Chapter 4

Samantha found herself perusing the parking lot as she drove past the school and turned to parallel park by the soccer field. Orange cones still indicated Uncle Hal had not conceded to making the TV crew move to another parking area. Poor Principal Chambers and Vice Principal Wesley stood on the asphalt with radios, still appeasing the ill-tempered teachers who didn’t adapt well to change.

Ty looked around, too. She smiled. Paul putted across the field the minute she pulled against the curb. “Need a lift, Lady?” he called in a fake Brooklyn accent.

Sam smiled as she gathered her things and exited her car. Ty had already latched onto the back seat and was hanging off the roll bar.

“Why, thank you, Cabby.” Sam set her satchel on the floor of the golf cart and scooted onto the seat, holding a drink tray with three coffees in her lap.

“Three again?” Paul glanced down at her lap.

“Yes.” She handed him one.

Paul frowned, but it was more of a huh sort of frown. “Thanks.”

“Thank you.” Sam looked anywhere but at Paul. A little heat filled her cheeks.

“How much do I owe ya?”

“Nothing. My cousin gives them to me for free.”

“Oh.” Paul directed his eyes to her satchel. “You got homework every night?”

She looked at him and then her case. “Yep. Every single night.”

“What grade do you teach?”

“Fourth through sixth, actually.”

“How does that work?”

“Well, they sit in groups and we give an assignment to one group, they start working while we give instructions to the next group, they get started while we give instructions to the third group. It’s pretty busy. That’s why I have a co-teacher.”

“The second coffee?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “The second coffee.”

“So, I guess you go through a lot of red pens?”

“Hum? Oh, you mean grading papers?”

Paul shrugged and nodded at the same time.

Something about this guy. She really enjoyed visiting with him. He cared about her and thought about stuff that was important to her. Like a red pen. Although she didn’t use red-inked pens. “No, actually, we don’t use red. It has too much of a negative connotation. We use every color but red. It’s kind of funny, you know? A wrong mark is a wrong mark whether it’s blue or green. But the psychologists who make all these decisions and then teach it to us, seem to think a plethora of different colored pens keeps from harming their psyche.” She giggled. “Like a bad grade isn’t what hurts their psyche.”

“So, happy colors make happy children, even if they aren’t making straight A’s.”

“I suppose so.” She giggled.

“And chocolate-covered strawberries make happy adults.”

She glared at him suspiciously. “Yes, they do. And teachers.” She smiled.

He grinned, an ornery twinkle glistened in his emerald green eyes. Her insides turned to goo.

“Well, this is me.” She stuck her foot out of the golf cart, next to the side entrance so he would stop and she could jump off. He slowed to a halt.

“You don’t go in the front anymore?”

“No.” She giggled. “That was just Monday. I’m closer to my classroom by going in here. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Gladstone.”

She stopped and stared at him. “I thought we were past that. Call me Sam.”

He dipped his head. “Sam.”

His bright green eyes stopped time. Saying her name sent a sensation through her she had never experienced. She stared at him, lost in those beautiful pools of green. He leaned toward her and she let him come close enough she could smell his aftershave. It was a rugged, manly scent that suited him perfectly. He was inches from her face and she wanted him to come closer. The anticipation consumed her and she leaned into his lips. His red beard tickled, but she didn’t care. His lips were hungry for hers and the world totally faded away. She was lost body and soul in this single moment.

“Ewww!” Tyson hollered.

Oh god. She’d forgotten Ty was there. “I, um. We’ve gotta go.” She leapt from the golf cart. “Come on Tyson.”

But the exhilaration of his kiss lingered. Her knees felt weak.

“Aunt Sam, are you going to marry that man?” Ty trailed behind her watching Paul drive away.

“Tyson! No!” Sam walked quickly into the building. “I-it’s hard to explain, Ty.”

“It looked like you were going to marry him.”

“Well, I’m not.”

Ty stopped asking questions, but he sure looked like he wanted to. Sam felt horrible. She shouldn’t have let herself get lost like that. What was she thinking, kissing a perfect stranger? And in front of an innocent child. Vi would never forgive her. God, what was she thinking?

She really needed to get a grip on her emotions. These men were here for the paranormal investigation—which she hated, she reminded herself—and they’d be gone in a month. All these squishy feelings needed to go away! No matter how good they felt. Paul, or Alan, or any other of these people were not potential friends, or...

She glanced at Paul’s retreating golf cart. He was dashing across the soccer field to pick up Coach Ringer and KatLynn, who struggled with her backpack and purse. He’d wait for her, too. His kindness was remarkable. Sam shook her head. No. These people were not potential friends OR boyfriend material. She heard her mother’s voice.

An hour later a runner from the office slid into her classroom, breathless and red-faced. “Miss Gladstone, this just came for you.”

“My goodness, Juan. What’s your hurry?”

He smiled and handed her a Wal-Mart sack. She opened it and found a dozen rainbow felt tip pens. When used, all six colors were released on the paper, one at a time so that a line would change colors as you made the mark. She smiled and shook her head. That Paul Hourton was something else.

Even if he was temporary.

A heavy snowfall caused an early release for the students. Sam stayed for an hour after the announcement to get her papers copied and ready for tomorrow’s lessons, she set the appropriate morning work on each grade level’s desk, in case the weather held her up in the morning. Then she gathered her homework papers. She smiled when she tossed the rainbow pens into her satchel. Her boot heels echoed off the nearly silent halls as she made her way to the nearest exit. She dreaded walking across the field in the snow, but she had her snow boots on and a warm, sub-zero-rated coat.

Besides, a golf cart couldn’t, or shouldn’t try to run through this stuff. So, she’d be fine.

As she pushed the heavy door open with her backside, a loud voice reverberated from the parking lot. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what you want, Paul. I’m not standing out in this freezing snow to narrate some ancient little girl’s story. It’s freezing out here, what kind of moron are you?”