LITMIR.BIZ

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      “Actually, he’s still going pretty strong at ninety-four, but he did give up driving.”

      Cantrell laughed more openly at that, shook his head and said, “Just lead me to the chancellor’s cottage.”

      Cassie did that, taking a brick-paved path through the still lush, green lawns of the campus.

      At a loss for anything else to talk about, she launched into a campus tour.

      “That building behind the administration building—the same flat front, redbrick, only bigger? That’s where most of the classrooms are,” she began without inquiring if this was information he already had or even wanted. “This whole property was owned by the Nicholas family originally. By the time the parents died, the kids had all moved out of Northbridge and were established in other places, so the Nicholases left the property and all the structures on it to the town to build a college that could mainly serve kids out here in the sticks. The Nicholases’ main house is what we use as the dormitory—”

      “That old stone mansion,” Cantrell interjected to let her know he was familiar with that. “Boys in the east wing, girls in the west, with the cafeteria, living and recreation rooms common to them both but keeping the sleeping quarters separated.”

      “I see you read the brochure,” Cassie confirmed. Next, she pointed to the burnished brick building they were nearing. “One of the Nicholas daughters was widowed when she was young and left with three small kids. The parents had that built for her and the kids so they could live nearby. Which they did until the daughter remarried and moved away. It’s now our library. The Chancellor’s cottage was actually a house for the man and wife who were the Nicholases’ domestic staff. It was turned into the chancellor’s cottage when this became a college. But only one chancellor has ever lived in it. The first one. He was devoted to the school and never married, so even after he retired the college allowed him to stay in the cottage until his death.”

      “Did he die in the cottage?” Cantrell asked, for some reason sounding as if he were smiling again, although Cassie couldn’t bring herself to glance over at him walking beside her.

      “No. He actually died sitting on a brick garden wall in front of one of the older homes around here. Apparently he’d gone for a walk the way he did every day, had gotten tired and stopped to take a rest—”

      “And that was all she wrote for him?”

      “He had a heart attack sitting there. No one realized it for a couple of hours. Everybody who saw him thought he was snoozing. He sometimes did that, he’d walk, find somewhere to sit and nap in the sunshine for a while, then get up and finish his walk—”

      “How old was this one?”

      “Ninety-seven.”

      “People live forever here.”

      “Not forever, but we do have some who get up in years. Anyway,” Cassie concluded as they rounded the section of the grounds where students often sat on the benches to read or talk, “by the time the chancellor died, the cottage was too small for the current chancellor and his family, plus they were already living in their own home, so the cottage was just left vacant. But the dean says it’s been fixed up for your visit.”

      “You’re just full of stories, aren’t you?”

      “I’m sorry. I know, they’re dull,” she responded out of reflex because it was what Brandon had always said….

      “I didn’t say dull,” Cantrell corrected.

      But he also didn’t say she wasn’t boring him, Cassie noted, still convinced that she was.

      The chancellor’s cottage came into view then, behind more trees and a lavish hedge that was trimmed to just below the paned and shuttered windows.

      “It really is a cottage,” Cantrell marveled as if that hadn’t been what he’d expected in spite of the title. “It looks like something out of Grimms’ fairy tales. Not that it looks grim…”

      She knew what he meant. The cottage was a small Tudor-style house, with a sharply pointed roof over gables and a front door that was arched on top rather than squared off. The door was also larger than it should have been, dwarfing the house to some degree.

      “Are cookie-baking elves going to rush out?” Cantrell asked as Cassie took the key from under the welcome mat and used it to open the oversized door.

      Of course it would seem comically quaint to someone like him, she thought as she did. He might be the epitome of the all-American success story but he definitely seemed more like James Dean than Jimmy Stewart.

      But she only said, “I don’t think cookie-baking elves were part of the spruce-up, no.”

      She stepped aside so he could go in, but he motioned for her to enter first, earning points for manners even if he had just put down her town. Or at least, that was how Cassie viewed it.

      She did go in ahead of him, though, wanting nothing so much as to have this over with so she could get home and not see this guy again until she was more presentable.

      He followed behind her as she set the key on the small table just inside the door.

      “It’s all pretty much here, where you can see it,” she said then. “One room. Kitchen, bedroom, living room—”

      She did a display-model sort of wave to present it to him and gave him a moment to glance around at the few cupboards, sink, miniature refrigerator and two-burner stove that lined the wall to the left of the door; the sofa, armchair, coffee table, single reading lamp and television beyond that and the double bed, nightstand and chest of drawers that made up the bedroom in an alcove toward the rear of the space.

      It had all been cleaned and painted, Cassie noted. Plus there were new slipcovers on the furniture and a fresh quilt over the bed she was betting had just-bought linens on it.

      “The bathroom is through that door,” Cassie added after a moment, aiming an index finger at the walnut panel facing into the bedroom alcove. “There’s a claw-footed tub with a shower over the center of it, along with the rest of the requisite accommodations—nothing luxurious but it’s all in working order.”

      She was just about to ask if he had luggage somewhere when she saw two leather suitcases on the bench at the foot of the bed.

      “I guess someone already brought your bags,” she said unnecessarily.

      “I had them sent ahead. Glad to see they got here.”

      Cassie ventured to the refrigerator then and opened that door to peer inside, discovering what she’d suspected even though no one had filled her in beforehand.

      “The fridge is stocked,” she informed him, moving to look in the cupboard above the brand-spanking-new coffeemaker. “There’s coffee and filters. And breakfast cereal. Fruit in that bowl on the counter. But I don’t see any cookies, baked by elves or not.”

      He chuckled despite the fact that there had been an edge of sarcasm to her voice.

      “Too bad. I like cookies.”

      Cassie glanced at him then, discovering him smiling amiably enough, clearly unaware that he’d ticked her off. Which probably meant she was being overly sensitive when it came to her hometown—another throwback to other days. To a different man. So she consciously discarded her own minor pique and amended her tone.

      “Is there anything you need that isn’t here?”

      He shook his head. “Seems comfortable enough. I have my cell so it doesn’t matter that there isn’t a telephone. And I can probably get cookies somewhere else.”

      He could probably snap his fingers and the dean or the mayor would come running with freshly baked ones, Cassie thought. But she didn’t say that. Instead she allowed Joshua Cantrell a small smile.

      “Great dimples,” he observed with a tilt of that handsome

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