Her Secret, His Child: A Little Secret by Tara Quinn (rosie project .txt) 📕

sign Jim to a contract?"

"'Cause he's black. She makes deals for the white boys."

"Is that fair?"

"Hell no, it ain't fair!"

"Why not?"

Mesmerized, Jamie continued to listen. She didn't recognize the other male voice at all, but there was no mistaking the seriousness of this odd conversation.

'"Cause Jim's a guy just like the rest. What matters ain't the color of his skin but how many guys he can cremate so they don't score."

"So why doesn't somebody can her?"

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'"Cause the people where she lives feel just like she does. They think blacks are lesser citizens."

"Where do these people live?"

"In the South?"

"Yes. When?"

"Jim, linebacker, number eighty-five," the student recited so quietly Jamie hardly heard him. ' 'In 19…no, 1885?"

"Right." Kyle obviously meant business. "And does Jim have a particular team he wants to play for?"

"This is a dumb one, Professor."

"Who cares. You're learning, aren't you?"

"He plays for the Huckleberry Finns. Ain't no football team ever going to call themselves 'the Huckleberry Finns.'"

Jamie grinned. She had to agree with the guy.

"Who's the owner?" Kyle wasn't lightening up a bit.

"Mark Twain?"

"And how does Mr. Twain feel about Jim's plight?"

Sliding down to sit on the floor, Jamie listened intently, waiting to hear the student's response.

"He knows it ain't right, that those people are evil for wanting to keep the blacks down that way, but the people are his fans who pay for tickets and if they don't want to see Jim, he can't make them."

"So how does he view those people?"

"As hypocrites."

"And?"

"They're filled with lovelessness." The word was

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said so slowly Jamie could almost have spelled it as it was being said.

"Okay." Kyle sounded relieved. "Do we know anything else about Jim?"

"Yeah, he ain't givin' up."

"Anything else?"

Silence.

"Think, Brad," Kyle encouraged. "What's the name of the team?"

"Oh, yeah," Brad said, sounding as if he were really expending some mental energy. "Jim's got one friend, a white boy, Huck," he said. "The team's named after him."

"And?"

"Huck helps Jim get free from his old biddy manager. He gets to play ball, but then they can't be friends no more 'cause the fans just ain't ready for that."

"And that, my boy, is the story of Huckleberry Finn." Kyle sounded inordinately pleased.

"You're somethin' else, Professor," Brad said. "The guys are never going to believe this—the Huckleberry Finns."

' 'What matters is that you remember this stuff for the next essay quiz."

"Right."

Jamie heard books and papers rustling, zippers zipping and stood up.

"Oh, and Brad?"

"Yeah?"

"Be sure you drop the football stuff when you write your answers."

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"Will do, sir, and thanks."

"No problem," Kyle said, his voice coming closer. "As long as you're willing to try, I'm happy to do everything I can to help."

If Jamie hadn't already been half in love with the guy, she'd have fallen hard right then. He was a good man. A caring, giving man. A man who'd make a wonderful father.

Suddenly she had to hide, get away before Kyle saw her. There was no way she could discuss the reception with him right now. Or anything else for that matter.

Her conscience gave an uncomfortable tug, but she had to fight it. And keep fighting it. Or lose everything that had ever mattered.

Spying a women's rest room across the hall, she ducked in just before Kyle and his student reached the classroom door.

"Goodnight, Mommy. I love you."

Ashley's little voice washed over Jamie as she bent down to kiss her daughter good-night that same evening. Even through the angora sweater she wore with her jeans, she could reel Ashley's little hands clutching her.

"I love you, too, Ash, so much," she said. God help her, she couldn't do it. Couldn't risk losing this. Ashley was all zipped up in her Little Mermaid blanket sleeper, tucked under her Little Mermaid quilt. The picture of sweet innocence.

"I know, Mommy. You love me enough for a mommy and a daddy, huh?"

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"That's right, baby." But the words stuck in her throat. What was she doing to this child?

Standing in Ashley's doorway as she watched the little girl snuggle down to sleep, Jamie had never hated herself more.

Ten minutes later, buried in her office in an attempt to find a moment's rest from her tortured thoughts, Jamie heard a knock on the front door.

It was Kyle.

"My secretary told me you'd stopped by earlier today," he said, stepping into her small foyer before she could invite him in.

Dressed in what she'd come to recognize as his usual work uniform of faded jeans, long-sleeved shirt and corduroy jacket—didn't the man ever wear an overcoat?—he looked wonderful to her. Reassuring.

Yet his presence there scared her to death.

"You could have called instead of coming all the way over."

"So could you." He had her there. He was looking past her into the living room.

"I, uh, just wanted to discuss the program for the reception, but we can do it another time."

"Why not now?" he asked with his hands in his pockets, the very picture of an innocent bystander. "I'm already here."

Jamie had a feeling he knew just how uncomfortable he was making her. Just as he probably knew how glad a very contrary part of her was to see him.

Far too aware of Ashley sleeping right down the

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hall, she stared at him. "Well, then—" she crossed her arms in front of her "—come on into the living room."

Needing no second bidding, Kyle quickly settled himself in the middle of her couch. "Where's Ashley?' ' He was disappointed to see that the room was empty.

Stiff and unyielding, Jamie stood in front of the fireplace. "In bed asleep."

"At 7:30? Isn't that a little early?"

"Not when she's up at six."

"I remember you telling me that you're a night person."

"I used to be."

Kyle grinned, picturing an irritable and oh-so-lovely Jamie up at the crack of dawn with a two-year-old dynamo.

She shifted from one stocking foot to the other, looking toward the door.

'So what ideas do you have for the program?" he asked. He wasn't about to be dismissed when he'd just gotten inside.

"I don't."

A moment's panic