing. "She should be, she spent enough time in the principal's office when she was growing up."

Fleming wanted to sink under the table when Keith smiled and even Jake turned a questioning eye toward her.

"Honestly, it was so embarrassing," Lyla continued, addressing Keith. "I was an honor student in high school and others came up to tell me the latest trouble my baby sister was in. Our father used to say our Angel's halo was on lopsided."

"Maybe it did help," Jake said quietly. His voice was low but the authority in it was one his students would have recognized instantly. Mr. McCort was not happy.

"Fleming has managed to bring order to a chaotic school. I don't know whether you are aware of some of the scandals that have rocked it, but the school already had a reputation for unruly students. Your sister is a miracle worker and if time in the principals office as a child is why, maybe we'd better change our recruiting practices for teachers and administrators."

If Lyla was taken back by Jake's defense of her, Fleming couldn't tell because Keith's, "Amen!" surprised them all.

He leaned forward towards Jake and Fleming. "I always thought math teachers that admitted they had trouble grasping math in school were better teachers. They understood what made it difficult and were better able to explain it. Whereas a math teacher that always found it easy never bothered to explain anything. I actually had trouble with basic mathematics in school, but those good teachers changed everything."

"I've seen the same thing happen in sports," Jake agreed.

Before long the two men and Fleming were discussing the merits of teachers and other professionals in fields that came easy to them or required long, hard work to achieve their goals. Lyla sat with a charming expression of interest on her face throwing glances toward Fleming that ran from boredom to anger.

"Going by those theories, gentleman," she interrupted, "Baby sister here should have been a Pulitzer Prize winner in writing. She had enough trouble learning how to read."

There was a slight pause and even Lyla seemed ashamed of her comment. Jake's hand slipped under the table to squeeze Fleming's, but the embarrassment lingered. They were all saved by Keith's obviously very passionate belief about his theories.

"That's probably why she went into education," Keith said and then continued talking about examples of bookkeepers and accountants he knew.

If Lyla meant to humiliate Fleming in front of the two men, she failed. Both men had areas in their life that did not come easily to them and required them to work hard. Lyla had little to contribute to the conversation, something that rarely happened.

It didn't humiliate Fleming, but it wounded her in the secret place in her heart she tried so hard to protect. Admitting to her family as a teen that she could not read was the most humbling experience of her life. Almost as humbling as sitting in class day after day trying to cover up the fact she couldn't do the work because she couldn't read.

Lyla didn't know how much Fleming struggled to forget those days. Her past haunted her and would continue to do so until Fleming had achieved her goals. Then, maybe the pain would be exorcised.

Dinner was actually pleasant, thanks to Keith and Jake's presence. When dessert was served and Lyla announced it was time to leave, Fleming found herself full of regrets. Not because Lyla was leaving, but because it meant an end to her evening with Jake.

They walked outside, the cool air reminding her of the morning they'd shared on the porch with their warm drinks. Fleming thought nothing of it when Jake took her hand in his and drew her close.

"I'm glad I came tonight," he said. "Your older sister still hasn't gotten over you replacing her as the baby."

Fleming smiled. "Think so do you? Well older sister has commanded a lot of attention in her lifetime, I don't think I'm a threat."

"She may have commanded attention," Jake said, kissing Fleming on top of her head. "But she's jealous of you, and she should be."

"Jealous of me?" Fleming said, pulling away from Jake to look at him. "I was the one always in trouble as a child, I'm the one who runs because I need to watch my weight. She was always perfect— and she still is."

"And so are you Fleming Prescot," Jake said solemnly. "I'm beginning to understand why you drive yourself so much. You've always felt you had to compete with Lyla and probably those successful brothers you've mentioned."

Fleming's mouth opened in disbelief. "Jake your wrong, dead wrong."

"Fleming it's nothing to be ashamed of. Sibling rivalry abounds in any family. I was always the clumsy kid, Caleb was spotted as the athlete practically from birth. I resented it. At least until— his accident."

He paused. "Caleb would get a laugh out of my having to work out to do the stunts for wrestling."

A storm of emotion raged through Fleming. Part of it was the affect of being with Lyla, part of it was Jake's revelations tugging at her heart. She even had to admit some of what Jake said was true, she'd always felt inadequate and wanted to be successful like Lyla, but that was not what motivated her.

"Jake, it's not because of Lyla I want to do well as school principal," she repeated.

"Then why?" Jake asked. "I've never seen anyone so driven to do a perfect job in my life. It's almost unnatural. And what does my wrestling matter to you? You're supposed to be gone next year anyway."

"Your wrestling matters because if it's discovered it could be considered another scandal," Fleming said. She stood straight, ready to do battle. The warm feelings for Jake had transformed to anger. "I don't want a scandal to affect my record, even as interim principal. I don't want it to affect any recommendations I'll need for another job. And I want to succeed because of promises I've made to myself."

Fleming folded her arms and turned away from Jake. She wanted to tell him how inadequate she felt to do the job, how it reminded her of all the times as a child she struggled to read and couldn't do it. But to open herself to Jake and let him see the part of her that was an open wound, would expose her to pain more damaging than some of the comments Lyla had made.

"Well, I have promises to keep, too, Fleming Prescot. Why you women think your goals are etched in stone is beyond me. I don't suppose you've ever heard the term compromise have you?"

He didn't give Fleming a chance to answer. "I didn't think so. Well, Ms. Prescot, I'm just as determined as you. If you decide to turn my moonlighting job in, so be it. I have friends on the school board that might not think it so bad."

"Well why don't you go ahead and tell them Mr. McCort." Fleming challenged. "I'm sure you'll finish the school year but you might have to kiss next year good-bye. You don't have tenure, you know. And I will be the one most schools consult when checking out your resume for a new teaching position."

Jake's jaw clenched. He looked like a lion ready to roar. Fleming was reminded of the night on the road when he did just that at her assailants. Conflicting emotions raged through her with more force than one of the Demonator's body slams.

She shut her car door in his face and backed out of the parking place. As she glanced out her rearview mirror she saw his rigid stance and almost felt the heat of his anger as he glared at her car as she drove away.

What Fleming did know was that Jake was a dangerous man for her. In one touch he could shake all of her carefully laid plans. In one kiss, he could keep her from caring about anything but him. And in one sentence, the Demonator infuriated her beyond reason.

What was worse, she knew there were nights she'd gladly give up all of her carefully laid plans for one more kiss.
Chapter 7

"You've only been a principal for two months, Fleming. You look like something the cat dragged in— or worse, something Desdemona got hold of."

Fleming slumped at the counter of the Golden Oldies Hamburger Joint, another find of Lynnie's. She'd worn soft ancient jeans and a loose top that barely met the top of said jeans, just wanting to feel as un-educator like and comfortable as possible. Now Lynnie had made her feel pointedly uncomfortable.

Lynnie slurped the last of her coke and shook her head. "I'm not exaggerating Fleming. You look terrible."

"That's one of the things I love about you Lynnie." Fleming rested her chin on her hand. "I drive from Delacort County through an unbelievable rain storm just to meet you and you greet me with wonderful words to make me feel good about myself.

"Hey, if your friends won't tell you, who will?" Lynnie picked up a long curly French fry and started to put it in her mouth. "I did tell you the big time federation of wrestlers or whatever it's called is looking at Vince and the Demonator, didn't I?"

"Only about twenty times," Fleming retorted. Her head pounded with the beat of loud music blaring from a jukebox, supposedly to give the place authentic flavor. After tasting her hamburger, she wished they'd added flavor to the food.

Once more Fleming had thought a light hearted evening with her friend would lift her spirits; once more she was wrong.

"It will mean so much more money," Lynnie said. Her eyes gleamed. "Vince could open another gym, maybe in other towns. He wants to go to small towns that don't have any fitness centers."

"I'm happy for you Lynnie," Fleming said. She clenched her teeth to keep from yelling. "I'm happy for Vince the Vampire Eater, Desdemona, and Medusa. I'm even happy for Jake."

"Jake?!" Lynnie pounced on Fleming like a tiger on its prey. "How did you know the Demonator's name was Jake. Vince won't hardly call him that. It's supposed to be a secret or something."

"Well, as the song in the old Tammy movies goes, 'His secret is no secret anymore.' " Fleming didn't care if she was shouting. "Jake McCort teaches English at Damon High."

"No!" Lynnie screamed loud enough for everyone to stare at them. "It's kismet, it's fate, your stars are crossed…."

"It's a mess, Lynnie. He could loose his job if any of this results in bad publicty for the school board. I can loose mine and a future recommendation if I don't report it."

"Oh." Lynnie stuffed her mouth with french fries. Fleming welcomed the silence.

When Lynnie didn't say anymore and started studying the decor with squinted eyes, Fleming became suspicious. "You're acting guilty my friend. What have you done?"

"Welllll." Lynnie squirmed on the stool a moment before looking Fleming in the eye. "I thought it would be fun if you, me, Vince, and the Demonator— I mean Jake— went out together tonight, kind of a blind date, only you'd already met him."

"A blind date?" Fleming's face turned redder than the ketchup Lynnie was drowning french fries in. "Not even a blind date, a set-up. Oh Lynnie, how could you? You don't know what I've been through this last couple of months. I've had to avoid him and act so cold and professional and now this. The school board would prefer all the staff would be eunuchs. You don't know what I've been through avoiding this man."

"Why have you been avoiding him?" Lynnie zeroed in on those words, ignoring all the others.

"Because I know he's the Demonator. I— I'm afraid I'll let it slip." Fleming didn't add that she avoided Jake McCort because everytime she was in his presence her backbone melted faster than butter in a microwave and being an educator was the very last thing on her mind. Even if everything had run smoothly at the school, which it hadn't, avoiding Jake had been sheer torture.

"If I didn't know you were so determined to be Prince of Principals or whatever title you give it, I'd suspect the Demonator haunts your dreams— and they aren't nightmares." Lynnie put a finger on the end of her straw and pulled it out of her soft drink to let it drip on her tongue. It was a silly thing she and Fleming used to do as kids and Lynnie still did it. Just like Lynnie could always find the core of Fleming's problems before Fleming even knew it.

"I have a nightmare of being before the school board in a trial setting like Captain Queeg in The Caine Mutiny Instead of going crazy and mumbling 'strawberries' I'll be saying 'Demonator', 'Demonator….' "

"Angelique Prescot you've got it bad," Lynnie squealed. "I don't even know what the guy looks like under all that make-up and you have a crush on him."

"A crush? Lynnie, it's been years since I've had 'crushes' ".

"Then one is long overdo. I have them weekly myself. Give the guy a break," Lynnie added as she swirled around on the counter stool. "As soon as he finds out about your five-year plan to become principal, he'll run the other way."

Fleming continued to frown at her friend who was oblivious to the anger or those around her.

"As a matter of fact, he was almost engaged to one of you goal oriented creatures in college," Lynnie added, her eyes still on the food and not Fleming. "It seems waiting on him to pay off all those loans was not on her agenda. She said "adios" as soon as she found a sugar daddy."

Fleming tried to digest the information Lynnie was spewing without getting ill watching her spin around.

Lynnie grabbed the counter and stopped her twirl. "Why Fleming, he's positively handsome."

Fleming turned around just in time to see Vince and Jake holding the door open for two girls to enter the building. From the smile they flashed the wrestlers, their appreciation went beyond the simple courtesy.

Lynnie was right, Fleming had to admit. Jake McCort was positively handsome and every nerve in her body knew it as her hormones began their roller coaster ride.

Jake McCort was positively livid when he saw Fleming. His face flushed and he stopped mid-step to glare then turned his anger toward Vince.

"I didn't know anything about this, Vince." Jake growled the words loud enough for Fleming to hear.

"Hey, I meant it as a nice surprise," Vince said. "Where are your manners anyway?" Vince took a step closer to Lynnie then looked from Fleming to Jake, then took a step backwards. Then he looked at Lynnie who grinned from ear to ear.

"I know Fleming didn't agree to this," Jake answered. He was barely holding his temper in check and he wasn't sure why he was so angry.

"I thought you said your friend's name was Angel?" Vince said to Lynnie, the only friendly face in the small group.

"It is," Lynnie said. She slurped the empty drink once more. "It's Angelique, but she decided in college to be called by her middle name— Fleming. It's all because of Michael."

"Lynnie!" Fleming groaned.

"Michael?" Vince and Jake asked almost in unison.

"Michael Wings. Probably the most handsome guy at the college. When they started dating the jokes started flying"

Lynnie burst into giggles. Vince stared at her like a confused puppy and Fleming groaned again. She was in pain enough battling her emotions without adding humiliation to her burden.

"That was pretty low, Lynnie," Jake said. "Even for someone as short as you."

Fleming burst out laughing and put a restraining hand on Lynnie, who always resented short jokes, and who'd jumped up as if to challenge Jake. It didn't bother Lynnie that she stood between two of the tallest men for miles around.

"I don't get it," Vince said.

"I can't believe you own as many books as you do, you illiterate," Jake said, cuffing his friend's ears. "If Fleming— I mean Angel— had married Michael she would have been…."

"Mrs. Michael Wings," Vince answered, looking confused.

Everyone groaned.

"No, Vince, she would have been Mrs. Angel Wings," Lynnie explained patiently.

Vince physically winced. "Oh. Fleming is an improvement."

"Well, she didn't marry Michael because of her ridiculous plan so now she's stuck with Fleming Prescot. She sounds and acts like a frustrated old maid trying to make it in a man's world. "Lynnie reached for another fry and discovered they were all gone. "When do we go for dinner?"

With Lynnie, one traveled on her stomach. Jake gave Fleming a resigned look and she suddenly wished she had dressed much nicer, though she was very glad she wore her hair down, the way he liked it.

"Actually Lynnie, we're going to a party," Vince said. Fleming wondered at the sheepish look on his face because anyone who knew her friend more than five minutes knew Lynnie loved parties.

"Obviously you haven't told her whose party," Jake said. "You're a chicken-heart, Vince."

Lynnie spun her stool from side to side. "Whose party, Vince?"

"Dedemona's'— Deirdre Lambert is actually her name." Vince all but shuffled his feet and looked at the ground.

"That witch?" Lynnie grabbed the counter to stop her spin. "You can go alone then."

Lynnie started to drain the last drop of her drink but then slammed the cup down. "Or is that what you want, Vince Tolleson? Do you want to go to the party alone so she can pay you attention?"

"Oh, she doesn't like me Lynnie, she likes Jake."

Jake's neck reddened and Fleming turned to look at him. An uncontrollable feeling that she didn't want to recognize as jealousy welled in her.

He cleared his throat. "She doesn't like me either, she just wants us to sign a package deal with her new agent. He claims he'll make us all big stars on the circuit." Jake's pointedly looked at the menu above Fleming's head.

"You already are stars," Lynnie announced. If nothing else, Fleming knew her friend was forever loyal.

"Not on the national circuit, we're not," Vince said. "This guy claims he can put us on the road to northern cities with big television markets. Of course, that would mean more publicity and more traveling."

Fleming glared at Jake defying the tingles of anticipation rushing through like carbonated bubbles in the soft drinks. She felt like the wrestling match of the century was going on inside of her. What would it be billed? The School Marm vs. The Femme Fatale Wannabe.

She knew what a battle it would be in Delacort County. That would be billed Publicity vs. The School Board. Publicity the school didn't need vs. loosing a fine teacher. In Fleming's flash of anger there was regret, more bitter than the pickle in her hamburger. She didn't want a war.

Make Love Not War… Was that a peace cry from history or her heart trying to lead her astray again?

"I think she's just making that up," Lynnie said. She jumped from the stool. "Come on Fleming, we'd better go with them to keep them out of trouble."

"I'm not going Lynnie," Fleming said. She reluctantly tore her gaze from Jake and purposely stood to tower over her petite friend. "This isn't fair to Jake or me. We have to maintain some kind of professional relationship, and going to a party isn't going to do it."

"You don't have to be with him," Lynnie said. She glared up at Vince. "But I have to go to keep Desi's paws off Vince and you came with me, so you have to go."

"I'll take her to her car if you let me have your keys, Vince." Jake held out his hand.

Fleming wasn't sure traveling alone in the car with Jake was going to help matters, but seeing Desdemona was not one of her goals, short term or long.

"You have to go with me Jake," Vince argued. "We're a package deal and we need to consider it. Especially if the hag principal blows the whistle on you like you say she might"

"You jerk!" Lynnie yelled at Jake.

This time both Fleming and Jake put out restraining hands on her friend. Vince stood by like trapped animal in a pet store.

"I never said that, Vince," Jake said. Jake's words were quiet and directed at his friend but his eyes never left Fleming's face.

Vince threw his hands in the air. "I give up. I'm going to Desi's party. Any of you can come, or none of you. But I warn you Jake, Lynnie drives a foreign compact that will put you in traction if you get in the back seat.

"And how would you know, Mr. Mouth?" Lynnie fussed following Vince out.

Fleming and Jake stood alone in the room that seemed silent despite the growing crowd and ear splitting music. It was actually the theme from the movie A Summer Place and Fleming had the ridiculous urge to dance to it, her body pressed warm and close to his. She wouldn't even have to imagine she was Sandra Dee and Troy Donahue would never hold a candle to Jake.

"I am sorry about this," Jake said. His eyes warmed Fleming like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold winter day, melting the marshmallow on top in record time. She had the urge to wrap her arms around him like he was a giant mug too.

"It's not your fault. Lynnie has being doing things like this to me most of my life," Fleming said. "Though I admit, she hadn't the nerve to fix me up on a blind date since I hid her car keys in the highest cabinet in her kitchen one night."

"Would you consider going to the party with me?" Jake held out his hand to Fleming.

She thought she hesitated but she wasn't sure. Her stomach somersaulted and her mind whirled.

I'd go anywhere with you Fleming thought. With resignation she nodded her head. Weeks of resolve and discipline to avoid the man were tossed aside as she took his hand. Electricity sparked from her fingertips to her shoulder when she did. They walked out of the building, the last strains of music trailing them.

If he'd known about the blind date before leaving the farm, Jake would have balked, but he didn't want to be a third wheel with Lynnie and Vince at Desi's party. Once he knew it was Fleming he should have run away to the next county, but Jake McCort didn't. He was a fool when it came to the blonde angel, and only he knew how much.

He should have never asked her to go the party. He'd actually thought she'd say no but when she agreed— he couldn't say no to himself. Just gazing on her soft skin and silvelr spun hair took all reason from him and replaced thought with primal need.

He wanted Fleming all to himself. No more sharing her with Damon high school. No more grinding his teeth when he saw male students perusing her walk, making suggestive comments to themselves. No more envying Wally Artell because his office was right next to hers.

Jake knew he had it bad when he was jealous of Wally the Wart.

There were a million reasons they shouldn't go to Medusa's party together. The most obvious one was when Vince insisted they all ride in his king cab pick-up truck.

"You've got to be kidding," Fleming said in a half whisper when Vince opened the door.

"Neither Vince or Jake could fit in my car." Lynnie smiled as if she'd just said the most amusing thing. "This will be fun, just like high school."

Jake braced himself for Fleming to bolt but instead she took a big breath and started to climb into the back seat. He'd seen her react that way time again at school when in a confrontation with disgruntled parents or unruly students. She'd take a big breath, clench her jaw, then plunge into the problem. He admired her for it, but he didn't envy her doing it on an hourly basis. In fact, he was starting to worry about her. More than once he had to stop himself from going to battle for her.

Wally, the supposed assistant principal, could have helped her more by dealing with the simple discipline with students, but the sneak egged her problems on by turning everything into a major confrontation. Jake wanted to help her, but the first time he saw her at the faculty meeting, he knew the Fleming Prescot independent, and wouldn't welcome it.

He admired her for her determination. In fact he loved watching her chin raise and shoulders pull back, when she stormed down the hall. Like the teen-agers, he stole glimpses of her backside. It brought back fond memories of the time he caught her stuck under the desk in the office.

It wasn't a memory he watched as she struggled to get in Vince's truck. Jake rolled his head upward and stared at the lights, the stars, anything to get his mind, eyes, and various parts of his anatomy away from thoughts of Fleming. Thoughts that had little to do with admiration and instead bordered on lechery.

When it was his turn to crawl in, it was worse than the game of Twister he'd played with friends in high school. Only he wasn't a boy any more. It was man size thoughts that drove him crazy as their arms and legs moved and interlocked to find a comfortable position. He wanted to growl at Vince who should have sat in the back with Lynnie, who was at least tiny enough to fit.

Fleming finally wedged herself at an angle with her back propped against his shoulders and one of her legs stretched over his towards the driver's side of the truck. Jake tucked one arm carefully behind her and braced against the side of the truck to support them both. He couldn't think of too many worse tortures. He welcomed the cramps to hose down the raw desire that was building inside him.

"All set?" Vince said and turned around to wink at Jake.

Jake wanted to punch him. When the truck pulled out of the drive into traffic at break neck speed, he wanted to break his soon-to-be former friend's neck. Fleming stiffened and leaned even more into Jake's body. Her head rolled back towards his face and he found himself surrounded by her angel blonde hair.

It smelled of peaches and he wanted to be lost in an orchard on a lazy summer day.

Now he had to decide whether to curse Vince or thank him.

Jake started to say something to her, but his throat felt like tiny cuts lined his throat. He knew if he spoke, his voice would sound raw with passion.

Lynnie chattered incessantly, and he was grateful though he hadn't the faintest idea of what she said.

Her presence intoxicated Jake like a wine. She affected him like a man addicted to a forbidden drug. Sight of Fleming in the halls at school— across a room— made him forget what he was saying or doing half of the time. He never analyzed what woke him every morning in time to watch her running past the farm house to the track around the lake.

Angelique Fleming Prescot was an addiction all right. An addiction that wanted no part of him and one that he needed no part.
Chapter 8

Why did I do this? Fleming asked herself. She stood awash in a sea of people, feeling as out of place as a transfer student on the first day of school. She certainly didn't feel the life of the party as she stared around the overcrowded clubroom with too loud music. The only thing that kept her from turning around and walking out was Jake's grip on her hand and Lynnie shoving her in the door.

Fleming preferred small gatherings of close friends, not large free-for-alls of anonymous masses. Of course, Jake and Vince weren't anonymous. More than one group of sweet young things walked by cooing, "Hi, Vince! Hello Jake." To Jake's credit he was polite, but for the most part, her "date" ignored the inviting greetings and giggles.

Or maybe he couldn't quite hear the unsaid messages in their greetings. The blaring music promised to cause deafness. Lights glared in some places and were non-existent in others. Cowpokes' open dance floor was more intimate.

Stunning in a black sheath dress, Deirdre, AKA Desdemona, displayed her legs and cleavage to maximum benefit. Once the femme fatale of wrestling spotted Jake, she didn't waste time strutting across the room to greet him. Deirdre's henna hair and Romanesque nose intimidated Fleming more than she cared to admit, especially since she was dressed in jeans and tennis shoes.

"Get a load of Medusa's earrings," Lynnie hissed in Fleming's ears. "They could be hubcaps for your car."

Fleming glanced to her left just in time to see Medusa, Desi's ever faithful sidekick, closing in on them, too. Lynnie was right. Neon circles dangled like cymbals from Medusa's ears. It surprised Fleming that of the two lady wrestlers, Medusa was the most flamboyant. She wore an excruciatingly tight neon knit dress that didn't even begun to cover her long legs. The earrings matched the dress, but clashed with her hair.

Jake's lips brushed Fleming's ear. "She owns a costume jewelry design business, so watch what you say." His words were hurried with their hostesses circling for the kill to greet them.

"It is so nice to see you," Desi said. Her effusive smile matched her tone of voice when she looked Fleming in the eye and shook hands firmly.

Liar Fleming thought.

From the muffled squeak behind her, Fleming knew Vince was struggling to keep Lynnie from spouting similar sentiments aloud.

Desdemona's attention focused on Jake. She looked Fleming's escort over from top to bottom and purred like a cat— a bob cat, not a domestic.

"Jake I'm so glad you came. You know how important you are to me."

Fleming recognized Jake's easy going smile as the one he used right before disciplining a class. She admired the way he did it with a classroom and liked the idea of him putting the giantess in her place even better.

Jealous her little voice whispered.

"Desi," he began, his smile not wavering. "I wouldn't hurt your feelings for the world, though Fleming and I do need to leave early."

His smile and polite words told Fleming that Desi was not important in Jake's life. She fought the urge to yell "yes!". Instead she tucked her hand in the crook of Jake's arm. His reached out to squeeze it and she almost fell to her knees in submission. Not from pain, but from the pure, raw desire it sent raging through her body.

Desdemona was no fool. Eyeing Fleming's possessive gesture and the disinterest in Jake's eyes, the wrestling queen beat a hasty retreat toward other guests.

Lynnie headed toward the buffet table, Vince in tow. Hunger for food was the last thing on Fleming's mind. If Jake sensed half of the dizzying current flowing through her, she was in trouble.

"Can I get you something to drink?" he asked. It didn't sound like Jake's voice, but then again Fleming didn't feel quite herself either. Emotions simmered in her, ready to erupt in a molten flow. No wonder she suddenly felt like her mouth was a desert.

She barely nodded a "Yes," and regretted doing so when he released her arm to walk to the table.

What was happening to her? She would have almost suspected she was drugged, but she didn't think the tasteless food from the Golden Oldies was laced with anything more than food preservatives. There was no doubt in her mind now why she had avoided Jake McCort at school, and everywhere else. From the first time she looked into his golden brown eyes, she was lost.

A luscious, well-endowed blonde walked up to Vinnie and he smiled back.

Fool! Fleming thought. Obviously he didn't know about Lynnie's jealous streak.

Lynnie stepped between the young woman and Vince and announced loudly, "Back-Off Bimbo."

Fleming cringed. She didn't know who to feel sorrier for— the woman, Vince or Lynnie. Her petite friend demanded total attention with a male and did not tolerate other women "trespassing". Evidently the message got through loud and clear as the blond beat a hasty retreat, similar to Desi's.

Jake returned with Fleming's soft drink. He stood close, but this time he didn't touch her. Every nerve was aware of him standing near her, thought. She could barely breath, and was only half aware that everyone watched their friends as Vince tried to calm Lynnie.

"Vince really cares about Lynnie," Jake said quietly. "He's never tolerated that kind of possessiveness in a woman before."

Fleming shook her head to try and break his spell on her. "I hope she doesn't get me into the middle of this."

"Me too," Jake agreed. He pressed his hand in the small of her back to guide her toward a less crowded area. Heat poured through her body from his touch.

From a neutral corner, they watched their friends still arguing. "I don't think Vince can figure her out," Jake said.

"Too bad. I was hoping maybe Vince would understand, though he wouldn't be the first who didn't."

The heat from Jake's chest warmed her back and every other part of her body. When did he move behind her and when did she start leaning against him?

"There's a reason for her jealousy?" Jake asked. His hand reached to her shoulder and pulled her even closer. Her body fit into his perfectly.

"Lynnie and her sister were bumped around foster homes until she was eight," Fleming began. "She was very fortunate that the Marshals took them in, but that kind of insecurity doesn't go away. There wasn't a day she didn't fear they'd send her back to foster care. It didn't help that her sister was the "better" child— better behaved, better in school… Lynnie always felt odd-man-out."

One of his fingers reached out stroke her cheek. Fleming's knees all but buckled. Her heart began to beat in a far more intense rhythm than the music blasting from the stereo.

Fleming took a drink and savored its coldness on her lips. It didn't cool off the intensity of emotion thundering through her like last summer's heat wave.

"I alway worried about Caleb feeling that way," Jake said.

"After my brother's accident, he always watched me from the sidelines— literally and figuratively— in sports, school… I got to do all the things he couldn't. I participated in sports a lot more than I would have, but he enjoyed my games so much, I couldn't quit."

Fleming considered Jake's words as she watched Lynnie and Vince walk away. "For Lynnie, just being here and allowing Vince to come, shows me she is trying hard to overcome it. That she's trying tells me she cares a lot about Vince. Of course, you can't tell that now."

Whatever Jake started to say was lost when two men, who would have made dandy bookends for a giant's encyclopedia set, bumped into Fleming. Her drink flew out of her hand and she nearly fell off her tennis shoes when Jake caught her in his arms. His hand rested at her waist, touching bare skin where her shirt and jeans didn't meet. Fleming's stomach nose dived as the rest of her senses reached for the stars.

He didn't let go and instead, smiled like the boy she saw in the picture at his house. "Are you all right?" His voice rattled her more than the near fall. "Some of the men here forget they aren't in the ring."

Why did she come to a party against her will?

To be with Jake, jeered the little voice she was beginning to hate. Every nerve in her body danced in attendance to his presence. Lynnie wasn't the only one with a suitcase full of insecurity. After a lifetime of learning she could only depend on herself, Fleming fell into his arms, if not literally, figuratively. After years of achieving goals like a programmed robot, Jake made her feel alive and every inch a desirable woman.

If she caught sight of him at school, her stomach tightened into a ball of emotion. On the rare occasions they were in a room together, her hands actually trembled. Memory of their kiss at the farm kept her awake every night. Memory of his arms around her lulled her to sleep.

Jake leaned toward her as if to say something when she heard, more than saw, a beefy hand whack her escort across the back.

"Demon Man! Demon Man! You are a sight for sore eyes."

Jake straightened his posture to greet another man equal in size. Fleming once heard about clubs for tall people where she might be too short to join. At this gathering, she felt she'd attended her first meeting. Not only did she stand between two giants, almost everyone was of considerable height, if not weight. Lynnie probably felt like the Incredible Shrinking Woman.

"Fleming, I'd like to introduce Fred Brooks, Grand Old Man of the Mats. He taught me everything I know."

Fred punched Jake soundly on the arm like a nine-year-old horsing around. "But don't think it's everything I know Big Jake," he chastised.

Grand old man was a good description. Fred wasn't young. What appeared to be salt and pepper gray hair was actually more salt and he carried considerable weight to match his height, but it was firm and more muscled than most younger men's.

"Fred, this is Fleming Prescot."

Fred Brooks turned his good natured smile on Fleming. "Someone has to keep this arrogant pup in line, though this one looked like a puppy who'd had a newspaper swatted across his nose a few time when he started out."

Fleming smiled and raised a questioning eyebrow. "That I'd like to have seen."

"Well, he's passed that now," Fred said. "This agent of Desdemona's has great things in store for all of you whelps. I wished it had come a little sooner for me, but I'm getting to old to manage all these aerial shenanigans and such, though I can still slam an opponent to the mat with the best of you."

Before Jake could reply, Fred spotted another acquaintance and charged across the room, people parting for him like the Red Sea for Moses.

"Fred is something else," Jake said watching the older man walk away. "When he started in the business, he had to be his own promoter and manger and come up with showmanship for any situation. He got from match to match in a car and wasn't always guaranteed being paid or who or what he'd wrestle. He's been in the ring with bears and Brahma bulls and never backed down. What I do on Saturdays is a piece of cake compared to the work he's done."

"What great things are in store for you?" Fleming asked. She told herself it was the school administrator in her asking, not a niggling of jealousy over Desdemona or fear of never seeing him again.

Jake stared at his feet looking like a little boy who'd been sent to the principals' office. Fleming grimaced. He probably felt that way too.

"I'm not sure if it's agent hype or Desi's grand ideas, Fleming," he finally said. "She claims her agent wants our particular show to hit the road with an eye towards big television markets. And hit the road is figurative. We'll fly to major cities, not drive to little podunks in the middle of nowhere."

"Is this what you want?" Fleming looked into Jake's eyes and lost all sense of reason. She hated him for it, yet wanted him even more. He was driving her insane.

Jake took a deep breath and looked around the room. "This place is about to smother me to death. Would you like to step outside and talk?"

Fleming felt a little claustrophobic herself. She knew it wasn't from the crowd of people, either. Jake took her hand into his and headed toward French doors on one side of the room. They stepped outside, then paused as the cool breeze met them. For Fleming, it was more delicious than a decadent dessert, or maybe the feeling was just from being with Jake.

They followed a short path to what looked like jagged rocks. Instead, they were stairs that imitated nature. They led to a pond, another man-made concoction, but still pretty with colored lights dancing in a fountain perched in its center. Jake never released her hand and tugged at her to sit beside him. The noise from the party was a distant static, traffic noises made a steady hum. It wasn't the farm, but Fleming enjoyed the relative quiet.

"I'd rather be home," Jake said after a minute.

"My thoughts exactly," Fleming agreed. "To be honest, I was a little afraid of missing city life when I moved to Delacort, but I love the quiet at the farm, the familiar faces at the grocery store in town— though some of those are scowls."

Jake smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "A lot of frowns lately?"

Fleming looked at him, unable to resist his smile or the heat deep in her stomach that replaced her iron will with slow melting desire. She took a deep breath, trying to remember what they were saying.

"Too many of them I'm afraid," she sighed. "I was prepared for it, or tried to be. Some of my worst grumps are getting friendlier though."

"Like?" Jake prompted.

"The McBrydes, the Dixons… after I made the families meet with teachers, the parents found out just what kind of trouble their little darlin's were getting into. No one bothered to let them know before."

"No one made them listen either," Jake added. "The office never followed through on parent/teacher conferences before. Which reminds me, I actually talked to Allison Tuskman's mother today. She acted totally shocked her daughter was flunking my class."

Fleming shook her head. "I can't imagine why. Her report cards are terrible and the office has left message after message on her machine. We've posted letters, but she never responds. You aren't the only one having problems with the child, but you have been the most persistent about wanting a parent teacher conference."

"I don't know her mother," Jake said. "I hear she's fairly young and on at least her third marriage, but that's not an excuse to ignore Allison's problems."

He stretched his long legs down the stairs, blocking the entire path. Fleming marveled at his size and strengths. When he turned his attention to her, her body quivered in response. Jake shook his head. "If that child spent half the time doing her work in my class instead of concocting wild stories to keep from doing it, she'd have an 'A'. I've no doubt she could garner a high grade in creative writing alone."

His smile was lazy as he pulled her closer. "You're the marvel of the county, getting Tri County Plumbing to repair the bathrooms."

"And I owe that to you," Fleming said. Chimes rang from a nearby apartment. "I was shameless on that one. I did everything but wave a flag in his face when I was talking about the school, civic pride, yet not overemphasizing the potential for his son to win trophies."

Jake chuckled. "You are shameless."

"Not shameless, merely desperate. Not desperate enough to try Reesa's idea of making the school board eat the tuna surprise lunch and not allowing them off the first floor— but close."

"It would serve them right," Jake growled. "How are you getting along these days with the board?"

He pulled Fleming even closer in his arms and it seemed the most natural thing the world to rest her head on his shoulder as they talked. "They seem happy enough with me," she said. "I've made changes they want, added a few of my own. But it's Band-Aid stuff. They need an administrator able to execute long range plans."

Fleming stretched her legs. As long as they were, they missed Jake's span by two tiered rocks. She lifted her head from his shoulder to look into his face, drinking in his deep amber eyes in the moonlight. "Now Mr. McCort, consider class in session. Recite your plans with the Dangerous Desdemona."

"You've been watching Saturday morning wrestling haven't you?" Jake asked. He tucked a finger under her chin and lowered his lips to hers. His kiss was fleeting, as tempting— and unsatisfying— as driving by a bakery fresh bread.

"I was checking up on you since you claim to be unable to wrestle at this point. You did tell me your injury wasn't serious when I rescued you."

She leaned her head back on his shoulder again as he kissed the top of her head. "Well, Desi— Deirdre, has ambitions to play the big time. This is her golden opportunity, but the agent claims he wants us as a package deal."

"Again I ask, Jake McCort, what do you want?" Her hand reached out and touched his cheek, almost as if it had a will of its own.

Jake kissed the palm of her hand then cradled it in his own. He held it against his cheek a moment longer before releasing it, but not her emotions.

"I want to teach, maybe at the community college they are planning in North Mississippi next year. I want to finish my plans at the farm, and I want you, Fleming Prescot."

His last words stood between them as tangible as warm breath expelled on a cold winter day. Fleming sat up to look into his mahogany eyes. Her heart pounded as if it were trying to escape. Jake's hands reached behind her neck and pulled her to him closer to him.

She reached out to lace her fingers in his shaggy hair. Somewhere inside her, the school marm noted he was supposed to have cut it. Another part of her, the one that had gone through such torture since meeting the man, loved the way it felt when she ran her fingers through it. Their lips met like long lost friends, eager to re-discover one another..

Jake's hands left her neck and trailed down her side to her waist. He pulled her closer, their lips never parting. Fleming barely had time to stop kissing him and gasp for air as he moved her to his lap. His mouth reclaimed hers and she wasn't sure who drew closer to the other as the heat of their embrace intensified.

It was Jake who broke the physical bond, though still he held her firmly. His kissed her cheeks then her forehead and rested his chin on top of her head. Fleming nestled in his arms and felt his thunderous heart beat against her cheek.

What am I going to do? she asked herself. This wasn't in her plans at all.

"Do you know I hide like a kid cutting class to avoid passing you in the halls at school?" Jake asked. His voice sounded as raw as Fleming's emotions felt.

"You aren't the only one," Fleming replied. The rumble of his voice with her face on his chest "Quite a few teachers and students treat me as if I have the plague."

He held her even tighter. "That's not what I meant. You're not a disease to me Angel, you're an addiction. And no one else had better be having the same thoughts that I have when they see you."

Fleming chuckled. "I don't think anyone has those thoughts. Let's see— I'm the Fifty-foot Woman, Atilla the Hen— those are the comments I can repeat. A person could get a complex."

"Beauty stands— In the admiration only of weak minds led captive" Jake raised his eyebrow. "I guess that means I'm your weak minded slave."

"Shakespeare?" Fleming asked, her breath catching even as she spoke.

"Milton. Paradise Regained." Jake's gaze never strayed from Fleming's face.

"You obviously love literature and teaching." Fleming knew her words sounded prim and unemotional. Quite the opposite of what was happening inside her.

She couldn't explain to herself, let alone tell him what a turmoil he created within her. When he complimented her, she felt vulnerable. When he quoted literature, all the insecurities of childhood taunted her and all of her defenses returned.

She pulled her head away from him to look him in the eye. "How can you give up teaching up for wrestling?"

"I don't want to give it up." Jake shook his head stubbornly. "I don't plan to either. Whatever this agent offers, it will have to fit my schedule at school."

Fleming's skin stung as if he'd just slapped her. In fact his words were just that, a slap in the face. She stiffened her back and slipped off his lap to distance herself. Wally Artell's warning that Jake was taking advantage suddenly came back.

"Jake, I've warned you that this moonlighting could cost you your job. More television exposure will lead to that. I can just see the headlines now, 'The Demonator Teaches the Demons at Damon High.' "

Jake's back straightened and she could have sworn he grew half a foot. "There is nothing wrong with what I'm doing."

He wasn't yelling but Fleming knew his voice carried like a roar in the night air. He took a deep breath and she braced herself for another blast.

"I should be able to teach and wrestle, Ms. Prescot. No one needs to know my identity."

"If Desdemona or this agent thought they could get any advertising mileage out of a school teacher who wrestles, I bet they'd do it in a heart beat. But Jake, you're missing the point— I know."

Somehow they both found themselves standing. Fleming was two steps higher than Jake and they were literally, nose to nose.

Fleming had no idea who would say what next. She half expected the bull headed man to swipe his feet across the ground, ready to charge her like she was a matador. Their eyes locked, jaws clenched. She wanted to knock him down the stairs. She wanted him to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless.

Loud, angry voices from the walkway above the stairs interrupted their stand-off.

"If you think I'm going to let you travel on the road with those two witches, you've got another thing coming Vince Tolleson. I'll not share a man with anyone."

"Well, maybe I'm not yours to share, you pip squeak."

Vince never had a chance. His yell wasn't as loud as the sound of him crashing down the hill into the bushes. For a little person, Lynnie could shove mighty hard.

Fleming and Jake stood in shock a moment then Jake rushed to his friend. "Vince, are you all right?"

"How would he know?" Lynnie called down. "He's too drunk to know what planet he's on. Your ladies of the night plied him with enough liquor to get an entire frat house drunk."

"Lynnie, you could have hurt him," Fleming protested. She knelt beside Vince, frowning at the scratches on his face.

Lynnie waved her hand as if dismissing them all. "He's taken worse falls from the ropes, Angel."

"Sounds like she's not exactly sober either," Jake grumbled.

Vince groaned.

"I think Lynnie might have saved me Jake." Vince groaned again then tried to stand up. "Even if you said you'd drive home, you know I don't drink much, but whatever they were giving me had a three mule kick."

"Why would they want to get you drunk?" Fleming demanded. She was angry enough over Jake's plans and Lynnie's reckless actions to take on the entire World Federation of Wrestlers single handed. Desdemona and Medusa would be mere cupcakes to crumble.

"Because Medusa and Desdemona were trying to get him to sign a contract," Lynnie yelled down.

"Let's get them home and sober," Jake said.

He took the brunt of Vince's weight around his shoulders. "Come on Vince, the idea is one foot then the other, it's called walking."

Jake started to walk around the building toward the parking lot. He paused long enough to look at Fleming, "Can you handle Lynnie?"

"Yeah," Fleming muttered as she headed toward her friend who had collapsed to a sitting position dangerously near the edge of the walkway. "But do I want to?"

She climbed the stairs and pulled Lynnie to her feet. Fleming led her like a child toward the truck. Her old friend had a lot to answer for after this night.

And so did Jake.

The ride from the party to Lynnie's was memorable even if Fleming didn't want to ever remember it.

Jake drove. Lynnie fell asleep and her head dropped on Fleming's shoulder like a bowling ball. Vince rode in the back of the truck, head hanging over the side like a dog— as sick as a dog, too.

Fleming and Jake barely spoke on the trip. She gave quick directions and he merely nodded in reply. When Jake pulled in front of Lynnie's apartment unit and turned the truck engine off the silence was a chasm between them, punctuated by Lynnie's snores.

"Can you get her awake enough to go inside?" Jake asked. His voice was low and husky and took her breath away. His eyes no longer glowed. Fleming wanted to cry and wasn't sure why she didn't. For so long she'd forced her emotions on the back burner, ignoring them, snuffing them out before they began. She had goals to achieve and romance just wouldn't fit in.

Now Jake threatened to toss her life upside down and she was afraid. Afraid that he would. Afraid that he wouldn't.

"I'll try to get her awake." Fleming sighed. "Vince is probably the one we should worry about."

Jake nodded and opened the truck door. Just as he got out and started to close it, he caught the door with one hand. A hand that looked big enough to tear it off its hinges.

Amber eyes raked her body with a stare that melted Fleming to the bone.

"I love you, Fleming Prescot. I love you, Angel."

He slammed the door shut before she could answer. Lynnie's snoring was drowned by a groan from Vince that registered on the Richter scale.

"I think I'm going to die," Vince moaned.

Fleming's sentiments exactly.
Chapter 9

Getting Lynnie and Vince out of the truck rivaled a Marx Brothers movie.

Lynnie would not wake up. Fleming finally slid her tiny friend from the seat and tried to make her stand, hoping the fresh air would do the trick. It didn't work. Lynnie's feet slid out from under her and Fleming barely managed to maintain both of their balance.

Jake hoisted Vince out of the back, and though he looked green around the gills, the Vampire Eater could at least stand. Lynnie kept sliding along the truck to the ground.

"Find her keys Fleming," Jake said. His words were clipped, sounding almost an order, but Fleming understood. She was getting aggravated with the whole situation too

For such a tiny woman, Lynnie carried an enormous handbag packed with everything from a bottle opener to a thesaurus. It took Fleming a few minutes to excavate Lynnie's keys attached to a doll chain.

"If you'll go ahead, I'll carry Lynnie in," Jake said.

"If anyone is going to carry her, it's me" Vince protested, his words slow and slurred. He made a sound that was a cross between a hiccup and belch.

Jake rolled his eyes. "Vince you can't even walk, you'll drop her."

"No!" Again he hiccuped. "I won't drop her. Give her to me."

Lynnie didn't look like any toddler the way Vince lifted her in his arms. Fleming cast Jake a worried look and followed them like a mother hen. She held her breath at every twist or turn Vince made, afraid he'd whack Lynnie's head.

Jake went ahead of them to open the door to the apartment, making their entrance the only thing to run smoothly. Vince placed Lynnie on the couch and collapsed on the floor beside her. "We'll be all right," he moaned. "You two can go on."

"If you'll remember, I came with you," Jake grumbled.

"Vince doesn't need to go anywhere in his truck until he sleeps this off," Fleming said looking at Lynnie and Jake's friend. "But I can take you to your truck— if you think you can fit in my car."

"I'm not going any place," Vince hiccuped. "Go, leave me in peace. Let me die."

"It's tempting," Jake muttered. "But just in case, I'm hiding both of your car keys. You'll have to call me in the morning to find out where they are."

"Sadist," Vince groaned.

Jake took two giant steps to walk across the room to hide the keys. He looked like Gulliver in Lilliputian land. Fleming realized a man his size actually needed the great outdoors to give him enough room. A place like the farm. She could understand his wanting to hang on to it.

He returned from the kitchen and ran his hand through his auburn hair and let out a gale wind sigh.

"That's taken care of, I guess we'll go."

She nodded then looked at her friend collapsed on the couch. Her tiny frame and mussed clothes looked like a doll that a child had dressed ineptly. "She's never been one to drink much, Vince," Fleming said, shaking her head. "The few times I know of her being drunk, she slept twelve hours straight afterwards."

"Um-hum," Vince snored more than spoke.

Fleming looked helplessly at Jake who could only shrug his shoulders. They left the apartment, carefully locking the door behind them.

"Do you think they'll be all right?" she asked as they walked out of the building.

"Until they wake up," Jake said. "I don't want to be with them and their headaches in the morning.

They'd reached her car in the parking lot when Jake groaned. "I'd forgotten how tiny your car is. It's like a little Matchbox car except it's real, not a toy."

Fleming pulled her electronic key from her purse and pressed her code. The notes chimed and the lights came on inside. "It was a present from my brother," she explained. "I love it. But I've never had the nerve to tell him, it's almost too small for me."

"Your brother gave this to you?" Jake said gazing at the vehicle with the admiration only men understood. "He must have robbed a bank to do it."

"Close." Fleming smiled. "Max was the youngest bank president in the State of Tennessee at one time. This was my present for graduating from college. He's the only one who half way believed I could finish college and grad school."

Jake raised an eyebrow as he looked at Fleming. "You strike me as a woman who accomplishes any goal she sets her mind to do."

Fleming wasn't sure how to respond to his compliment. Even after she'd achieved so much more than anyone could have hoped, she didn't have much confidence. At least not the kind Jake thought she had.

She was saved from a reply when they reached the car and opened the doors to get in. Jake muttered when his head brushed the ceiling and his knee thumped the dash board.

"Can I let this seat all the way back?" he asked. He sounded like a grumpy bear as he rubbed his head.

"It is all the way back," Fleming said. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry at his dilemma. "How far is it to Vince's apartment?"

"Too far, tonight," Jake carefully maneuvered his legs. "Drive fast."

They were silent as she drove, Fleming only nodding when Jake gave cursory directions. Neither spoke of the moonlight, his declaration of love or her ultimatum. Fleming knew neither of them wanted any more confrontations. Nor could she handle his claim to love her. All of her self-discipline melted every time he kissed her, as it was. Allowing herself to believe he loved her would leave her in total confusion.

"His apartment is the next right on the road," Jake said. His voice broke the stillness of the night and her thoughts as effectively as a door being closed between them

She manuevered the turn and sighed when she saw Jake's old truck standing out like a geriatric patient at Club Med among all the gleaming new car bodies. Jake put his hand on the door handle and hesitated.

The next thing Fleming knew he'd wrapped his hands around her waist and pull her close to him, the gear shift stabbing her in the stomach. He lowered his mouth to hers and the searing heat of his kiss melded them. Fleming laced her hands in his hair and responded with raging heat as his lips burned a trail across her cheek and down her neck to where the first button of her shirt opened. His hands wrapped around her bare skin under the loose blouse slowly caressing upwards.

This will never work, this will never work! She recited these words over and over like a mantra. She ignored every word of warning as she buried her face in his hair as he kissed her neck.

His hand cupped her breast and circled the aureola through the lace of her bra as he showered kisses across her cheeks and down her neck. Each caress robbed Fleming of the power to breath.

"My Angel, do you know how you are driving me wild?" His breath seared her neck like a too hot fire.

"Jake, we can't," she whispered. She tried to pull away but she wasn't sure it was Jake's arms that held her prisoner or her own desire.

Jake's kisses slowed, then stopped. He rested his forehead on her shoulder. His body shuddered and Fleming thought the car actually shook. He straightened in the seat and kissed her on the top of her head.

"You've got to get a bigger car, kid," he said. His body unfolded, part by part, as he attempted to get out. "Doesn't your brother know you're tall, too?"

Fleming bent her head to look at the now standing Jake through the open door. "Don't forget," she said, "I'm the youngest. They still think of me as 'the baby'. And, believe it or not, I'm the shortest. Even my mother is taller than me, if only by a half inch. I think Max always wanted this car and knew he'd never fit inside."

Jake knelt down to meet her, eye-to-eye. Fleming was glad they had the car between them as a shield for her emotions.

"Do you think we're ever going to fit in each other's life?" he asked.

His words were quiet and gentle but the impact on Fleming was like an underground explosion. There was nothing she wanted more than to be part of Jake McCort's life and he a part of hers.

But she wasn't sure there was room for the Demonator too.

"We'll see, Jake. We'll see. And if you overlooked my little speech at the first faculty meeting and ignored all the little memos I send out, dating between the faculty is frowned upon."

"I think they really meant none of what was going on between the married former principal and the phys ed teacher," Jake said dryly.

"They want to stop the sparks before the fire, I guess," Fleming said, then licked her suddenly dry lips before she added. "And not a bad idea. I think we need to stop this before it goes any further."

She was very aware of him now as he looked at her from the tiny distance of across the car. It seemed like a growing chasm.

He leaned in and grasped Fleming's arm pulling her towards him. His mouth was hard, unyielding and incredibly hot against her own. He released her with abruptness that left her gasping for breath and more of him.

"It's a little late to stop the spark or the fire for me," he said.

He stood, then slammed the car door shut. Fleming winced. She wished she had slammed the door to her emotions the very moment she met Jake McCort and the Demonator.

Fleming sat in the car trying to regain control over her emotions. She nearly jumped through the ceiling of the car when Jake tapped at her window.

She lowered it, wishing there were more distance and time between them. Jake knelt down. "I'll follow you home."

It wasn't a request, it was a statement and Fleming resented it. She needed distance from the man, not his hovering presence.

"No, that's not necessary," she said in what she hoped was her best administrative voice.

Jake acted like he wanted to argue but instead shrugged his shoulders and turned toward the truck.

Fleming wanted to run after him and stop and lose herself in his arms, but the iron discipline she'd exerted on her emotions for so long went into automatic pilot. She stayed rooted in her car and watched him drive off in his truck.

She sat there for several minutes, tears rolling down her face. She had her plan, her goals. But she knew goals written on paper and checked off would be a poor substitute for a man's loving arms around her at night— and not just any man's— Jake's.

Jake crushed the gas pedal to the floor as he left the parking lot. He wanted to get as far away from Angelique Fleming Prescot as he could. He thought it so poetic, her angel-spun silver hair matching her name. Now he feared such beauty was devil inspired. She was turning into quite the temptress in his life.

He was furious with Fleming, with Vince and Desdemona, with the school board… and himself. He wished Fleming with her long legs that begged for shorter skirts, shimmering hair, and mouth that was softer than any mouth ought to be, had never come to Damon High.

And now he didn't know what he was going to do when she left.

He admired her dedication to duty and goal of being a school principal. Yet the same ramrod iron will he loved about her was what he wanted to bend, just a little bit. He wanted her to forget about her goal and five-year plan that he suspected she really had, though she'd never admitted it.

Jake not only wanted Fleming's love, he wanted her goal to be him, instead of something flat and crisp, written down on paper. He wanted her to trust him that it would all work out.

If he could stay on the wrestling circuit one more year he'd have enough money to get the camp for special needs children operational. Then he would feel like he'd done right by Caleb and his parents. Surely she could understand that.

A thunder in Jake's memory rumbled. Finally the thought struck like lighting in his mind. How could Fleming understand what she didn't know? He'd been so mesmerized by the physical attraction between them and the very current problem of his conflict of interest in their jobs that he'd never told her about the promise he'd made to himself

Jake never told Fleming about his goals, his plans. He'd never told her anything except he loved her. It wasn't fair that he expected that declaration to substitute for understanding.

Fleming had not returned a declaration of love. How could she? She didn't know him, or what was most important in his life right now.

Nor did he know what was important to her. Yes, her "goal" was to be a principal, but why? He caught a hint of what her motivation could be with the dinner with her sister Lyla. But most kids grow up wanting to be a teacher, not an administrator. There was something more and very important to Fleming about her goals, and he had never even asked.

He turned the truck around, making an illegal and dangerous U-turn in the road. He'd try to catch her, to talk to her. He'd try even harder to keep his hands off of her while he did.

Her car wouldn't start. No matter how she coaxed, pleaded pumped the accelerator or turned the starter, it wouldn't start. Fleming regretted she'd insisted Jake leave. Another posting to her resume of mistakes.

She rested her forehead on the steering wheel and took a deep breath. Everything she'd planned that evening had gone down the tube. Evening? Who was she kidding? Everything she tried in her life went wrong.

Even meeting Jake had been the wrong place and time.

The knock at her window made her jump and bang her head in the ceiling, just like Jake had. As if her thoughts conjured him, Jake stared at Fleming through the car window and he wasn't happy. Everyone at Damon High knew they should never make Mr. McCort unhappy. Fleming was suddenly very sympathetic with the student body.

"I knew I should have just followed you," he growled. Actually it sounded like a roar, even before Fleming got the window down. She forgot that Jake was capable of looking so scary, even without his Demonator make-up.

"Well, you obviously waited on me, so settle down." When she felt defenseless, Fleming was as likely to pick a fight faster than Lynnie could. She leaned back against the seat. "Why didn't you just leave Jacob McCort?"

"Because you belong with me."

Fleming's heart plummeted and rose like a bungee cord held it. The man reeked havoc over her mind, her emotions, and her sanity. She gripped the steering wheel, trying not to loose herself as his amaretto eyes beckoned her heart.

"Let's go home Fleming," he said quietly. He brushed his hand lightly across her hair.

Home. The word evoked emotions she didn't think possible to feel. She emerged from the car and into his arms in one movement. He claimed her mouth before she could say another word and a warm, languid heat poured through her veins as his tongue explored her mouth. His hands slid down her back and his enormous hand cupped her hips pulling her closer. Just when she thought she'd lose consciousness he pulled away, planting a light kiss on her nose.

"And I belong with you," he added.

Fleming's almost collapsed in a puddle on the blacktop. His touch was like an current of electricity, but it was the words he spoke that powered her senses.

"Jake," she said. Her voice rasped, sounding foreign to her own ears. "All the fight in me is about gone, but it's not that simple."

He pulled her even more tightly into his arms, giving a whole new definition of bear hug. "Don't let fear of what might happen ruin everything.

Fleming could have stayed in his arms forever, yet she didn't fight him when he released her and opened the door to his truck. Once in the truck, a heady, masculine scent that only belonged to him surrounded her. The interior was no nonsense and durable, like the man. When he sat behind the steering wheel, his presence filled the cab as well as her heart.

Twenty years older than her car, the old pick-up started with the steady rhythm of a thoroughbred. Her red sports car looked forlorn as they drove away.

"I'll have to come back tomorrow for it," Fleming said, as if to protest one more time.

"We'll leave your keys at Lynnie's. She and Vince can bring it, they owe us after tonight." Jake said. He maneuvered his truck through traffic with ease Fleming envied as they headed for the highway to Mississippi. She leaned back against the seat, enjoying an opportunity to relax. The evening's events certainly hadn't done much to relieve any tension from the week. Fleming had to be in control of herself at all times at school to deal with others who couldn't contain their emotions reasonably. It was rare she got the chance to let someone else manage things.

Enclosed in the cab of the truck, she felt cosseted in their own world. Troubles and cares were locked away. Doubts and fear flew with the miles. Her shoulders relaxed and her eyes grew heavy as she found herself leaning against Jake. The humming of the tires on the interstate worked better than a lullaby.

The crunch of gravel under the tires woke her.

"Jake? Where are we?" Her eyelids felt like lead and all she wanted to do was curl up closer to him and sleep some more.

"At the farm," he said quietly. "I wasn't ready to let you go yet."

She lazily looked around and realized they were parked between a small copse of trees overlooking the track and lake. Moonlight shimmered across the pond making her wish it was warm enough to take a midnight swim.

"Jake?"

"What, sweet?" he asked.

"You never have told me why there's a track around the pond." She closed her eyes shut again, not wanting the moment to change or to move from the circle of his arms.

"It's why I wrestle," he said quietly. "Trust me, 'twas never a life goal of mine to do Saturday morning television wrestling in Memphis. I feel like a cartoon."

"So I gathered." Fleming smiled. She opened her eyes long enough to plant a kiss on his chin. "I can better picture you garbed in Shakespeare costumes than eye patches and tights. You'd make a better bard, I think."

"No, not me," Jake smiled sadly. "My dad was the story teller of our family."

She settled back in his arms. "So, why is there a track around the pond?"

"Have you ever heard of the Make-A-Wish Foundation?" he asked. His voice rumbled in his chest, almost tickling her ear.

"That's the group that tries to grant wishes to critically ill children isn't it?" She raised slightly to watch his face.

Jake nodded. "Vince and I were friends in college. He got me into wrestling to pay off my college loans. That first year we participated in the foundation's fund raiser. One of the children asked to see us. It was the most humbling experience of my life to discover that a child's dream-come-true was to see one of our matches and to meet Vince and me at the ring in Memphis."

Fleming straightened even more in the seat. She reached around with her arm to hold him close.

"I thought of Caleb and all of his dreams that didn't come true. Then I realized the perfect use for the farm was to make it a camp for kids who didn't want to watch life from the sidelines. A camp that could meet special needs. I'm trying to get things ready, clearing land, making a track… as much as I can to establish it.

He glanced at her a moment, then back towards the pond. "Does it make sense to you? It's the only thing that made sense of Caleb's life and death for me. And my parents, too. I mean this farm was their life, but they almost lost it because of the medical bills. And they would have never regretted it if it came to that."

Fleming leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Only someone very shallow and self-centered would think it a waste. It makes perfect sense to me," she whispered.

Quiet settled around them, each alone with their thoughts. Fleming considered the bigger-than-life man beside her. His dreams made him that way both inside and out. A man like that might understand her own dreams

It was Jake who broke the silence. His deep voice filled with emotion and awe. "Working to build a camp has filled a lot of the void I felt after losing my family. But I didn't ever think I could be content again— until the day you sat in my kitchen drinking tea."

Fleming's heart stopped. She remembered the very moment she sat in his kitchen, feeling like she had come home. The powerful emotion frightened her then and now. Just like when she was in elementary school, she tried to make a joke of it. "You must have whacked your head when you fell, Jacob McCort," she said. "I was a mess that day, especially after pulling you out of the well."

"I thought you were an angel from heaven the night I met you— I still do."

Jake cupped Fleming's face with both hands and kissed her. At first it was slow and gentle, like the man she'd come to love. Then it intensified until she felt she was the one with a demon inside her. Her mouth parted willingly for him to explore and to taste. Her hands stroked his hair as he pulled her more closely to him.

Somewhere in her mind she recalled lunacy came from the word lunar, meaning it related to the moon. That's what it was, it was the moon bringing this madness or wanting him, every considerable inch of Jacob McCort, to be part of her.

Fleming later couldn't recall actually getting from the truck to the house, she remembered only his bedroom, with it's wide windows overlooking the lake and the moonlight. More madness as he took her in his arms, kissing and caressing her. His lips teased a trail from her mouth to her chin and down her neck. His hands first grasped her waist, pulling her closer, then they loosened as one hand explored her bare back under her blouse and moved down to pull her even closer to him.

Mere desire gave way to liquid fire urging Fleming to respond to every caress, every gentle stroke with wickedly delicious ones of her own that delighted them both. Clothes disappeared as they made their way to the bed illuminated by moonbeams.

Jake's kisses grazed her skin like frenzied fireworks, each one driving her to the edge of delirium. "My beautiful Angel," he murmured as his lips encased the darkened tip of her breast.

His touch took her breath away as Fleming laced her hands through his auburn hair urging him on without words, but with her response to his touch.

Slowly! Go Slowly, her conscience warned.

It's madness to wait, the voice that had driven her to distraction since meeting Jake urged.

He teased and tantalized her with his mouth until neither could take more.

"My Angel," he said once more as he parted her legs. He gasped with pleasure as she guided him inside her.

Fleming's blood rushed with aching desire as she welcomed him. Never had she felt more aware of his tremendous size and strength as now, while he was in her arms and inside her very being. Never did she dream that her own height and size would match a man as if they were made for one another. Empowerment coursed through her entwined with marvel at his gentleness. She belonged to him, he belonged to her.

Pleasured sensation pulsed through her until release left her floating in air. She'd never thought of herself as an angel, but for that moment she soared with wings of love.
Chapter 10

Sunlight streamed through the windows, erasing all traces of the evening moonlight. Fleming opened her eyes slowly to see dusky eyes looking at her, their gaze like a caress. The moonlight may have gone, but the desire remained and promised to rule her body once again as he reached out to stroke her hair.

"So this isn't a dream?" he asked as she stroked his cheek with the back of her hand.

A dream come true she thought, but could not say. She'd watched one too many movies where regrets were the menu of the morning after. Fleming had none, but she could not be sure of Jake.

"You may not be a dream but you're an angel," Jake said, kissing her neck. His breath breathed warm heat to a just banked fire. Fleming felt small flames of passion stirring in her once more.

"You're my Angel," he said, reaching for her and rolling her on top of his body. What Fleming felt stirring was no match for the desire Jake already felt.

She looked down at him, her silky hair falling forward, almost as a tent with only the two of them inside.

"I never liked being called Angel until now," she said.

He responded with a long, languorous kiss that melted Fleming to the bone. Once more emotions reigned as one kiss became two, one touch more. Their desire for one another was as wildly wicked as the night before, but each took their time in the morning light savoring touch and taste. Jake's magnificent body engulfed Fleming in his very essence. She was lost in him and to him as they once again made love.

This time they did not fall into an exhausted sleep afterward. Fleming lay in Jake's arms and listened to the bird chirping in the air, probably gossiping about the two humans inside the house. His heart beat thundered in her ears as her head lay on his chest. Each beat, beating in sync with her own.

His hand stroked her arm absently as they lay there. "Fleming?" he asked quietly. "Why didn't you like to be called Angel?"

Fleming smiled, the hair on his chest tickling her cheek. She wanted to talk to him, but she felt drugged with a languid contentment. The words formed slowly in her head before she spoke.

"I never liked being called Angel— because I was about as far from angelic as a child could be." She unconsciously reached for Jake's hand as she spoke. "More than once the family called me an angel with her halo on lopsided," she sighed. "My sister, Lilah even bought me the move The Trouble With Angels as a joke last Christmas."

"Ouch," Jake said, squeezing her hand.

"I was the Pea-brain Prescot. The dumb one. The one that wasn't quite bright." Fleming's voice caught, surprised the memories could still hurt.

Jake pulled her more tightly in his arms. "I can't imagine you ever doing anything wrong, only perfect," he said, kissing the top of her head.

"I didn't do well in class and got in lots of trouble. To cover up feeling stupid and hurt, I did things to deliberately get me in trouble. If it hadn't been for Lynnie, I would have been the most miserable child in the world."

Fleming paused. "They couldn't build a detention hall big enough to hold the both of us," she added.

Kissing the palm of her hand gently, Jake then tucked it close to his heart. "What was the problem?" he asked.

The feeling of abandonment by her family swept through Fleming as if she were a child again. Jake wanted to know what the problem was. No one ever asked that in her home. They just assumed she was the problem.

" I never learned how to read."

There she said it. To a man who loved books more than she loved her movies, he had to be shocked. The school board would have been surprised that she went all through elementary school illiterate. So would the staff at the high school and the entire student body.

"A learning disability?" he asked.

Fleming sat up in the bed, tucking a sheet under her arms. Intimacy in the light of day was a bit daunting. Not the intimacy of their bodies, but exposing her vulnerability. "One that could have been helped if diagnosed when I was younger. My parents brought in special tutors to teach me, but by then, my self confidence was destroyed, and to this day, I freeze when I have to read something aloud that I've not had a chance to study. I'm terrified that the words will cease to exist and become meaningless lines on a paper again."

"So you chose education to keep it from happening to other children," Jake said. "Makes sense."

"To everyone but my family," Angel sighed. "I was fortunate that my family could afford tutors. So many children don't have that advantage. There is a reading enhancement center being planned for this area, for public use, not a private endeavor. It will use computers to aid learning disabilities, my specialty. That's why this job is so important. I have the credentials but I need on the job administrative experience."

Jake sat upright in the bed, pulling most of the sheet away from her as he did. He rested his massive arms on his knees and stared into space. "Great. We're both trying to do the right thing for the right reasons and my wrestling may mess us both up.."

Fleming leaned forward and rested her cheek on his back. The corded muscles were tight and hard. "And neither one of us need to be side tracked by a love life," she whispered.

But even as she spoke, Jake had turned to take her in his arms. Their love and desire was all either wanted at the moment.

* * *

It was late morning before Fleming returned to her apartment. They'd talked to the point of arguing about what to do and in the end, they both knew their relationship, and Jake's wrestling, had to be circumspect. Fleming didn't know if she knew how to be circumspect. Never had such feelings overwhelmed— never had such a man.

The light on her answering machine was flashing when she walked in but she ignored it, heading for the shower, instead. No one ever called her Sunday mornings, so it probably came on Saturday. They could wait another hour.

Now that she was away from Jake, Fleming wondered if it was all a dream. His kisses seemed too passionate for reality. Her responses uncharacteristic for her. The warm water of the shower brought her back to reality. Her reality of worrying about school and her job.

She walked to the bedroom window and looked outside, glimpsing the farm. The top of the old barn was barely visible and the house looked like it was waiting— just for her. Jake's house. Warm sunlight bathed her, not dissimilar to the effect Jake's presence had on her. It was almost a magical place to her, certainly the scene of some not extraordinary actions on her part.

No, what Fleming most loved about Jake— and she loved him in the worst and best way— was how he made her feel. Jake McCort made her blood boil and bones melt with one glance. Most amazing to Fleming, though, was his belief in her. He thought she could do anything, never did anything wrong. Quite a heady feeling. Not even her brother and Lynnie had ever shown such confidence in her.

She tore herself away from the window, feeling herself once more losing control. Could she believe Jake's declaration of love? Could she trust her own feelings? What was being in love with Jacob McCort going to cost them both?

Fleming wandered downstairs to fix herself a cup of hot tea. One day at time, that's how Jake said they would take it. That's the best they could do.

While the water for the tea heated she checked her messages. There were two. The first was Lynnie, asking if she'd left to meet her in Memphis yet.

Fleming smiled to herself. That mission was accomplished.

She played the second message twice to make sure she heard it correctly

"Ms. Fleming, this is Peggy Schuster, secretary for the school board, informing you of an emergency meeting of the school board Sunday, that's tomorrow, at twelve o'clock noon. Attendance is mandatory. Return my call as soon as possible."

The second time she played the message, it sounded even more ominous.

A blast of noise that sounded like a showboat coming to port startled Fleming. She peeked out the window and half smiled and half groaned. A quick call to Peggy Schuster got her transportation to the meeting. The secretary had evidently asked Mrs. Lumkin to pick her up. While Fleming was fond of the woman, the board member's butterfly movements and nervous chatter were not what she needed after the jarring events of the night before and so little sleep.

A call to Jake had resulted in no answer. It didn't concern her much, he could have been out with Brutus or doing a number of things. She just wanted to touch base with him. She wanted to hear his voice and the positive belief in her that she desperately needed before this unexpected meeting.

Flowery perfume wafted from the older model Buick, the kind made for the comfort of passengers and a time when gas was really cheap. It was so big Fleming marveled that the tiny woman could see over the steering wheel. Mrs. Lumkin would have been better off with Fleming's tiny red car, and Fleming with Mrs. Lumkin's monster mobile.

"Oh, dear, it's just terrible, terrible," Mrs. Lumkin said after Fleming got in her car.

"What's so terrible Mrs. Lumkin?" Fleming asked. She smoothed her skirt and wondered how she looked.

There had barely been time to dress, let alone be particular about it.

"Oh, I can't say, I can't say," Mrs. Lumkin shook her head. "We had so hoped it was all over, no more scandal."

"Scandal?" Fleming leaned closer to the woman. "What kind of scandal?

"I can't say, I can't say." And true to her word, Mrs. Lumkin didn't say anymore.

Which was fine with Fleming. She was too busy grabbing the arm rest and holding her breath as the woman drove with the speed of a jet. The Absent Minded Professor's jalopy powered with flubber seemed a safer bet.

She tried to think happy thoughts, not dwell on visions of crashing into trees. And those thoughts were of Jake.

Irritation pumped though Fleming's veins. She wanted to be with him this morning, not on a car ride with Mrs. Lumkin that rivaled anything at Disney World. She'd definitely would have rather he driven her to the meeting, even before she discovered what kind of driver the school board member was.

The squeal of tires and Mrs. Lumkin's, "Oh my, Oh my" announced they were at the BuckEye Steak House. The school board offices were currently crammed in an old storehouse, the county hadn't been able to afford a new building after the old one burned.

The smell of charcoal grilled steaks made Fleming's stomach growl. It would at least be convenient to eat lunch here afterwards— and look for other transportation home.

When she walked into the back room everyone was standing, talking in low mumbles. All had serious frowns and mouths drawn into tight lines that made Fleming's stomach draw up into a knot like she was being called on the carpet. As a matter of fact, the blue carpet in the meeting room looked just like the carpet in her fifth grade principal's office.

Everyone frowned except Wally Artell. He stood with a half smile, half smirk, on his face. Fleming recognized that as the look of a student up to no good. She resisted the urge to ask to see his hall pass and send him on his way.

"Now that everyone is here," Mr. Sumpter cleared his throat, "Let's gather around just one table for right now. I don't want words of this spreading."

Fleming sat in a chair near the end of the table. Her mouth was drawn and she felt she'd swallowed one fat piece of sidewalk chalk.

Mr. Sumpter cleared his throat and ran a finger under his tie. "Some of you already know why this meeting was called. We first learned of this problem late yesterday afternoon, but with the storm, most of the phones in the county were out."

Beads of perspiration popped out on his forehead like water coming to a boil. "There have been some serious charges brought against the English teacher, Jacob McCort."

Fleming's ears started to ring. She felt a spectator looking in on a scene, not a participant.

"I, personally, find them hard to believe," Mr. Sumpter continued. "I've known Jake all of his life, as has most everyone here."

Mr. Sumpter looked at the older members of the board who all shook their head in agreement. "But the way things are today, we have to consider them. For the sake of the children."

Fleming shuddered as she took a deep breath. They knew. They knew about Jake's wrestling. Her heart actually hurt to think of the dreams that he would lose… but she knew it wouldn't be permanent. Jake would find a way… she could help him.

"Are you, Ms. Prescot, acquainted with a student Allison Tuskman?"

Whatever Fleming thought the board president was going to ask, that wasn't it.

"Allison?" Fleming looking at Mr. Sumpter and the other board members, hoping she'd controlled her surprise.

"Unfortunately, her name comes to my attention quite often."

Mr. Sumpter looked a little confused. "Well, Allison, according to her mother, has brought serious charges against Mr. McCort. Saying he demanded…."

All the board officers shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. Rivets of perspiration rolled down the president's face. "Allison claims Jacob McCort demanded certain sexual favors on a regular basis this year."

In her mind, Fleming screamed "Liar!" In her heart she screamed even worse things, but on the outside she was calm— the ice maiden students described her. An ice maiden that was shattering into shards on the inside. All those times she was called into the principal's office as a child to account for her misdeeds taught Fleming how to maintain a poker face. "No laughter, no tears, no regrets, no fears" was one Lynnie's more proper verses she'd made up about the experience.

Fleming met the school board president's eyes with a non wavering stare of her own.

"Considering Allison's grade in his and other classes, he wasn't doing her any favors." Fleming maintained a voice devoid of emotion, but it certainly wasn't what she felt. Inside her heart reacted with a tidal wave of terror.

"According to her report card here, she's received A's in his classes and others," Mrs. Lumkin said, sliding a file to Fleming.

"I don't understand." Fleming opened the file and held the latest report card up. Delacort County School still used actual report cards, they hadn't gone to computer grading. Sure enough, on the pale green missive, Allison's grades showed "A's" all the way down.

She looked at each board member's face. All of them returned her stare with unhappy scowls. Fear and confusion threatened her control.

"Jake— Mr. McCort and other teachers have sent notices through the office requesting parent teacher conferences over Allison's grades and conduct. One doesn't request that if the student is making A's, which she isn't."

"Well, Allison's mother thought her grades were fine and never received such notices." Several of the school board members nodded, almost in unison.

"I, personally, called her home and left messages on her machine," Fleming said. "Since we don't have adequate office personnel, Vice Principal Artell, here, posted notices."

Wally the Wart squirmed in his chair like a child needing to go to the bathroom. Or maybe he just looked like someone anxious to leave the room, period. Fleming couldn't blame him. She'd love to have jumped on the first stage out of Dodge at the moment.

"Well, I-ah, didn't remember her name in particular." Wally wheezed like he was choking on something while he talked. He glanced nervously at the board members but refused to look Fleming in the eye. "And, like Ms. Prescot said, we are short of help…."

"Mrs. Merriman, Allison's mother, says she heard nothing about Allison's poor grades until Mr. McCort called Friday to discuss them with her. The woman was shocked and when she confronted her daughter the whole sordid story came out. The girl said she refused to have anything more to do with Mr. McCort and he was getting back at her."

"I see," Fleming said. Her voice sounded hoarse to her, maybe a result of her heart feeling stone cold. "And when was this all to have allegedly taken place?"

"We haven't gone into details," Mr. Sumpter said. "It seems to have happened weekends, when Mrs. Merriman is often in Memphis on business."

"And if this is the case, why hasn't Mrs. Merriman brought criminal charges? I certainly would have." Fleming no longer felt like an outsider looking in, she felt like she'd stepped into a wrestling ring herself and was ready to take all comers in a match.

Heaven only could help Jake McCort if any of the charges proved true. And heaven had better hide Allison and her mother when Fleming proved they weren't. Fleming believed in Jake as she had never believed in herself. All those nights of crying herself to sleep and reciting "I'm not stupid, I'm not stupid," forged an iron will in her that would be needed to see this crisis through.

She just wished she had the honest eloquence of Jimmy Stewart in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. Fleming wished times were different and it was simple corruption she was fighting instead of a world gone haywire with children in the crossfire.

Jake was the good guy, but Allison was a child, not someone evil to be destroyed. And a situation like this could destroy the girl too easily.

"She was concerned with the sensibilities of it all." Mrs. Lumkin spoke in a half whisper, obviously embarrassed. Mrs. Lumkin, Fleming, and Peggy Schuster were the only women present.

"The sensibilities?" Fleming said. "This is a woman who leaves her child alone on weekends, discovers her daughter may have been taken advantage of, and she's concerned with sensibilities?"

Fleming was angry. Not just for Jake's sake, but for Allison's. Allison wove lies into fantasies, but for the child, it may have been her only way of coping with loneliness and neglect.

"The mother wants the situation stopped, but she doesn't want it in the newspapers," Mr. Sumpter said. "And neither do we. Mrs. Merriman's actions aren't in question at this point, Mr. McCort's are."

Anger flooded Fleming's body with the pulsating intensity of a fire stoked with kindling. Since it wasn't an actual trial, they were all assuming Jake was guilty. The man worked hard at school and on the farm and his weekends were generally taken up with wrestling. And with the word wrestling, a gong sounded in Fleming's mind.

"When and where were these alleged rendezvous to have taken place?" She took the time to emphasize the word "alleged" as she looked once more into the board member's faces. "If you don't know, find out. In the mean time I have posted records of notices and phone calls on my computer documenting contact with Allison's mother."

"Well, that's another thing, Ms. Prescot," Mr. Sumpter said, the frown on his face getting worse. "Wallace here offered to look up the files last night, he was one of the few I was able to get hold of. And well, there is no record of you contacting any parent, ever."

"Do you mean Mrs. Merriman?" Fleming frowned.

"I mean there is no record of your having contacted any parents, period. Not since you've been interim principal," Mr. Sumpter said. Disapproval in his voice matched the frown lines on his forehead. "You haven't kept very many records."

Fleming almost lost her poker face to rage. "Oh, but I have, I can give you names that you can contact personally to know the office has been in communication with them."

Her word's were spoken to the school board members but her eyes riveted on Wally. The vice principal would not return her stare. It was obvious by the way he couldn't control his expression that he'd never been in trouble in school. Guilt was written all over his face as if he'd been into the Easter Bunny chocolates before Easter.

Fleming cleared her throat and stood, making sure she towered over the vice principal as she spoke. "I do not know why you can't find them on the computer. I spend hours beyond school time recording them. I think records are essential to the smooth running of a school and will aid teachers and administrators that follow."

Fleming took a moment to catch her breath and keep her temper in check before continuing. "However, if they can't be found, I can assure you I have disk copies of all contacts."

Shoulders dropped, heads bowed and a few literally looked to heaven in thanks. "You mean, you do have proof the office and Mr. McCort tried to contact Mrs. Merriman?

"Absolutely. Mrs. Merriman and all teacher's attempted contacts with any family. And I suggest you press Mrs. Merriman on dates and places Mr. McCort and Allison were to have— -met— immediately. I want dates and a story written down. Allison has a history of tall and twisted tales." Fleming paused to raise an eyebrow. "Including a 'note' from you, Mr. Sumpter, giving her permission not to do a science project this year."

"Why, I never…." Mr. Sumpter stopped mid sentence then clamped his mouth closed. He looked at the board secretary and nodded tersely. Henry Delaney, the one board member Fleming had not met, looked her in the eyes and she could have sworn he winked.

"Gentleman, I think I know some other information Ms. Prescot will be needing," he said. "I suggest we adjourn for lunch, and then swap notes, so to speak, afterwards."

It cost Fleming another heart stopping ride with Mrs. Lumkin, but she made it back to her apartment to print the records she thought she'd needed. She tried calling Jake once more, but there was no answer. She allowed herself one more peek of the McCort barn. She felt she'd been in paradise one moment and thrown into a confusing horror film the next. The movie title Day of the Nightmare would sum it up.

Most of the board members were just sitting down to eat when they returned. Fleming opted for a cup of hot tea. Until she proved Jake's innocence, her nerves would never settle long enough to allow her to digest food. Her stomach felt as twisted and knotted as a child's shoestring as it was.

She would not, could not believe Jake capable of what Mrs. Merriman and her daughter claimed. Until Jake fell into the well on his property, he was always in Memphis from Friday evening until Sunday. Fleming just prayed none of the dates Allison and her mother created were the last few weeks.

She'd barely had time to set her cup down when Henry Delaney joined her with a mug of coffee in his hand. They'd never formally met, but she had seen him from a distance at the bank. With his balding head and slumped shoulders, he seemed an old man carrying the weight of the world. As she looked into his face, Fleming realized he was not nearly as old as she thought. And though he had a serious side, the twinkle in his eyes revealed a man with a strong streak of humor.

"I sent someone to find Jake this morning," he began. "It seems the VampireEater brought your car to his farm and they were working on it outside. They are on their way. Jake should know what is being said about him."

Relief swept over Fleming and she felt her shoulders sag. "I couldn't get him to answer the phone," she whispered.

Henry stirred some artificial sweetener into his coffee. "If your thoughts and mine are on the same track, we need written verification that Jake was busy on these dates Mrs. Merriman and her daughter plan to present. We'll have Vince's word, with written confirmation from others, I don't think we have anything to worry about."

Except Jake's reputation, Fleming thought. This sort of thing could hurt him no matter how many ways they proved it untrue.

"I don't suppose we could show a picture of the 'Demonator' and say 'This is Jake'?" Fleming asked. She smiled thinking the wild man with the shaggy blonde hair and scar didn't match the auburn haired giant who had a heart to match his size. A heart Fleming knew incapable of doing what Allison had said.

"Unfortunately, no fortunately, Jake's disguise is too good," Henry said. He then smiled warmly at Fleming. "I'm sorry we have not met before, particularly after I realized the drift of Jake's feelings. He and I have been friends all of our lives."

Fleming returned his smile. She didn't know how near tears she was until she did. "To be truthful, I'm awfully glad you know about the Demonator. It was probably good he had someone to share the secret with."

"I always told him I'd go to the mat for him if push came to shove." Henry grinned at his joke.

"Why Mr. Delaney. You'll be the next one from Delacort County oiling down for the ring if you keep this up." Fleming grinned, liking the banker more and more. "I might have to put Allison and her mother in a half Nelson, myself. You're sure they are on their way?"

"On their way. Will you back him?" Henry asked. "It could hurt you, too, to be involved.

"His career, his camp for the kids, and his personal reputation are in danger." Fleming shook her head. "I can't let him face that alone."

Henry reached over and squeezed Fleming's hand. "Then he's very lucky." He finished the last sip of his coffee and walked off to talk to another board member.

Fleming found herself staring at Wally Artell just as his congealed salad fell off his fork and slid down his tie. Wally glanced at Fleming then darted his eyes away. She swore then that if she found out he had anything to do with her lost computer files, there would be no rock in the state big enough for him to hide under.

She rested her eyes a moment, the action-packed night and morning catching up to her. She wanted nothing more than to be safe in Jake's arms and this entire business an unpleasant dream. This wasn't the morning after she imagined with a man who just declared his love.

Jake's love. The thought warmed her more than the hot tea. For the first time, Fleming knew that all her plans and hopes for the future were empty without him. She had enough love for Jake to see him through anything.

Fleming had no doubt Allison was once more fabricating stories to get herself out of trouble. But this time the little girl had only gotten herself in more than she could handle and Fleming felt for her.

She just prayed she could handle it herself.
Chapter 11

Nearly everyone had finished eating, though Fleming observed there were quite a few plates where the food was untouched. Obviously others had as little appetite as her own.

The bus boys were just that, boys from the high school and no adult dared open their mouths about the business at hand in front of the students. They clanked and clattered the dishes so loud she was surprised they weren't all broken. No doubt they were anxious to get away from the school board and especially their principal.

Fleming smiled ruefully. Her desire to appear firm and in control in her job was working. But if it was, why did she feel so out of control?

Vince arrived with ponderous steps and a scowl as threatening as an impending storm. The man looked just as intimidating without his make-up. He shook hands with Henry. The scratches on his cheek and the circle under one eyes were almost as colorful as his Vampire Eater make-up.

He shrugged his shoulders when he saw Fleming looking at him. "The fall last night," he said, then added. "He's on his way."

The dishes had almost all been cleared when Mr. Sumpter sat down to start the meeting. Fleming felt Jake's presence before she actually saw him. He dominated the room even more than Vince. Or maybe it was that he dominated her heart.

He had a russet T-shirt and jeans on and looked better than any man ought to on a Sunday. Fleming fought the urge to run into his arms or just touch him. It wouldn't be exactly proper in the middle of a school board meeting, and she had to be beyond reproach if she was to defend him.

Jake was used to drawing attention when he entered a restaurant, even in his home territory. His size startled a lot of people. But when he walked into the private meeting room everyone looked stunned, like a deer blinded by car headlights on the road at night. Their posture and expressions were as stiff as the badly painted animal pictures on the walls of the paneled room.

The tables were arranged in a U-shape with Mr. Sumpter the board president and other board officers sitting at the connecting table. The rest of the board members were on either side where bus boys cleared the dishes from where they'd just eaten. Together sat Fleming, Wally Wartell, the board's lawyer, Vince and Henry.

It was Fleming's face, her reaction, that captured Jake's attention. A weatherman would have called her saucer blue-gray eyes cloudy and overcast. She leaned toward Jake, as if she was about to get up and join him, then leaned back. He saw regret written over her face— and pain.

Henry rose to meet Jake and directed him towards some chairs, away from everyone else.

"Take a seat and for heaven's sake, be quiet. Your size scared the dickens out of everyone on the board as it is. The teacher's union has already sent for a lawyer and we don't want you to say a word until he arrives."

"You told me to get here fast," Jake said looking around the room. "I can't beleive there is this much fuss over my wrestling."

Mr. Sumpter cleared his throat, stopping Henry from answering. The superintendent leaned over to speak to Mrs. Lumkin, who bobbed her head eagerly like one of those dolls attached to a dashboard. Only the sound of the hungry people going through the line at the steak house to be fed could be heard.

There wasn't a proper door that separated the meeting room from the crowd, only a stiff plastic accordion door. Jake wondered how much had been overheard. For all the attention he'd received, he debated going out to ask the patrons if they knew what was happening.

Jake felt closed in, as if the roof was about to cave in. He needed to have some space, to be outdoors— to be anywhere but in the same room with Fleming Prescot

The sharp clicking of high heels from the hall distracted Jake and everyone else in the room. The clicks were muted after she reached the carpet but everyone had already turned to see a bleached blonde, hair puffed higher than a toasted marshmallow. Her age was hard to determine with all the thick make-up she wore. Jake had no idea who the woman was, but by the looks on the school board members' faces, they knew. And they all wished they didn't.

Jake had the feeling he was going to wish he wasn't getting the chance to meet her either.

A wave of sympathy rushed Fleming as she watched Allison's mother enter the room. All little girls want their moms to be pretty, but no adolescent wanted a mother so spectacular that she was competition for getting boys to notice. And no male would fail to notice Mrs. Merriman.

She had long legs that looked even more shapely with enormously high heels. She was probably too young to have a daughter Allison's age and she was probably still pretty, but too much make-up and too many times bleached blonde hair actually hid it if she was. She made the Harper Valley PTA mom look tame.

Mrs. Merriman sat at the end, near Henry and crossed her legs slowly and deliberately. Fleming thought about Sharon Stone's scene in Basic Instinct.

"Ms. Prescot," Mr. Sumpter began. "Did you find the information that was missing from the computer?"

Fleming stood slowly, her knees suddenly shaking. "I did Mr. Sumpter, unfortunately the school's copy machine isn't running and I only had time to print two copies from my files. I can give one to Mrs. Merriman and pass the other around the room."

"By all means read it aloud Ms. Prescot, so everyone can hear."

Then it came. She hadn't read the information closely in the car. The rock in her stomach weighed more than a mountain. Fleming thought it long gone, relegated to her childhood, but the fear chose this moment to assert its powerful control. Everyone in the room stared at her. The crowded restaurant sounded like bees swarming in the distance, and the smell of cooking food turned her stomach.

The crash of glass made her nearly jump out of her skin. Everyone else, too, to judge by their reactions. Henry Delaney stared at his coffee mug that lay in a thousand pieces on the carpeted floor. Fleming wondered how such a heavy cup could break on carpeting. It would take a powerful force to make it do more than a soft thud. A force that was quick, strong, and adept at slight of hand action— like a wrestler.

Her eyes raised to look at Jake who stared at an unseen spot on the walls, not at the broken pieces like everyone else. For the first time in her life, Fleming didn't feel alone in her battles.

She stood straighter, paper in hand and addressed everyone in the room. "I mentioned earlier, I spend hours after school and on Saturdays recording the actions of the high school administration and teachers. On the following dates, Mr. McCort contacted our office concerning Allison Tuskman."

Fleming couldn't have told afterwards what she read. She just knew that she did read with no fear or hesitation. She felt free of fear. Free to be herself.

"Gentleman, I would like now to have a copy of the dates these meetings between Mr. McCort and Allison Tuskman took place."

Mrs. Lumkin spoke, her voice surprisingly strong. "Almost all the dates Allison gave her mother were Friday nights and Saturday mornings."

As Mrs. Lumkin read the dates Fleming allowed herself a second to look at Henry who winked at her. All the dates were before Jake's accident. He was going to win this match.

Fleming rose, stretching to give herself even more height. "I would like to ask everyone here if they ever watch Saturday morning wrestling?"

She doubted anyone would admit to such a past time even though it was unbelievably popular in the area. Henry raised his hand and God bless her, Mrs. Lumkin waved her arm like it was an American flag.

"Well, even if you don't, you might occasionally catch a commercial announcing the Demonator in a match." Quite a few nodded their head, glad to find a safe way to admit their secret vice.

"Jacob McCort is the Demonator," Fleming said. She tried not to smile at the look of surprise on Wally Artell's face. "Most of his weekends are tied up in rehearsals, matches, and public appearances. I think we'll find the dates listed on Mrs. Merriman's complaint match dates The Demonator made appearances with his partner, the Vampire Eater, AKA Vince Tolleson. Mr. Tolleson is here to personally verify their appearances and by tomorrow, we will have written confirmation."

Mrs. Lumkin clapped her hands and squealed like a teen-ager.

"But the Demonator has blonde hair and an eye patch," Mr. Sumpter protested.

"A disguise. And a very good one," Fleming said. "And if this isn't enough information. The one date I noted on Mrs. Merriman's complaint was an evening almost two months ago that Mr. McCort, dressed as the Demonator, took me to the emergency room in DeSoto County. I'm sure most of the staff in the ER can remember it."

"But that's in violation of the school board rules of no moonlighting," Wally protested. Actually, Fleming thought his protest closer to a whine. He childishly stomped his foot as he continued, "You knew about it and didn't report him."

"Yes, I did," Fleming answered, fighting the impulse to strangle her vice principal. "Mr. McCort kept his true identity secret, and judging by everyone's shock here, he was successful. The understanding was that he would do nothing to draw unfavorable publicity to the school."

"But you knew." Wally turned red in the face and clenched his fist.

"Oh, shut up Wart," Henry growled. "I knew about it, too, and saw nothing wrong with it."

Mr. Sumpter and the board breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"If I may, I'd like to talk to Mrs. Merriman with the school guidance counselor and our board lawyer," Fleming said.

Angry as she was for Jake, Fleming was not willing to let Allison go without the help she needed— or the help her mother needed in dealing with her daughter.

From the corner of her eye, Fleming caught sight of the assistant principal sneaking out the side door. "And Mr. Wart— I mean Artell, I want to see you immediately," Fleming demanded.

Wally ran like he was Dr. Moreau being chased by his victims in The Island of Lost Souls.

Fleming wondered if that had been a book before it was a movie. Jake would know.

Jake watched several school board members approach Fleming and shake her hand. He wanted to take Fleming's hand into his own, but it wouldn't be to shake it. Jake wanted to pull her in his arms and never let go.

Henry removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Incidentally, I'm not sure 'beautiful' is an adequate description of the young woman. More like spectacular or even awesome."

"Watch it, Henry," Jake warned. "I saw her first."

"You're sounding as jealous as Lynnie," Vince growled.

Mrs. Lumkin tugged at Vince's sleeve, almost like a child trying to get a grown-up's attention. "Could I have your autograph Vince? No one in the family is going to believe it."

Jake turned away, hiding his smile. Mrs. Lumkin was a member of a family that boasted membership in the DAR, not The Vampire Eater's fan club.

Henry cleared his throat and leaned closer to Jake. "Seriously, Jake. If you value Ms. Prescot, and only a fool wouldn't, I suggest you make sure she know how much you— ah— appreciate her."

"Oh, I plan on it, Henry," Jake said, grinning ear to ear. "I plan on showing my appreciation for some time to come."

As Vince disentangled himself from Mrs. Lumkin, the three men walked toward the door, ready to leave the steak house. When they reached the parking lot, a small crowd had gathered near one of the cars. The very blonde halo of Fleming's hair peeked over the spectators.

"Wart! Stop right there." Fleming's voice rang out louder than it did on the school's intercom system.

Jake reached the circle of people just in time to see Wally Artell stop as if Fleming were holding a gun on him instead of a commanding voice.

He could tell by Fleming's raised eyebrows that she was a little surprised at the assistant principal's actual obedience, but she took advantage of his fear. Wally slowly turned around to face her. He was a good ten feet from his car, his arms clutching a stack of files.

"What happened to all the records in the computer, Mr. Artell? Records that I keyed in every afternoon and every Saturday into the school's limited, but adequate computer?"

Fleming moved closer to the man making it look like she was growing or Wally was shrinking, Jake couldn't figure out which.

"And is your memory so poor," she continued, sounding more like a prosecuting attorney than a school principal, "that you don't recall discussing Allison Tuskman, in particular, and how many notices she received?"

Fleming's voice echoed over the crowd more clearly than an announcer at a wrestling match. Jake didn't think Fleming was raising her voice, either. Everything around her was so silent, even traffic seemed to have stopped. She took a step toward Wally, obviously lording her height over him. Of course, in Jake's opinion, she could have been only two foot high and been taller than that snake's belly.

Wally looked at his feet like a twelve-year-old. "They got lost, it sometimes happens," he whined. "Maybe you didn't save them."

"Oh, but I did. Did you not know my field of specialty is computers? I started out in that before I switched to education. And as a matter of fact, I know you are no slouch in that area, so I don't think you made such a careless mistake, either." Fleming's hands were on her hips but it was obvious to everyone she would have liked for them to be locked around Wally's throat.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," Wally stammered.

"Oh, but you do. You wanted me to fall flat on my face as a principal, didn't you? All because of your petty resentment of my getting the interim job. You don't deserve the job, not because of qualifications. You don't deserve the job because you don't care enough about the students to do a good job. You destroyed records that were designed to help them. Instead, you used them for your own personal vendetta."

Fleming's anger was visible from the red on her face and the way she stood with both feet planted, as if waiting for a fight. Jake decided if the blonde beauty ever went into the ring, Desdemona could kiss her wrestling career good-bye.

Wally made the mistake of trying to move. Fleming shoved the Wart towards his car. For a fleeting moment, Jake almost felt sorry for the weasel.

"Have you ever seen a movie called It's a Small World?" Fleming demanded, then didn't wait for an answer. "It's a sad movie about a little person trying to make it in a world that considers him a misfit. Well you know what's even sadder? You're in average-sized body, but you're so small inside, you're beneath contempt."

Fleming backed Wally into the car. The man shook like the Jello he'd stained his tie with. "If you ever do anything so juvenile in the little time I have left at the school, I will personally take you to the school bathroom, whether they're working properly or not, and give you a swirly. You do know what a swirly is, don't you? It involves someone holding your head under water and flushing."

She pivoted away from Wally with military precision to face Vince, Henry and Jake. The surprised look on her face told them all she did not expect them, let alone a crowd to witness the confrontation.

Vince propped an elbow on Jake's shoulder. "Man, she has a meaner streak than Lynnie. She could be queen of the mats in wrestling."

"I was just thinking we could elected her Queen of Delacort County the way she carries herself," Henry sighed. He smiled a little too fondly at Fleming's retreating backside to suit the Demonator.

But Jake McCort, the man, wondered if she'd settle for being Mrs. Jacob McCort.
Epilogue

Six Months later

The crowd was loud and excited. Fleming was not.

"Lighten up, Angel," Lynnie fussed. "Jake will be ringside any minute. You're supposed to be in love with the guy, show your support."

"I love Jacob McCort, not a side show in tights," Fleming growled. She was ready to take Mrs. Lumkin on in the ring herself for arranging such a ridiculous promotion.

Ringside was the last place Fleming wanted to be. Too many people took wrestling too seriously for what it was— entertainment. Someone had actually fired a gun at Medusa when she defeated a female wrestler called Amazon Woman in a small town in Louisiana. Now, thanks to the daffy school board member, ringside was in the elementary school gymnasium.

The bell gonged and the announcer's adolescent voice could barely be heard over the student body. Fleming cringed to think how much trouble the teachers would have settling the classes back down when they returned from the assembly. She should have recommended the match be held last period, preferably on a Friday, for the sake of order.

"This is so great," Lynnie squealed, fitting in all too well the teen aged crowd in size and actions. "Even the referee looks like a miniature person."

"It's supposed to be educational," Fleming replied dryly.

"Yeah, right." Lynnie laughed as the ring "guards" prevented fans from coming too close.

"Ladies and gentleman," the young man said, straining his voice and everyone's ears over the microphone. "The Mid South Reading Enhancement Center presents to you Hamlet versus his stepfather Claudius…."

There were boos and whistles from an uncommonly large number of adults present. The giant with auburn hair wrapped in an Elizabethan cape walked from one corner of the gym and another dressed in a similar cape walked from the opposite corner.

Fleming watched, concentrating on Jake. It had only been a few months since the Demonator had retired, but he already looked rested. His job teaching and working to clear farm land for the camp had been exhausting. Wrestling for a second job was a killer.

Now that the Caleb McCort Kids Camp was completed, he'd given up wrestling— except to promote the literacy campaign Fleming directed for the Reading Enhancement Center.

"How you got a bunch of non readers to read Shakespeare and make it a format for an exhibition match I can't imagine." Lynnie said just as Vince, AKA Claudius, lunged at Hamlet.

"Actually, it was Jake's senior English class that rewrote it for the students at the enhancement center, which was a good way to make sure they understood what they read. The enhancement kids write the announcer's script and have to read so many pages in the texts to get the chance to visit the schools." Fleming said, her eyes glued to the makeshift stage.

"Only Mrs. Lumkin would come up with the idea of the wrestlers visiting the schools," Lynnie said shaking her head. "She's crazier than I am, you know."

Fleming smiled. "I know. But I think the whole county is just a little bit crazy. You should fit right in."

They had to be to follow Henry and Mrs. Lumkin's idea. Crazy like a fox. The town council, agreed to Henry's suggestion and leased Jake's land for a nominal fee, constructed the camp, and opened it for business in record time.

That one small project created jobs over the summer, kept the two motels in the county booked through spring by families wanting to see it, and led to the Reading Enhancement Center site committee coming to Delacort county to consider it for its new location.

Jake had even organized his wrestling friends to do service time for the summer at camp. Kids who were bound by limbs and muscles that didn't work set their imaginations free with wrestlers.

Lynnie grudgingly agreed that Desdemona and Medusa had done more than their share in volunteering. Medusa decided her costume company could also manage to design clothes for special needs children— clothes they could be active in at the camp.

Desdemona was a bigger than life role model for young girls. She'd attained her dream of becoming big time. She and Medusa had teamed up with Fred, the Grand old Man of Wrestling, as he billed himself. Though now it was to be "Daisy Lou and Daisy Sue and their Moonshine Pa". They were booked to appear all over the country.

"To be or not to be," Jake bellowed as he forced Vince to the ropes. "That is the question."

Vince was slammed to the floor and Jake "fell" on top of him. Both men grunted with such pains it fooled the crowd— and worried Fleming. He claimed if wrestling was "fake" he'd hate to feel the real thing. Aching muscles, pulled ligament and bruises were part of being in the ring.

Sometimes it was hard to believe Jacob McCort, the man she loved, could be the growling monster on the mats. He was her knight in shining wrestling tights who rescued damsels by the roadside and saved prim and proper principals at school board meetings.

They had both worked so hard for their goals. Jake's dream of a camp was complete, though he didn't do it single handed. Fleming was doing what she dreamed of— reaching children who couldn't read— through the literacy campaigns.

Both had been so focused on those future goals they almost missed the one thing that truly freed them of past pain— love.

The match was brief, Hamlet's victory assured. Next time they'd do Mark Twain and Huck Finn. Jake loved teasing Fleming about those characters originating in books, not movies.

Students reluctantly returned to classes, Jake marched triumphantly to Fleming. He wrapped the cape around her as he pulled her closer.

"How does it feel to watch a match as Mrs. Demonator for the first time?" His smile was deliciously wicked, exactly how he made Fleming feel inside.

"Terrible," she answered, trying to frown. "How long are you going to keep up this pseudo wrestling?"

"Until Mrs. Lumkin finds a new passion, I suppose. Between our appearances for the Kids Camp and The Enhancement center she has us booked through the school year."

"You should have never accepted her offer to handle your publicity appearances," Fleming grumbled.

"And you're forgetting the promise we made to each other," Jake sighed bending down to look in Fleming's eyes. "No more focusing only on the future. We focus on the here and now, too."

Fleming knew she could look in his amaretto eyes and promise him anything.

"In the here and now," she promised. Her arms wrapped around his neck as his lips met hers.

No matter what she said, Angelique Fleming Prescot McCort knew she would always love him, past, present, and future.