Beautiful Stranger. Ruth Wind
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he said. “That was really rude.”
“Not at all. It’s very common lately.”
“You’ve lost a lot of weight.”
“Almost a hundred pounds.” She gestured like the Duchess of York. “And trust me, I love it when people are amazed.”
His eyes made the journey over her figure once more, this time frankly appreciative. “You look terrific.”
“Thanks. Now, about Louise…”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Yeah, Louise is a great idea.”
“Day to day, it’s just getting through. Sometimes just minute to minute.” She smiled. “I teach them all day, remember. But when you run into something troubling, Louise might have good advice.”
He nodded. “Thank you,” he said, and held out his hand. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the interest you’ve taken.”
Marissa stood and clasped the long brown hand in her own, allowing herself at last to experience the slightly heady sensation of standing close to him, holding his hand and smiling up at him. “My pleasure,” she said, and made to draw away.
But he held on, tightening his fingers slightly. “You were always beautiful, you know.”
Marissa, stricken to the core, was afraid he’d see too much if she let him hang on a second longer, and she pulled away, hiding her emotions under a well-mannered smile. “Thank you. And thank you for coming.”
At the door he paused. “Do you want to know what she loves?”
“I’ll wait until she’s ready to tell me.”
He nodded. “All right. Thanks again.”
He closed the door behind him and Marissa sank against the desk, swallowing the weird rush of emotion his simple, clear words had given her. You were always beautiful. Not exactly the words she would ever have expected to come from the lips of a jaded, brooding man who only crooked his finger and had women from thirteen to seventy flocking to his side.
Then she realized with a wry little smile that it was exactly what she should have expected. The great power of a ladies’ man lay in his understanding of a woman’s most private, most revered hungers.
Reaching for her purse, she chuckled. He’d certainly zeroed in on Marissa’s.
There was a card from her sister in the mailbox when she got home, and Marissa laughed when she opened it. The front showed a beachy guy in worn white cutoffs, smiling hunkily, and the inside said, “Just wanted to send you something fun to break up your day.”
Marissa had mailed out the exact card, for no particular reason, to her twin sister, Victoria, only three days before. They were identical twins, the only children of their obscenely wealthy and overly protective parents. What nature began in the womb, the isolation their parents had imposed had completed; the pair had an almost uncanny bond, as if they were one mind in two bodies.
When she walked in, still smiling, the phone rang.
“I just got it,” she said into the phone, knowing by a twin’s intuition exactly who was on the other end. “I should have known.”
Victoria laughed. “I don’t even know why we bother. Next time, just buy the card and keep it and so will I, and we’ll both save the postage.”
“Ah, what fun would that be?”
Victoria changed gears. “Enough of that. Who is he?”
It startled Marissa. “Who?”
“Some man. Don’t lie. I felt it, right in the solar plexus.”
Marissa chuckled. “Well, he’s really no one. A cute parent, that’s all. Sweet talker.”
“Mmm. He must be hot, that’s all I have to say. I’m going to come see for myself. Can I come visit? Maybe stay for a week. Or a month?”
“Really?” Marissa cried. She had not seen her sister in more than two years, largely due to Victoria’s hectic and worldly schedule. “That would be so fantastic!” She smiled to herself. “I have quite a surprise for you.”
“And I have one for you.” She laughed softly. “I can’t imagine that we’ll duplicate each other this time.”
Marissa thought of her sister’s ultraskinny frame. “Nope. Not this time.”
“All right, then. I’ll see you in a week or two.”
They hung up.
Chapter 2
One of the best parts of Marissa’s job was that her planning period fell just before lunch, so on those days that she was not required to be in the cafeteria or walking the grounds, she had a good long break in the middle of the day. She often went to a small café nearby to have a salad freshly made from a long list of menu items. Today she chose butter and radicchio and romaine lettuces, sunflower seeds, broccoli, tomatoes and shredded carrots and a bare sprinkling of pumpernickel croutons. They didn’t even have to ask anymore if she wanted the dressing on the side.
Carrying her overflowing plate to a table near the window, she relished the salad slowly, along with a whole-grain roll and a thin spread of butter and the unsweetened raspberry tea they served, made with fresh lemons and raspberries. Outrageously good.
Gazing peacefully at the bright blue Colorado day, she felt sinfully satisfied. In her old life, she had rarely taken the time to enjoy food—eating had been a guilt-laden activity, something evil one was required to indulge, and she often hurried through it, almost inhaling a meal before others had made it halfway through.
It was a miracle to her now to really taste the butter on the bread, savor the small wheat berries in the soft dough. She dipped her fork in dressing and speared a pale green leaf of butter lettuce—it was one of her favorites at home because of the way the leaves felt in her hand, soft as suede—and took time to experience the combination of flavors. Before she had finished half the salad, she was satisfied—no, closer to stuffed.
Replete, and feeling virtuous from all the nutrients she’d managed to pack into a single lunch, she paid and headed back to campus, two blocks north. The walk was a particularly pleasant one, following a path through a park that ran through the middle of town like a long finger. The day was not yet hot, and a breeze lifted her hair.
A breeze that smelled of cigarettes. She glanced over, ready to smile; the few teachers who still smoked often slipped away to the park during lunch, and it was her habit to shake her finger at them cheerfully. But no one was sitting on the favored bench beneath a copse of aspens—instead, blue smoke wafted around the edge of a cinderblock building that housed rest rooms. Marissa spied a combat boot with a spot of pink paint at the toe peeking around the base of the wall.
With a sigh, she crossed the grass, shaking her head, and came around the building.
Crystal Avila hunched there, guiltily, and started so violently when she saw Marissa that she dropped the cigarette on the ground.
Marissa quickly stepped on it, grinding it beneath the toe of her shoe. “Bad idea, kiddo. And not just for you.”
The girl ducked her head, pulled her coat more tightly around her belly. A fall of hair, taking up a thick reddish hue in the dappled sunlight, slid over her shoulders.
“Do you smoke a lot?” Marissa asked.
“No.” She swallowed, dared to raise her eyes for a split second, dropped them again. “This is the first time since—” She burst into tears. “I don’t know what I was doing!”
“Oh, honey.” Marissa reached for her with one hand, ready to offer a shoulder for a hug if the girl needed it, but Crystal jerked away, hiding her face with her hands.
“Don’t suspend me, okay? I swear, I’ll do whatever