Betsy Craig felt as if she'd been flung against a cliff. "You mean there's nothing I can do?"
"I'm sorry." The lawyer folded her arms. "Affirmative Action is not a
magic bullet. I wish I could help, but I can't. Unfair as it sounds, you do
not have a case."
In 1974, just out of school and fresh off the picket lines for women's rights, the idealistic Betsy Craig has lost her first radio job simply for being a woman in charge of a broadcast when an angry engineer used foul language on the air. Since she has no contract, she has no case against the radio station manager who has both fired her and refused her an employment reference.
Determined to make a career in journalism, though now clearly understanding the discrimination she faces in a field dominated by men, Betsy decides to avoid trouble or to use diplomacy to ease through difficulties she can’t escape. "Life’s a hard boiled egg," she concludes, setting off for graduate school. “Sometimes you have to shut up and eat the shell with the good stuff."
Fast forward this 82,276 word mainstream novel to 1986 Mountain
View, Pennsylvania. Betsy teaches journalism at the state university, and has fallen in love with the handsome Todd Baker, head of the English Department. Fluent in German and French, she covers the arts, does classical music announcing for the local public radio affiliate, and also writes free lance articles for regional publications. But her boss, Steve Harding, tells her she will not receive tenure because the dean does not like her.
Steve states that he has no idea what she has done, but the dean is so displeased that he will dismiss her despite the quality of her work as both a broadcaster and an instructor. If Steve supports her, the dean will block his promotion to full professor. The story hides a nasty political mess. Betsy’s job opened when one of Steve’s faculty members failed his Ph.D. exams, and became to ineligible teach at the university. That left Steve advertising for a professor late in the academic hiring season. When Betsy applied for the job, Steve liked the journalism experience on her resume. However, the dean did not want to hire her because she had taught only as a graduate assistant. He finally consented to give her a contract, if later Steve would recruit someone with full-time experience. Steve agreed, but when Betsy showed herself to be an excellent teacher, he changed his mind.
Now, the dean still expects Steve to keep the agreement on principle. Steve capitulates to the pressure to please his social-climbing wife, Ellen. Then he reconsiders and decides to support Betsy, with the help of the University Retention and Promotion Committee which has a say in all tenure processes. Ever the politician, he also makes plans to enlist the aid of the university president, an enemy of the dean.
When Steve informs Ellen of this choice, she tries to make sure Betsy loses her job by making up rumors about her. According to Ellen, Betsy has started brawls in restaurants, gone to class too hung-over to teach, and slept with any man she could pick up in the local bar.
The head of the Retention Committee recommends that Betsy be terminated. Todd tells Betsy to appeal her case. Remembering her experience with formal justice, she dismisses the idea and starts seeking a new position. He breaks off the romance, exasperated with her philosophy.
Unable to find a new job, and desiring to save both her relationship with Todd and her free lance writing career, Betsy decides she has nothing to lose if she follows his advice and challenges her firing. She has a hearing before the Retention Committee with the dean present. The Committee considers both her
teaching record and her recent national radio interview with a world-famous orchestra conductor. A guarded man who spoke little English, Betsy drew him out with her fluency in his native German.
Finding these credentials persuasive, the Committee asks for proof of Ellen's stories. There is none. The dean quickly reverses his decision to fire Betsy and asks the Committee to recommend her retention. The chairman agrees.
Because of the speed with which they act, Betsy suspects they’ve hidden something. A secretary fired for alcoholism tells her what the the dean tried to do. Betsy recalls Steve’s comment about losing his promotion and the friendship between the Committee chairman and Ellen, and guesses where lies originated.
Considering how her challenge has thwarted both Ellen and the dean, Betsy reflects that life might be an egg, but she doesn’t have to eat it all. She can spit out the nasty parts with a fight or a fandango, which ever suits best.

Mountain View, Pennsylvania 1986

As she waited for the traffic light at the intersection of Main Avenue and Oak Street, Betsy Craig set down her attach6 case and gazed at the misty sky. Shreds of haze clung to the rounded tops of the Big and Little Laurel ranges that surrounded the town of Mountain View. The crisp air smelled of dried leaves, harvested fruit, fir branches, and wood smoke. She drew a deep breath, filling her lungs with dewy coolness. What a perfect September morning. Well, except for the rays of the sun angling under the brim of her hat. Shading the right lens of her glasses, she faced away from the irritation.
Down the block, at the corner of Pine Boulevard, the wheels of an Amish wagon rattled. She couldn't see the conveyance. Its black body blended into the shadows cast by maples growing along the edge of the sidewalks. She pulled her hat lower. Come on, signal, change.
Behind her, a breeze carried the sound of a speed boat from the Rock River. She lifted her collar and snuggled into her leather jacket. Even a puff from the south is chilly now. It must be freezing on the water. The idea raised goose flesh on her neck. Then she shivered, for the feeling was suddenly triggering an unpleasant memory. Twelve years ago today, she'd sat in a drafty, smelly Legal Aid office trying to fight that bigot, Bob Parker.
A small hiss escaped her lips and she shook her head to dispel the recollection. Why worry about that? She'd accomplished more away from his shit-hole of a radio station, than she would have staying in Spring Water, though her professional progress certainly had come in an unexpected manner.
That thought made her laugh, and she sent an affectionate glance across Main to the campus of Northern Mountain State University. Go right out of my head, Mr. Parker. Life's too wonderful to waste on you.
The rattling of wheels swelled and a wagon swayed into Betsy's view. Near it, a teenage boy roller skated, slapping a puck with a hockey stick. He spotted her, stared, and averted his eyes.
Silly kid, Probably cutting school. Well, why not? She had done the same herself on pretty days. With a grin, she focused on the handsome black-tailed trotter pulling the vehicle.
He held his glossy head high. Betsy gave the man, woman, and toddler riding behind the animal, a respectful nod. The Amish followed a religious doctrine that forbade reliance on modern technology to accomplish daily tasks. What they achieved required hours of intensive labor that the rest of society had long forgotten how to do.
The woman acknowledged Betsy's admiration with a shy smile. Then she bent over the child, buttoning his coat, shading him from the direct sun, and murmuring to him in the mix of ancient German and modern English that her people spoke to each other. Betsy understood one word in all that she said: Lieb. Love. It made Betsy feel warm as she watched the traffic signal turn yellow.
With a whistle, the man urged the horse to clear the corner. Opposite him, a lady in a sedan stepped on the gas. Betsy picked up her attach6 case. From the gutter, an old paper cup soared into the air and skittered toward the gelding's head. He snorted and swerved in front of the car.
The sound of Lieb reverberated in Betsy's mind. She jumped forward. God, please.
Tires screeched. The auto veered right. Fumes from smoking rubber burned her nose.
The man yanked the reins. "Whoa!"
The horse stopped. A foot away, the car skidded into the curb. Its engine died. Each driver stared at the other, shaken. Then realizing they had averted disaster, they exchanged relieved looks. One restarted her motor. The other eased his horse back into the correct lane. Betsy let out a deep breath and stepped off the curb.
"Watch out!"
The shout seared through her brain and she jumped so hard, she nearly fell. Was the wagon turning and coming in her direction? Scrambling back to the walk, she spun toward the cry. Someone was leaping from the steps of Pfadenrecht's Hardware, the store on the corner. Her colleague, Todd Baker.
"Be careful," he bellowed.
Before she could respond, a powerful tug ripped the attach6 case out of her hand with a force that sent her careening forward into the base of the stoplight. Gripping its fluted pole, she caught her balance and wheeled. With the case dangling from the hockey stick, the roller skater hunched to gather speed for a fast escape.
Her good audio cassette deck was in there. Blond braid flapping against her back, she lunged to pursue him, despite her high-heels. Then she paused, If he whacked her in the face, she might be sending her dentist or plastic surgeon around the world on a cruise.
Todd reached the boy and clamped a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey!”
Fear widened the youth's eyes and contorted his pimply face. Todd pulled him upright with a jerk. "Give that back to Dr. Craig."
The teen shook the case free. "Okay, okay. I was just playing."
"Like heck. You sneaked up on her when she was distracted. I ought to call the police."
The color drained from his face, and he struggled to break the grip on him. "No! My folks'll kill me."
"They should. "What's your name?"
"Ronnie. Ronald Pfeifer." A couple pedestrians strolled by and gave him a glower. Gulping for breath, he cringed. "I didn't really mean to ... it was a dare."
Betsy watched him. He appeared to be about sixteen and strong enough to have spent the summer life-guarding at Lion's Municipal Pool, had he been more emotionally mature. She held out her hand. "Give me that, now." Damn it, he was scooping me out as an easy target. What's happened to my street-sense?
Ronnie writhed and stared at her, saliva on his lips. Despite her anger, she began to pity him. If Todd's six-foot-four-inch frame and grip weren't intimidating enough, in this part of the country the very threat of facing police, or parents, could still scare the hell out of most trouble-making imps. From the terrified expression on Ronnie's face, she guessed he'd think twice before stealing again.
Shaking, he picked up the briefcase and gave it to her. She grabbed the handle. The tape recorder had cost over $400 dollars. She couldn't afford to lose it.
Todd stared the boy down, then slowly released him. "All right, I'll let you go this time. Take those skates off and get on to school. If you hurry, you might make your first class."
"M-my s-shoes is-is by the f-fish pond in Birch Street Park." He spoke in a hoarse whisper.
The man grabbed him again. "Go barefoot. Or I will call the cops."
"Y-yes, sir." Pulling himself free, Ronnie ripped off his skates.
Todd watched, poised to block a move in any direction but the high school's.
The boy bolted into Main Avenue and jaywalked to Oak. With a final glance at Todd, he raced for the school, just visible above a line of aspen.
Betsy watched his long legs stretching gracefully in his dash and wondered why a cross-country coach hadn't discovered him.
Anger darkened Todd's eyes to blue-black. "If he were Ben, I'd paddle him. After that, I'd buy him a pizza and find out why the hell he didn't wanna go to school. And why he had to take a dare." Sadness lined his mouth. Scuffing his boot against the walk, he sighed.
Betsy realized he was thinking about his boy growing up in Michigan, and probably praying his ex-wife had the strength to guide Ben through his teens. Betsy hoped so, too, for Todd's sake. She was also glad she'd never married and faced a divorce with a child. The pain would probably have been unbearable. She wondered how Todd managed it. "You okay?"
"Yeah. You?"
"Of course." But as she brushed leaves off her attach6 case, her heart thumped. That could have been a nasty episode. "You were brave to grab him. He might have taken a swing at you, instead of being a wimp."
"He'd have been sorry. It may be years since I played football, but I never quit pumping iron." With a flex of his arm, Todd walked to a mailbox next to the store.
Betsy watched muscles rippling under his clothes as he pulled envelopes out of his pocket. "He could have had a gun," she called.
"Not likely 'round here." He jerked the letter chute open and reached inside. Then withdrawing his empty band, be turned and sauntered toward her. "In this world, you gotta stick up for what's right.”
"If you want to be a dead hero. I prefer to avoid trouble."
His sure movements confirmed his status as an athlete. In fact, she had to admit that watching his easy stride had often given her an exquisite little shiver of pleasure. However, he'd had a lover. So Betsy had left him alone. Now, he claimed he was free. What if.. ? Smiling, she opened her jacket to accommodate the growing warmth of the day. "Thanks an awful lot for helping me. But what are you doing here? I've never seen you out so early."
He tapped a bag in his other pocket and gave her the lopsided grin that passed as his smile. "I needed some dry wall screws. What were you doing here?"
To keep his attention, Betsy let him return to the curb before she answered. "Honestly, Todd, if you worked for a radio network, you could read the morning news in Times Square without a microphone, and people crossing the Golden Gate Bridge would hear you."
With an apologetic twitch of his lips, he lowered his voice as he reached her. "Were you daydreaming?"
She regarded the spot where Ronnie had caught her, just scuffled leaves and a skid mark from a skate wheel now-about all the incident was worth. "Well, other than wondering if an Amish family was about to go to glory, I was thinking about how close I am to tenure." A tremor of a different sort of excitement coursed through her. "Today I'm supposed to find out if the Communication Personnel Committee approved my application."
Todd chortled. "You want a permanent contract here that bad?"
"You'd better believe it. My life will be secure for the first time since I left college." She studied the campus. The remaining mist had vanished, and the strong sun set gothic lecture halls glowing. The faculty club's white 18th Century porch sparkled. In boxes under the big front windows of the old house, purple, brown, and range flowers made final shows before the frost. Rusty bricks in the front walk glowed, their quirky roughness resembling sculpture. Drawing a deep breath, Betsy sucked in the energy that radiated from the day, the light, and the color around her "Who wouldn't want tenure here, Todd? It's like a movie set."
"A movie set?" A spark of surprise lighted his face, and for a moment, he glanced sharply at the buildings. Then pleasure made him grin. "I've never thought of them that way. What a description."
Tucking yellow wisps into her braid, she regarded the spaces between the structures. Deep shadows made enticing tunnels that seemed to stretch forever. Like children playing hide-and-seek, or lovers frolicking, squirrels frisked in and out of the dark. "From the head of the English Department, I'll take that as a compliment."
"You should. You've a way with words."
The response gave her happiness, but also made her chuckle. "If I didn't have a command of language, I wouldn't teach journalism. " She raised her head only a little to see Todd's eyes. Her heels made her nearly as tall as he was.
He shrugged off her retort and calmly appraised her clothes. "Nice outfit. You do something for black-and-white. They're your signature colors, aren't they?"
"I can dress them up with scarves and jewelry." So he'd been noticing her. Okay. Take it a step at a time. Fingering a heavy silver bracelet on her wrist, she waited.
He continued to regard her seriously. "You ought to wear silk blouses and wool slacks more often."
The laugh she let out had a wistful edge. "I'd love to, but I can't afford them. Too many student loans still." She put on her hat, adjusted her silver hoop earrings, and looked beyond the faculty club to the dormitories. There, light dappled through the trees and splotched on walls, a hundred torches to celebrate the beauty of the day. "Wow, Rembrandt would have that in a composition before you could say Amsterdam."
Todd's auburn hair fluffed as he shook his head. "You're flying."
"Of course, I am. This moment's been a hard time coming." The wind shook the branches. The light flashed white-hot, suddenly burning to her gaze. With a small shudder she averted her yes. "Todd... what if the Personnel Committee decides not to tenure me? Or they pass my application to the University Retention Committee, and that bunch turns me down?"
He gave her a surprised look, then patted her shoulder, letting his hand linger. "That's impossible."
"No, it's not." She stiffened against the reassurance he transmitted. It enticed her, but she must not trust it. It only bolstered one opinion-his. He did not speak for the everyone involved in her tenure decision. "There's a glut of people wanting to teach journalism. Even small schools like Mountain State can be real choosy about who they keep and who they don't."
"This place won't turn you down." He withdrew his hand. "Why do you think it would?"
"I don't know." She bit her lip and watched tiny movements in the dark places across the street. On her last day on the job in Kansas, she'd driven to work through shadows like those. "Sometimes I think Dean Chambers can't stand me. And who knows what President Cook thinks-he's so new on campus. Maybe there's nothing to celebrate until that application comes back stamped 'accepted."'
"Why wouldn't it? Your work's outstanding." Todd stared in growing bewilderment.
"They'll let a woman go for things that have nothing to do with work. She can just be in the wrong place at the wrong time." Parker had called her to his office the minute she'd arrived at the station, and she'd entered, expecting some routine change in news format.
"Come on, this is the late 20th Century." Todd's voice took on the edge of impatience.
Instead of talking about news, Parker had handed her a final pay check. She had cleaned out her desk and gone on an illusion-shattering trip to Legal Aid. "Todd, believe me. It doesn't matter. I could become a sacrifice to some political nonsense like that." She snapped her fingers, red nails flashing.
"You're nuts." He half tumed his back in exasperation. "Totally ridiculous."
"I wish I were." She gazed over to Oak Street and toward a red and white radio tower. Beside it gleamed the roof of Mountain State University's public broadcast center, which housed NMSU-FM and NMSU-TV. She had stumbled out of Kansas with a new lesson forever in her brain: doing a job well was no guarantee of keeping it. Losing it might have little to do with her performance, but protection against that under the law was weak.
Todd stepped closer to her. "Come on. What'll you do after you get tenure?"
Betsy sighed. He didn't understand. But then, how could he? He'd probably never had anything like that happen. Say something to please him. With a shrug, she pointed past the stations to a weathered mountain with A-frame houses halfway up its side. "I suppose I'll save a down payment for a home in the new subdivision."
"Will it have a writing room?" Todd's shoulder brushed hers.
"Sure." She liked the touch, but moved away. Now that she considered it, until she knew her tenure status, she had no business getting too close to him. They could both get hurt. More important, he'd said in public he'd just left his girlfriend, Susie Kugel, but at the last faculty party, Susie had hung on his arm. Careful, Betsy. This town's no place for a lover's triangle.
Todd followed her down the cracked sidewalk. "You gonna write the novel you been talking about?"
The exquisite shiver again. Easy... "Someday. Freelancing for
the papers is fun right now." And will bring some real success.
Glancing at the porch of the faculty club, she recognized the
French professor, Jacques Robeanu, pulling a Mountain View Gazette out of a dispenser.
"Write that book." Todd watched Robeanu flip open the front page and read. "You're a talented lady."
"And you're sweet." She let him stay near this time, despite her better judgment.
He pursued her with a tender look. "What else will you have when you get tenure?"
"Herbs." She smiled a little. Having him so near almost made her half-believe she could safely plan. "And lots of black-eyed Susans. An Airedale."
"Keep thinking that way, okay?"
He stood very close. She could smell a mix of pipe tobacco and aftershave that clung to him. Under his reassuring gaze, her defenses evaporated. "You're right. I just have a case of the jitters."
"It sounds like you got yourself into some political mess a long time ago when you didn't have the experience to manage it." He pulled a cherry-wood pipe out of his jacket pocket.
"There was no handling it." Shaking her head, she watched him locate his tobacco pouch and open it. "I'm not sure there would be today. It wasn't that long ago that it happened."
“1n some cases you would be right." He pressed pungent leaves into the pipe's hand-carved bowl. Then his tone turned firm. "But you're working in a university with lots of women on the faculty. And you're very, very savvy." Striking a lighter, he ignited the tobacco and puffed, filling the air with a dry, sharp odor. "You have not blundered into a mine field." He glanced at the houses. "So watch the papers for realty ads-and the sidewalks for thieving roller skaters."
All right. Believe him for the moment. Or else you’ll drive yourself bananas. Besides, you can't let the past dog you forever.
She looked beyond his extended finger, up the mountain. "I want that log place with the balcony. By the cul-de-sac."
"Then see if it's for sale." Lowering his hand, he refocused his attention to the campus. "I'm going to my office. If you're headed to yours, I'll walk you far as the Warren Hall turn."
"Okay." Squaring her shoulders, she stepped off the curb. Todd followed.
A pickup squealed around the corner at Pine Boulevard and roared toward them. Todd pulled Betsy back toward the walk. The truck shot through the intersection. Pulling his pipe from his mouth, he shouted, "There's a speed limit here, Reverend Meierhoff! And a red light."
The wind pushed a puff of exhaust toward Betsy. Dodging it, she hopped over the curb, lips twisting into a smile. Pressing her mouth close to Todd's ear, she whispered, "He's off to the Drovers Arms, so he can save the drunks. On the way, he'll run over the pedestrians."
Todd's laugh bounced off the hardware store wall and brought Mrs. Pfadenrecht to the threshold. Ignoring her, he watched the preacher's vehicle zoom past the spot where Main became Old Pass Road and headed into the country. "Ever have one of his folks lecture you outside Value Video for renting something X-rated?"
The odor of his tweedy jacket made her more comfortable. "No, I told them I had some family classic and kept walking before they found out the truth."
Todd guffawed again. "Well, his church is some radical/fanatical splinter group, a regular holy mackerel tabernacle. Whole congregation probably loopy."
Mrs. Pfadenrecht clomped down the steps in her open-toed black wedgies. Gray serge skirt swishing around her calves, she planted herself in front of Todd. "Stop laughing at him. He's a good man." Pulling a handkerchief out of the pocket of her loose-fitting blouse, she blew her nose. Then she wiped her hands on her apron. "His church is the true church."
Betsy averted her glance. “Gertie, he's a careless busy body. And what I want to watch on my VCR is none of his business.”
Mrs. Pfadenrecht glowered at her and Todd. "We give lots of
money to the university. But we'll stop, if all professors have attitudes like you."
Betsy's stomach went on a fast ride in the down elevator. She spoke quietly. "Okay, Gertie. Okay. We're sorry."
"I hope so." The old woman held her gaze for a moment, and then shook her finger at Todd. "I know a few things about you, Dr. Baker, that I could tell folks. Though I s'pose some of it could be expected." Her voice grated harshly and she hemimphed. "Men do that dirty kind of thing when they're single."
"Go ahead and talk." He shrugged, a grin twisting his face. "I'll
be giving someone else a rest. Count it on my next performance evaluation as community service."
"I'm going to pray for you." Throwing back her head, she marched into the store, reached into the show window, and straightened a sign that read, STOP DEVIL WORSHIP IN LAUREL COUNTY. MEETING AT FIRST CHURCH OF LAMB MAIN AND ASPEN IN MOUNTAIN VIEW AT 7 PM MONDAY EVENING. PASTOR REINHARDT MEIERHOFF PRESIDING PASTOR.
Todd sputtered and cleared his throat. "What a bitch." He clamped his teeth around his pipe again.
Betsy wrinkled her nose against the stench of rubber and paint that wafted out of the shop to mix with the smoke he produced. "We shouldn't have had that conversation here. It'll be trouble."
He dropped an arm across her shoulders and gave her a hug. "Nobody can deny you tenure for having an opinion about Mcierhoff. Or expressing it, for crying out loud."
With a sigh, she pulled away. "Old families like the Pfadenrechts have clout here. I should save my disapproval for when I'm in Laurel Grove, where they don't go."
Todd squinted in the direction Pastor Meierhoff had gone. Beyond Main Avenue, a deep blue patch in the Big Laurels marked the pass to the nearest large city. "You've got to go fifty miles away to be yourself? Get real."
Betsy followed his eyes. With vibrant color, the gap beckoned. Freedom. Then sunlight flashed off the water tower marking the very edge of town, and she looked in that direction. Letters on the cistern read: MOUNTAIN VIEW, PENNSYLVANIA. HomE OF 49 CHURCHES, THE NORTHERN MOUNTAIN STATE UNIVERSITY FERRETS, 11,500 FRIENDLY PEOPLE, AND ONE OR Two OLD GROUCHES.
Prison? No, not really Just a little more public scrutiny than she preferred sometimes. If she took care around the Pfadenrechts and Meierhoffs, she could say and do as she pleased with others. In fact, in the living rooms of friends, the conversation often got ribald, and in restaurants or bars, lively and heated. But only with the right people. "I am real, Todd."
"You're overreacting to Gertie." He stepped into the street. "Come on. I'll walk you to school. You can find out you've got a letter of acceptance from your department, and calm down."
Betsy hesitated, annoyed with herself. Yet, as she watched him lumber across the old-fashioned pavement, she had to chuckle. He moved with a relaxed gait now, reminding her of a puppet on a children's TV-show. She stepped into the gutter, hopped over a pungent pile left by some horse, and caught up with him.
They traversed the intersection and walked through the university's grass.
Squirrels scrambled out of the way, claws tack-tacking on bark. Despite her fears, a small smile played on her lips again. Human lovers could frolic here, as well as animal ones. Wait a minute. She should not be thinking that. Not yet. But she was, and common sense could never stop her.
They reached a spot where sidewalks converged. There, Todd stopped. "Let me know what happens, hear?"
Take his hand? No, wait. She gave his wrist a gentle tap. "See you, maybe at noon at the faculty club." Should she have suggested it?
“Not today." Shading his eyes, he stepped toward the path which led to Warren Hall. "I have to be in Laurel Grove for a meeting."
"Oh." She faced the pavement that serpentined through the middle of campus to the Communication Building. The sun reflected off its pointed roof. Hiding disappointment she wished she didn't feel, she moved until one of its spiky towers blocked the rays.
"But," Todd continued, gently taking her arm, "let's have dinner tonight at the new ski resort in Rockland."
Her heart thudded. Cautiously, she glanced at the hardware store. Gertie had vanished. ‘All right, go for it. "I'd like to," she replied in a low voice. "But what about Susie Kugel?"
"That's done, Betsy." Todd's mouth hardened a little as he bent close to her car. "When a person sets your kitchen on fire because she's too drunk to realize what she's doing, the affair's over."
She had read about the fire. Caused by a candle, the Gazette had reported. They hadn't said Susie had started it, but the Kugels were powerful enough in town to keep that quiet, if they wished. Yet, what about the party where Susie had hung on to Todd? Betsy gave him a long look.
As if he had read her mind he said, "Believe me. It's done. Even if she doesn't think so."
The sincerity in his tone calmed her a little. "Okay, but if she comes bothering us, I'm going to disappear. Cat fights aren't my style.~~
"if I thought they were, I wouldn't hang around you." Unflinching, he met her gaze.
"Then, let's go," she replied, impressed by his expression.
He relaxed and grinned like a schoolboy. "Good. And don't worry about tenure. People appreciate your verve. Let it out."
"Later. Right now I have verbs to let into WMSU's microphones. And then class this afternoon. So I'd better get organized." But she didn't move. The feel of his skin on her palm made her middle quiver. "Maybe it's good I got kicked out of a town or two. I wouldn't have come here and met you."
He smiled into her eyes. "That's a point."
Her tremor got stronger and she let herself enjoy it, though she cast one more cautious glance at the store. "But I should still be careful of people like Gertie. Big donations talk. If she ever made trouble for me, I could be gone before we had a chance to know each other. I don't want that to happen."
He released her. "All right. Neither do 1. Have a good verb-letting." With a wave, he turned for his office.
She started for hers. Halfway there, she paused and squinted over her shoulder to watch his silhouette disappear around the comer of Warren Hall. What's the matter with me? I know better than to bad-mouth Meierhoff in a gossipy place like Mountain View. I'm going to ruin myself, just when I might be on the verge of several chances of a lifetime. Clamping her tongue against her teeth, she hurried up the walkway and into her building.