Given no choice, he’d changed clothes and put on water for tea, awaiting her arrival with as much enthusiasm as the settlers greeted Indians on the warpath in the 1800s. He would have refused to see Pamela if it weren’t for the fact that she sounded highly agitated, which in itself was rare. Whatever was troubling her probably was linked to some problem within the department, and he would prefer to deal with it now instead of on Monday morning.
A car door closing echoed in the distance, and Grey braced himself for the inevitable confrontation.
“Hello, Pamela,” he said when he opened the door for her, wondering if she even suspected he wasn’t particularly welcoming.
She marched into his living room, her eyes flashing with indignation and her hands knotted into tight fists at her sides. “That woman belongs in jail.”
“Calm down,” he said, leading her to a chair. Once she was seated, he handed her a cup of freshly brewed tea, adding the cream and sugar he knew she favored.
Waving her hand as though directing a world-class orchestra, Pamela announced, “She pranced right into my office as brazen as can be. I demand that you do something, Greyson.”
Grey took the seat across from her, braced his hands on the arms of the chair, and dug his fingers into the material, praying for patience. Pamela hadn’t so much as asked how he was feeling. It was amazing the things that went through his mind at a time like this.
“Don’t you even care?”
Frankly, he didn’t. “Who pranced into your office as brazen as could be?”
“That … girl you’ve been dating. Meghan O’Something.”
Grey couldn’t believe his ears. He uncrossed his legs and straightened, digging his fingers deeper into the pads of the leather chair. “Meghan did? Exactly what did she say?”
Pamela’s hand went into action a second time. “You’re going to love this! She insulted me and threatened me and insisted I lie to you.” She said all this in a rush, as though the memory of it were more than she should be asked to bear. When she’d finished, she let a soft cry part from her mouth, then bit down on her lower lip as outrage filled her once again.
“She insulted you?” That didn’t sound anything like Meghan, and Grey honestly refused to believe it.
“Yes,” Pamela cried. “She made several derogatory statements about my clothes and demanded that I never wear my hair up again. Right in my own office, Greyson. I mean to tell you, I’ve never been so insulted in my life.”
“I see.” Grey frowned. He didn’t know what was going on in Meghan’s lovable, confused mind, but he fully intended to find out.
“I’m sure you don’t see,” Pamela insisted vehemently. Her gaze sharpened all the more. “Something has to be done about this woman … She belongs in a … mental ward. I’m still shaking. Just look!” To prove her point, she held out her hand for his inspection, and in fact it was trembling.
“You said Meghan also threatened you.”
“Indeed, she did.” Tilting her head at a lofty angle, Pamela drew in a short breath as if to suggest she needed something more to calm her before she continued with this tale of horror.
Grey was growing impatient. The more he was with Pamela, the more he realized that she’d attended the same school of dramatics as his mother.
“She claimed that if I didn’t make you happy, she’d make sure I wished I had. Now I’m not exactly sure what she meant by that, but the whole torrid conversation started out by her demanding answers to what I consider highly personal and confidential questions.” She paused long enough to draw in a second quivering breath. “The thing that concerns me most—because it’s obvious now more than ever before—is that this … friend of yours is suffering from some kind of mental flaw, which is probably genetic. Did I tell you that she insisted I lie to you?”
Grey gritted his teeth to keep from defending Meghan, but it was necessary that he hear everything before voicing his thoughts. “Yes,” he coaxed, hoping to encourage her to speak freely. “About the lying.”
“She delivered some disgusting-looking broth and demanded that I take it to you. What I found most amazing was she wanted me to tell you I’d cooked it up myself. Now, you and I both know that while I’m an incredibly talented woman in many areas, my expertise doesn’t extend to the kitchen. From everything else this loony woman did, I strongly suspect she could be trying to poison you and then blame me for it. Naturally, the more I thought about the situation, the more plain it became that I had to come straight to you.”
“What did you do with the broth?”
“I threw it in the garbage right away. Greyson, it was the only thing to do.”
Grey nodded. The soup was a loss, but he was grateful beyond words that Pamela had come to him, although he questioned her purpose. “I’m most appreciative, Pamela.”
A smug smile replaced the look of fabricated horror. “Just what do you intend to do about this?”
He tapped his index finger on his lips while mulling over the information. When he’d finished, he straightened and eagerly met Dr. Riverside’s gaze.
“I believe I’ll marry her.”
Eleven
“You want to know what I think?” Meghan asked a group of friends who were sitting in a circle on her living room carpet. She held up a full glass of cheap wine as if to propose a toast.
“What does Meghan think?” the others chimed in, then held up their glasses, eager to salute her insights.
Tears of mirth rolled down her face, and she wiped them aside. This get-together with Eric; his fiancée, Trina Montgomery; and Don Harrison was exactly what she needed to see her through these first difficult days without Grey.
“I think,” she said, starting again, trying her best to look somber, “Henry David Thoreau wrote Walden when he should have been going for a killing on the stock market.” She said this with a straight face, as serious as she’d been the entire evening. Then she ruined everything by loudly hiccuping in a movement so jolting that it nearly dislodged her head. Shocked and embarrassed by the involuntary action, she covered her mouth. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how precariously close she was to getting tipsy.
“I bet he made all his students use recycled paper,” Trina added, then laughed until the tears streamed down her face.
“Right,” Don agreed, nodding. “He missed his calling in life; he should have been a—”
“Boy Scout leader,” Meghan supplied.
The others doubled over with laughter as though she’d said the funniest thing in the world.
“I love it,” Eric said, slapping the floor several times.
“What I said?” Meghan asked, thinking he might be referring to the continued hiccuping.
Eric and the others were laughing too hard to answer her.
The doorbell chimed and the merriment stopped abruptly. Don glanced toward the door, looking mildly guilty. “Shh,” he said, putting his finger over his mouth. “We must be making too much of a racket.”
“I don’t think we were,” Meghan said, doing her best to sober up before going to the door.
Trina covered her mouth with her palm, then lowered it to whisper, “Someone might have called the police.”
“What for?” Eric chided. “The worst thing we’ve done all night is make a few derogatory remarks about Thoreau.”
The doorbell chimed a second time.
“I think you’d better answer it,” Trina whispered to Meghan. “It’s your apartment, and it could be one of the neighbors. Tell them we promise to be quiet.”
“Tell whoever it is to lighten up,” Don muttered. “It’s barely eight o’clock.”
Getting to her feet was far more difficult than it should have been. Meghan teetered for a second as the room started to tilt and sway. She walked across the floor and stood in front of her door. Taking in a deep, steadying breath, she smoothed her hair away from her face and squared her shoulders.
“Who is it?” she called out in a friendly voice.
Whoever was on t
he other side obviously didn’t hear because her question was followed by repeated loud knocking.
Startled by the unexpected noise, Meghan’s hand flew to her breast. She gasped and jumped back a step.
Immediately, Don Harrison leaped to his feet. He was short and a little stocky, but exactly the type of friend Meghan needed right now. She doubted that she would ever feel anything romantic toward him, but he was friendly, patient, and kind, and Meghan genuinely liked him.
“I’ll answer it for you,” Don announced, and readjusted the waistband of his pants as if to suggest he was about to walk into the middle of the street with a six-shooter in his hand and gun down anyone who was crazy enough to upset Meghan.
“No … it’s all right.” Hurriedly she waved off his concern, twisted open the dead bolt, and threw open the door. Her gaze collided with a solid male chest. She squinted, greatly relieved that it wasn’t the uniform of a policeman that confronted her. Slowly she raised her head, but when she did, her eyes clashed with a pair of deep China-blue ones that were all too familiar.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Dr. Carlyle,” Don exclaimed from behind her. His shock echoed across the room like a cannon firing into the wind.
“He’s going to arrest us for what we said about Thoreau,” Trina wailed. “I knew something like this was going to happen. I just knew it.” She released a small cry and covered her face with a decorative pillow.
“Dr. Carlyle, sir,” Eric cried, struggling to come to his feet. “We didn’t mean anything by what we said. Honest.”
“May I come inside?” Grey asked, ignoring the others and centering his gaze on Meghan.
Had the fate of the free world rested on her response, Meghan couldn’t have answered.
The professor’s narrowed eyes then surveyed the room, slowly taking in the scene. He focused on each face, finally drawing his gaze back to Meghan. “May I?” he repeated.
“Oh sure—I guess.” Meghan squared her shoulders, then hiccuped despite her frenzied effort to look and act sober.
“Don’t let him intimidate you,” Don encouraged, placing his arm around Meghan’s shoulders.
“I won’t,” she whispered.
Grey’s look swung accusingly back to Don, and the other man immediately dropped his hold on Meghan, retreating several steps under the force of Grey’s eyes.
“You’re drunk—you all are,” Grey announced.
“I’m not,” Meghan insisted righteously, then laughed and pointed her index finger toward the ceiling. “Yet.”
“I want to know how he heard what we were saying,” Eric mumbled, looking confused. “Does he have Superman hearing or what?”
“I don’t want to know how he found out,” Trina mumbled from behind the pillow. “Oh no, there goes my quarter grade. I’ll never make it out of his class alive.”
Don just sat looking dumbstruck and disoriented.
“You need coffee,” Grey announced, and moved past all four and into the kitchen.
Meghan lowered herself onto the arm of the chair. Her knees had started to shake, and she wasn’t sure she could remain upright much longer.
“He walked into your kitchen as if he had every right in the world to do so,” Eric interjected, pointing in that direction. “He can’t do that, can he?”
“He said we needed coffee,” Don reminded the others.
“But how can he walk into a stranger’s home and know where everything is and—” Eric stopped abruptly, as if a new thought had flashed into his mind. He exchanged knowing looks with Don.
Don was apparently thinking the same way as Eric. His gaze widened considerably. “You wouldn’t by chance happen to have met Dr. Carlyle before tonight?”
Don asked Meghan, then swallowed convulsively.
“I …” Meghan found herself too flustered to talk. “Yes,” she admitted in a small, feeble voice.
“He isn’t—” Eric glanced toward the kitchen and paled. His Adam’s apple worked up and down his throat a couple times. “No.” He shook his head, answering his own question. “It couldn’t be.”
“What couldn’t be?” Trina demanded.
Eric’s eyes rounded considerably. “The reason we came over here tonight,” he muttered under his breath.
“We came to cheer up Meghan,” Trina replied, looking bewildered.
“Because …” Eric prompted.
“Because she was on the outs with her—” Trina stopped hastily, then slowly shook her head. “It couldn’t be.”
“Did you see the look he gave me?” Don whispered. “I’m lucky to be alive.”
Eric turned to face Meghan. “Do you know Dr. Carlyle … personally?”
Without meeting his gaze, she nodded.
“Professor Carlyle wouldn’t happen to be the guy you’ve been so upset over, would he?”
Once more Meghan nodded.
“That’s it,” Trina lamented, wrapping her arms around her middle. “I’m flunking out of college. My dad’s going to disinherit me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Don, looking disgruntled.
Trina ignored him. “My mother will never forgive me for doing this to her. My life is over—and all because I wanted to help the friend of the man who in two months is vowing to love and protect me for the rest of my life.”
“Grey isn’t going to do anything to you three,” Meghan insisted, feeling close to tears. The wine, which had gone to her head earlier, had settled in the pit of her stomach now, and she felt wretched. The walls refused to stop moving, and she dared not look at the floor for fear it would start pitching and heaving. She was grateful to be sitting down.
“You obviously don’t know Professor Carlyle the way we do,” Trina whispered, shooting a worried glance over her shoulder as if she expected Grey to return any minute.
“You’re taking a class with him?” Meghan asked Trina.
She nodded wildly. “Eric, too.”
“I did last year,” Don admitted. “All of a sudden I have this sneaky suspicion that he’s going to find a way to go back and flunk me.”
“You’re all being ridiculous,” Meghan told them. She hesitated. “Do you want me to get rid of him?”
“No,” all three chorused.
“No way,” Don said, moving his hands like an umpire declaring a runner home safe.
“That’ll only make matters worse,” Eric explained.
It looked as if he planned to say more, but he stopped abruptly when Grey entered the room, carrying a tray laden with four mugs of steaming coffee.
Silently, Grey passed the cups around, leaving Meghan for last.
“I haven’t been drinking,” Eric proclaimed as he lifted the cup from the tray.
Grey paused in front of Eric and glared down at him suspiciously.
“It’s true. I was planning to drive home,” Eric persisted, his voice high and a little defensive. “I’m just in a fun-loving mood,” he offered, as a means of explanation.
“It’s true,” Meghan confirmed softly.
“Is anyone here capable of telling me what was going on when I arrived? I’m particularly interested in your comments about being arrested for what you said about Thoreau.”
Meghan noted that the other three were all staring at their coffee as if they expected something to pop up and start floating on the surface.
“Meghan?” Grey coaxed. “Perhaps you could explain.”
She swallowed uncomfortably and shrugged. “We were just having some fun.”
“Apparently, at Thoreau’s expense.”
“I don’t think he’d mind,” she said weakly. “He had more of a sense of humor that most educators give him credit for.”
“Is that a fact?”
“I mean it, Grey.”
“Grey?” Don echoed. He looked at the others and his shoulders moved up and down with a sigh of defeat. “She calls him Grey.” This was spoken with such seriousness that Meghan wondered at his meaning.
 
; “Maybe we should just leave,” Trina suggested, her voice elevated and hopeful. “It’s obvious the professor wants to talk to Meghan alone.”
“Yeah,” Don seconded. “We should all just leave before—” He let the rest of what he was going to say fade.
“You don’t need to worry, I can drive without a problem,” Eric promised. Before anyone could say anything more, Eric hurried over to Meghan’s closet and jerked his coat off the hanger. While he was there, he retrieved both Trina’s and Don’s jackets.
He was opening the front door before Meghan even had a chance to protest. Now that her head had started to clear, she wasn’t sure that being alone with Grey was such a brilliant idea. At least with the others around, there was a protective barrier for her to hide behind.
“I’ll see you to the door,” Meghan offered.
“There’s no need,” Grey countered. “I will.”
A part of Meghan wanted to cry out and protest that this was her home and these friends were her guests and she would be the one to see them off. But she wasn’t feeling particularly strong at the moment, and arguing with Grey now would demand more energy than she could afford to waste.
Grey seemed to take his time with the task, Meghan mused a couple minutes later. The four were engaged in a whispered conversation for what seemed like an eternity, and although Meghan strained to hear what they were saying, she couldn’t make anything out of it but bits and pieces.
All too soon, Grey closed the door and turned around to face her.
Meghan lowered her head so much that the steam from her coffee cup was about to bead against her face.
“Hello, Meghan.”
“Hi.” Still she didn’t look up. “I see that you recovered from your cold.”
“Yes, it’s mostly gone now.”
“That’s good news. You sounded miserable the last time we spoke.”
“I was, but the cold wasn’t responsible for that.”
“It wasn’t?”
“No.”
From the sound of his voice, Meghan knew he was moving closer to her. If there had been anyplace for her to run and hide, she would gladly have done so. Unfortunately, her apartment was tiny, and knowing Grey, he would only follow her.