LITMIR.BIZ

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      But her voice belied the sharpness of her words, and she gave the young man a brief, teasing smile before she turned away.

      When Jon saw that glow on her face, he was totally undone. The woman’s smile was like a ray of sunlight in a darkened room, illuminating all kinds of treasures. For a fleeting moment her face was light and sparkling, young and sweet.

      Young…

      Again that elusive image tugged at his memory. Something to do with warmth and youth, a distant place and time…

      He shook his head in frustration and watched as she moved around the room, probing first one student and then another with her skillful questioning, trying to gauge their knowledge and understanding.

      “Hey, Enrique,” Jon whispered, leaning across the aisle.

      “Yes?” the boy asked.

      “You did good, son. I think you really impressed the professor.”

      His words were rewarded by another shy smile. The poor kid might be dead on his feet, but he was still courteous and friendly.

      Jon glanced at the boy’s frayed shirt cuffs, the worn-out shoes and patched jeans, the thin body and shaking hands and general air of fatigue.

      He wondered how he could learn a little more about Enrique Valeros.

      The class continued with a discussion of plotting techniques. The professor never asked him a question or directed a comment at him. Jon found himself both relieved and annoyed by the omission.

      When the class ended and the students began to disperse, Jon approached her desk.

      Dr. Pritchard’s head was bent over her work. She had dark blond hair with a few streaks of sunny highlights, cut short and combed back in a simple, elegant style. Her hands were ringless, with the nails neatly trimmed and free of polish.

      “I like that perfume,” he said as he drew near.

      She looked up, and her eyes widened in alarm. He could sense that she had to force herself to meet his eyes, though her gaze was calm and steady.

      “Thank you,” she said.

      “What is it?”

      “What?”

      “The perfume.”

      Her cheeks turned faintly pink. “I doubt that it’s any concern of yours, Mr….”

      “Campbell. Jonathan Campbell. People usually call me Jon.”

      “I see.” She gave him a wintry smile and returned to her work, clearly dismissing him.

      Jon watched her for a moment, fighting the unsettling urge to reach out and stroke her shining hair or touch her bare arm.

      “Is there something else. Mr. Campbell?” she asked without looking up.

      “I was just wondering why you never called on me during the session. Do you think I’m not capable of answering questions?”

      “The fact is, I didn’t really think about you at all.”

      “I believe that’s not altogether true,” Jon said quietly. “When you first noticed me sitting over there, you acted like you recognized me.”

      “You must be imagining things.” She got to her feet, gathered the pile of books on her desk and moved toward the door.

      “Have we met somewhere?” he asked, following her. “Because I can’t believe I’d ever forget a woman like you.” She looked back at him, and this time he caught a trace of genuine panic in her eyes, a fear that was urgent and almost childlike. But her voice was cool when she answered.

      “I really don’t think so, Mr. Campbell. Please excuse me.”

      Then she was gone, vanishing down the crowded hallway until all he could glimpse of the woman was the distant gleam of overhead lights on her smooth blond head.

      

      THE CALGARY UNIVERSITY sprawled over many acres of prairie in the northwest section of the city. A number of apartment buildings were located on campus but most faculty members chose to live elsewhere, preferring to leave their jobs behind when they went home at night.

      Camilla Pritchard, however, lived on the university grounds. Her apartment was just a few steps from the building where she taught most of her classes.

      She hurried down the leafy paths of the campus, heading home for lunch on the first day of school, anxious to reach her apartment. She could hardly wait to be safely inside the door, out of sight of everybody.

      Camilla had suffered for years from intense shyness, and a personal reserve that gave her an air of detachment bordering on rudeness. Except when she was in her own home—a bright and comfortable place, filled with whimsical ornaments, bright woven afghans and wall hangings, nature prints, Aztec pottery and throw rugs. And masses of plants, crowded on every available windowsill.

      She also had two cats, both illegal according to the rules of the buildings but tactfully overlooked by the apartment supervisor, who liked Camilla and found her a perfect tenant except for her pets.

      In return for the super’s indulgence, Camilla kept the cats out of sight. They were sleek gray tabbies called Madonna and Elton. Madonna had a boisterous, exhibitionist nature, while Elton, the smaller of the two, was timid and affectionate, named for the heavy black markings around both eyes that resembled the frames of the glasses worn by the famous pop star.

      Today Elton was waiting when she came through the door. He promptly lay upside down on the rug in a golden ray of sunshine, his paws waving lazily.

      “Okay Elly, I’ll scratch your tummy for a second,” she said. “But I have too much to do to stay here all day and play with you.”

      She sighed and dropped an armful of books onto the table, feeling a deep anxiety on this first day of classes. Normally she enjoyed the prospect of a new term, a horde of fresh faces, another fall and winter.

      But not this year. Not after seeing one face in particular at the back of her classroom…She sighed again as she bent to rub Elton’s tummy.

      Madonna appeared in the kitchen entryway and arched her tail, rubbing herself sensuously against the door frame.

      “I know it’s him,” Camilla stood up and addressed Madonna. “He’s sitting right there in my English class, and I haven’t got the slightest idea what to do about it.”

      Madonna licked one of her paws and rubbed it across her whiskers, then advanced with exaggerated stealth toward Elton, who still lay in the sunshine with his eyes closed. The cat pounced stiff-legged onto her unsuspecting partner. Elton yowled and scurried for cover beneath the couch, where his black-framed eyes could be seen peeping out fearfully from the darkness.

      “Oh, sweetie.” Camilla knelt on the carpet and peered under the couch. “Come out, Elly. Madonna didn’t mean to scare you, she was just playing. Come, let’s sit in the armchair and cuddle.”

      Elton whimpered and edged forward a couple of inches.

      “Come on,” she coaxed, reaching under the couch to stroke his furry paw. “Come out and sit with me. Madonna won’t hurt you.”

      He crept toward her. Finally Camilla was able to grip his body gently and drag him out. She sat in an armchair and cuddled the shivering cat, resting her chin on the top of his head.

      As she stroked the cat with rhythmic, soothing strokes, her mind kept going back to that shocking moment in class when she’d first seen Jon Campbell.

      Even though he’d been seated, she could tell he was tall and well built. His square face was tanned and pleasantly masculine, his eyes clear and direct. He had thick brown hair dusted with gray, and his hands were hard and callused.

      After that first horrifying moment of recognition, Camilla had kept hoping maybe he wasn’t the man she remembered.

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