Only You (3 page)

About that time, some preppy rich boys who’d been tossing a football around called out, “Hey Coal Bucket, I think you have more paint on you than that wood.”

Cole ignored them, even when they said something about him being
dumb
as a coal bucket. Real original. But when they turned their attention to Josie, that was another matter. He put down his paint brush when they called her curly red hair a rat’s nest.

“She’s got mice livin’ in there.”

“Yeah. They’re her pets. Wonder what their names are?”

“Leave her alone,” Cole warned.

“What are you going to do about it?” one of the boys asked.

Cole took one menacing step toward them, and they ran like he’d figured. The surprise came when Josie stretched out a leg and sent one of them sprawling face first into the brown mud.

“Now who looks like a coal bucket,” she commented with an innocent smile.

He’d known right then and there—Josie Allen was a mystery he wanted to solve.

Still wanted to solve. Which was why he’d cleared his busy schedule and made sure he could be in town for the next couple of weeks, hoping to find an opportunity to talk to her. He’d seen her out a couple of times in the past week, but she’d always been in a hurry with her mind too focused on other things to notice him. Not much had changed there.

He’d even gone into the library to check out a few books hoping to catch a glimpse of her, but her office was way in the back of the huge old building, and she hardly ever came out of it. In fact, from what he could tell, she practically lived there. By the time he got to Miss Estelee’s on Monday and Thursday mornings to mow or take care of whatever needed tendin’, Josie was already gone. Most nights, when he drove by the library on his way home, all the lights would be out except for the one on the ground floor in the back of the building that had to be her office.

Sighing, Cole stood and sauntered around Josie’s house to the back door and into the soggy kitchen. He found a mop in the pantry and got to work.

Yep, Miss Estelee’s angels had finally smiled down on him today, because she’d seen him. Really seen him.

Standing here in the kitchen of her fancy house on the ridge, she’d looked into his eyes. She hadn’t looked down her nose at him like most folks up here did either. She’d shown him respect. And dare he hope? Something more. Maybe friendship.

That wasn’t anywhere near what he had in mind, but it was a start.

Chapter Two

“Josephine! There you are.”

Josie looked up from her work to find an exasperated Martin McKay hurrying into her office. Her secretary, Teresa, stood in the doorway shaking her head in apology.

Josie waved her away and said, “Hello, Martin.”

The diminutive man walked around her desk, took her hands, and kissed both her cheeks with affected charm. She tried not to wince. The kiss left a disgusting moistness on her face she longed to wipe away.

Martin, who had an MBA from Harvard—and made sure everyone knew it—had recently taken over running the bank from his father. The McKays had owned the bank and endowed the library for more than a century. They’d also financed her graduate education. A decision she’d already lived to regret.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Josie pulled her hands from his and removed her glasses. “I’ve been right here all day.” She didn’t know where else he’d expect her to be during business hours. But that was Martin. His head was so filled with learning, there seemed little room for the practical.

“I’ve managed to secure box seats at the opera this weekend. The Knoxville Opera Company will be performing
Aïda
. We have so little opportunity to partake of the fine arts in our little hamlet, I knew you’d be dying for a bit of culture.”

Somewhere in that dissertation, Josie felt certain, there lurked an invitation. She’d been to dinner with Martin once since she’d returned to Angel Ridge. A long, tedious affair filled with endless information centering on the McKays and Martin. A long drive into Knoxville, which would surely include another of these dinners, and then the performance, and the return drive? She wasn’t sure she could endure it.

“It sounds wonderful, Martin, but I have so much work to do before I can get my new electronic cataloging system up and running. You know I’m expected to have it and the new website operational by the town’s Memorial Day celebration in two weeks.”

“Yes, yes. Mother told me. She’s all a-twitter over our little country library having the most sophisticated cataloging system in the nation.”

“It will be quite a coup, thanks to your family’s generosity, of course.”

Martin frowned and screwed up his mouth in a very unappealing manner. Being an only child, he’d never become accustomed to the negative response. “You simply must come, Josephine. Who else would go with me on such short notice? You’re practically the only suitable person in town for me to invite.”

Suitable. How charming. And he knows I can’t turn him down.
Of course, only persons of “suitable” social status would be afforded an invitation by the only son and heir of Angel Ridge’s most prominent—and affluent—family.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Martin,” Josie lied, “but I’m afraid I must give this cataloging program my complete attention. Memorial Day is only a few weeks away, and I simply can’t disappoint your mother.” She wasn’t about to tip him off that the program was not working properly.

“No, of course you can’t,” he whined. “Why don’t you hire someone to help you?”

“I’m afraid there are no funds for that, at present.” She’d begged the board for new computers. They’d felt the extravagant purchase unnecessary since they’d just installed new computers less than ten years ago. Arguing had proved to be a wasted effort. “It will be quicker this way, since this is my program. You know, I created it as part of my doctoral dissertation—”

“What shall I do,” he interrupted, “if you do not consent to accompany me?”

“Why don’t you offer the tickets to your parents? I’m sure they’d enjoy an evening at the opera.”

“Perhaps.”

Poor fellow. He looked like he’d dropped his ice cream in the dirt. She couldn’t help smiling at the image. His mother had probably never allowed him something as simple as an ice cream from a street vendor. “I am sorry, Martin.” And she was. Sorry that he was so spoiled. Sorry that he’d been so isolated as a child by his family that he had no friends. Had no idea how to relate to “common” people.

Isolation seemed the one thing that she and Martin shared. She’d always preferred her books to relationships. For an only child, they were pure entertainment. They made no demands. Had no expectations and did not disappoint. The worlds she read about were always places where she’d fit in.

“Well,” Martin waved his hand at Josie’s computer, “if you get the bugs worked out of that thing before week’s end, let me know.”

“I’ll do that.”

After Martin left, Josie grabbed a tissue and scrubbed her cheeks. She rested her head back against her chair, suddenly feeling exhausted. How she longed for a break. But the town’s expectations weighed on her—had weighed on her most of her life.

She’d heard it often enough in school. Her teachers had singled her out. Separated her from her peers. So intelligent, so gifted. Her mother had always told her,
“To whom much is given, much is expected.”
Everyone in Angel Ridge seemed to demand better than her best. And now their demands focused on her responsibilities toward their prestigious library.

Sitting at the end of Main, it was an enormous, three-story brick structure built in the style of a medieval castle. Like a castle, it had always been a magical place for Josie.

Now, she saw the library as an adult who’d spent the last seven years of her life learning to run a library. She saw things in a more realistic light. Maybe too realistic. The library was big because the McKays didn’t do anything on a small scale. It was also big out of necessity. The library was more than just a place to check out books and do research. It housed special collections of the Tennessee presidents’ papers and artifacts, Tennessee historical documents and maps, the largest genealogical collection in the state. It even boasted an art gallery that included the McKay Collection as well as traveling exhibits.

Since she’d taken over, things hadn’t turned out at all like she’d planned. Mrs. McKay had been on her back non-stop. Martin was bent on pursuing her. The program wasn’t working. Nothing was going right.

Josie pinched the bridge of her nose. She was so tired. She’d come home and taken this job with hardly a break anywhere along the way. Now, still more was expected of her. She had to make operational the most innovative cataloging system in the industry.

No problem. She could do it. She must do it. It was expected.

But she’d give anything for a few hours in the company of a person who had no preconceived notions of Josephine Allen. Her books held no expectations, no lofty aspirations. They didn’t care how she looked or how she conducted herself—but what a lonely existence they provided.

She was nearly twenty-six and had never had a real relationship. Dates. She wondered what normal dates were like. In high school, no one had asked her out. In college, she’d never had the time to date like the other girls. Making straight A’s required giving her studies her complete attention. But now that her studies were at an end—

“Five o’clock, Dr. Allen. I’m outta here.”

Josie turned to her secretary. “Thanks, Teresa. Would you please ask Mildred to shoo the people out of genealogy and lock up on her way out?”

“Sure thing. You working late again?”

“I’m afraid so. I have to iron out these problems with the program.”

“Maybe you just need to get away from it for awhile. Get out, have some dinner, catch a movie. You know, do something mindless, then come back tomorrow with a new perspective.”

Josie smiled. It always amazed her what conventional wisdom Teresa offered. She made it all seem so simple . . . and tempting. “Thanks, Teresa. You know, I just might do that.”

Teresa smiled. “See you tomorrow.”

But first, she had to try one more thing with the program . . . .

*

Josie heard something—or someone—tapping on the window of her office and nearly jumped out of her skin. She grabbed a letter opener and backed away from the window, edging around the corner of her desk to where the phone sat. Picking up the receiver, she started dialing 911.

“Josie—it’s me, Cole.”

“Cole?” Josie peered through the hundred-year-old leaded glass panes into the darkness and saw that, indeed, he was standing outside her window. She glanced at her watch. Nearly nine o’clock! She must have lost track of time. Again.

She hung up the phone and walked over to the double window. She grasped the handle and pushed one side open. “Cole—what are you doing here?”

“What are you doing at work this late?” he countered. “It’s not safe for a lady to be out walkin’ the streets alone this time of night.”

Josie laughed. “The crime rate in Angel Ridge is almost nil. Besides, the Constable usually keeps an eye on me as I walk home. It isn’t far.”

“Don’t look now, but Henry’s snoozin’ down by the angel monument.”

The uniformed man was propped up against the brick pedestal of the monument with his hat tipped down over his eyes. She laughed again.

The vertically long window was only a few feet above the ground, so Cole gracefully swung his more than six foot frame through the opening, then sat, slinging one foot inside and propping the other on the wide pink marble sill. Josie’s breath hung in her throat. He wore faded jeans that fit his muscular legs to perfection. A black t-shirt stretched taut against impossibly wide shoulders. The dark color contrasted nicely with his pale hair. He’d pulled it back in a ponytail. She felt more than a little disappointed. She liked it down.

“Tell me, what goes on in a library to keep a person here to all hours of the night?” he was saying.

Josie sat back down and stared at him. She’d never encountered a man so elementally rugged. The men of her experience were scholarly, professor types. Men at home in a library. Men with soft hands and pale skin. Men who pursued academia. But here she sat, in her element, and Cole Craig had climbed into her domain through the window. She couldn’t hold back her smile. He seemed right at home. Correction. Sexy and right at home.

“I’ve been working on a new cataloging system. It’s a program I developed myself. It worked fine in the clinical trials I put it through, but now that I’m trying to implement the system, I’m finding problems.”

“How long you been workin’ on it?”

He was rubbing his hand from his knee to his thigh and back again in a slow motion Josie found mesmerizing. She shook her head. What had he asked? Oh. The program. How long she’d been working on it.

“
Um
, all day—every day—since I got back.” She shifted her focus from his tantalizing thighs to the computer screen and frowned. “It worked fine when I defended my dissertation. But now—” She rolled the mouse and the stupid computer froze again. She closed her eyes and sighed.

“What’s it supposed to do?”

“When working properly, it should catalog the library’s holdings and make accessible its entire collection via the Internet. The system supports instant messaging with staff members who can provide information from any book in the library.” Her words rushed out, reflecting the enthusiasm she’d first felt when developing her program. “All the genealogy materials would be accessible on-line. It even provides virtual tours of the special collections on a special area of the website.”

And it was up to her to get all this running on these dinosauric computers, beginning with converting the ancient card catalog to an electronic system. Surely they were the last library in the country to still use one.

“I’m sorry.” She turned her attention back to Cole who sat watching her avidly. “I’m sure you’re not interested in this much detail.”

“Sounds fascinating,” he said with a slow grin. “But maybe you need to get away from it for awhile.”