The Boss Next Door (Harlequin Heartwarming) Read online

  Annoyed at the heat suffusing her neck, Sherry deliberately steadied her coffee cup, took a sip, and transferred her inspection to Aguilar. His suit fit well enough. But of her two opponents, she judged Lock the man to beat in this race.

  “Sherilyn, dear.” A thin voice broke into Sherry’s assessment of her competitors. “I understand you piloted a Conestoga across the prairie this summer. Frankly, I never understood why anyone would wish to reenact the old days. Notice I didn’t call them the good old days. I belong to the historical society for philanthropic reasons. You must come and address our group, dear heart. Lyle Roberts, from the History department is our professional adviser. He said you even had a run-in with an escaped convict and that you beaned the man. If it’d been me, I would have fainted dead away. You must have nerves of steel. Weren’t you frightened at all?”

  Sherry, who’d practically forgotten the incident as she prepared for these interviews, drew a fleeting mental image of those blue, blue eyes. No wonder her heart had flip-flopped a moment ago. Lock’s eyes were similar in intensity and color to the eyes of...that man. The man who’d loomed out of the fog the night she’d fallen behind the other wagons. But eye color was where the similarity ended. Although... She shivered. Both men hailed from Texas.

  Lock exuded city polish. Dallas or Austin would be Sherry’s guess. The bearded ragged stranger claimed to be from Huntsville—home of a maximum security prison. Sherry still suspected he’d been an escapee. Gooseflesh peppered her skin.

  “Sometimes,” she said, wetting a dry bottom lip, “adrenaline drives us to acts of courage. As a rule, I’m not given to violence. Thank goodness I didn’t accidentally kill the man. I wish Lyle would stop talking about it. He’s miffed because a handful of women made mockery of his archaic beliefs. Professor Roberts thinks women belong in the kitchen, not in the workforce.”

  The wife of the board president raised a silver brow. “I’ve been more than happy to let my husband be the breadwinner during our married life.”

  Sherry took a big gulp of coffee. She wouldn’t touch that statement for love or money. Scratch a vote. But then, she’d already decided these women were biased in Lock’s favor. Question—how much influence did they have on their husbands?

  She noticed the chill in the air. Now she was almost sorry she’d left the men.

  “Sherilyn, do you have immediate plans for starting a family?” the wife of the board president asked next.

  “By immaculate conception, you mean?” Sherry murmured, hating herself for giving in to the impulse to make a sharp reply. Relenting somewhat, she offered a thin smile. “You obviously have me confused with my brother. He’s the Professor Campbell who’s getting married in November.”

  Sherry was spared more grilling when Dr. Westerbrook rapped on one of the tables.

  “Delightful as this coffee hour has been,” he boomed, “we’re here for business. If the candidates would step forward and the guests would be seated, we’ll have time for a few informal questions before we take a tour of the campus. I trust the selection team has had a chance to peruse all applications, supplements and curriculum vitae,” he said, employing the academic term for résumé.

  Heads bobbed. Sherry took a deep calming breath and detached herself from the group of women.

  A hush fell over the room as the three finalists set coffee cups aside and made their way to the teak podium that bore the college seal. Or rather, two of the candidates left their cups behind. Sherry realized that Garrett Lock had ditched his saucer and kept his cup. Smart man. It not only made him appear more relaxed than the other two, but he had no worries about what to do with his hands.

  Sherry tried thrusting hers into the pockets of her suit jacket, only to discover that she hadn’t removed the stitching put in at the factory to keep the pockets from sagging. Rats. Why was she so tense? She had the home-court advantage, so to speak. After all, she knew the foibles of the people asking the questions. And their strengths, mocked that little voice. Indeed, they wielded all the power. No wonder her palms were sweating. And poor Dr. Aguilar. If he smoothed his hand through his thinning hair many more times, he’d leave these interviews bald.

  Garrett, who fell in beside Sherry, raised his cup in salute. “Let the roasting begin,” he muttered near her ear.

  She was surprised—and impressed—that he dared to joke. But when his clean citrusy scent engulfed her and his solid shoulder brushed her arm, sending shafts of heat to her icy fingertips, Sherry wished she’d stood elsewhere. She edged a step closer to Dr. Aguilar, determined to ignore Lock’s presence and make a good showing.

  “I have a question.” The board president leaned back in his chair, hooking his thumbs in his vest. “This is for all three candidates, starting with you, Dr. Aguilar. Suppose we asked you to cut twenty percent from the Human Services budget?”

  Aguilar thought a moment. “I, ah, would have to see the budget and study it very carefully before making any determination. I’m a very thorough man.”

  The president rocked back on two chair legs. “Dr. Campbell?”

  Sherry’s heart plummeted. Naturally he’d smirk. They’d gone through this exercise last year. As department chair she’d been very vocal in her opposition to cuts. She was still opposed. Looking him in the eye, she said, “Enrollment is up. Operating costs, too. We have a staff member on sabbatical and one on paid leave. Cutting anywhere would be disastrous.” There, let Lock try to top her knowledge of the operation.

  All eyes in the room shifted to him. He gestured with his cup and said in a maddeningly slow drawl, “Well, y’all, I’ve never seen a budget that didn’t hide some pork. If you say cut, I’d trim the fat. It’s as simple as that.”

  Sherry’s response to the undercurrent of approval manifested itself in the form of a keen desire to kick Garrett Lock right in his skinny behind. Trim the fat, indeed! She was so royally ticked off she almost missed the next question. For fifteen minutes thereafter, the candidates fielded rapid-fire questions. Just when she thought they were winding down, she was blindsided by a challenge aimed strictly at her.

  “Professor Campbell,” demanded the dean of Science, “as current department chair, do you feel you’d be able to work effectively with either of the other two candidates should they be awarded the position?”

  “I—I—I...” she stammered. Clearly it was a question intended to undermine her candidacy. One that took a potshot at women by intimating they were too “emotional” to accept defeat. Anger bubbled, yet Sherry sensed it was crucial that she give calm, rational answers.

  Surprisingly, help came from Garrett Lock.

  “Excuse me, but isn’t that question somewhat premature? I don’t know about Dr. Aguilar, but I’m not sure I’m ready to hear Dr. Campbell’s perception of my shortcomings. What if her opinions adversely influence the team’s decision?”

  Dr. Westerbrook stood and faced the man who’d posed the question. “Dr. Lock is absolutely right, Byron. At this stage in the process, interrogation must remain equally applicable to all candidates. Now, I think we’ve kept them on the hot seat long enough for one session. Shall we begin our campus tour?”

  Everyone rose dutifully and shuffled toward the doors. Glancing at Byron Imes, Sherry could tell he hadn’t liked being publicly chastised. From his scowl, she’d say his vote would, out of spite, go to Eli Aguilar. So far, it appeared she trailed miserably in the overall tally.

  Still, it was decent of Lock to stick his neck out—unless he’d done it because he wanted to come off looking the hero. Sherry didn’t want to be beholden to him for any reason. Needing to make that clear, she pulled him aside. “If that show was intended to prove your Southern chivalry, then you’ve made your point. Don’t mistake me for Little Red Riding Hood. I can take care of myself with the worst of the big bad wolves. So back off.”

  Garrett’s eyes narrowed as he wat
ched her stalk away. That walk... He suddenly saw the swing of squared shoulders and a slim form disappearing through wisps of fog. He squinted, trying desperately to hang on to the vision as Professor Campbell melted into the crowd. It wasn’t just her walk that reminded him of the spitfire who’d bopped him over the head this past summer. The memory floated in and out.

  While panning for gold alone in a remote corner of Kansas, he’d stumbled across an apparition right out of a history book—a covered wagon. It was apparently being driven by two women. The night hadn’t been fit for man nor beast, and he’d offered to help the women, who’d seemed lost and rather desperate. One, without provocation, attacked him with a stick of firewood. Then Nolan Campbell showed up—an affable guy, a historian writing a paper on how modern women handled trekking the Santa Fe Trail. The whole incident was so bizarre that after returning home, he almost believed he’d dreamed it. Except for the lump above his left ear that served to remind him.

  The woman who’d hit him had had a mane of lush dark hair spilling over her shoulders. That was fact. Shaking his head to clear it, Garrett was jolted back to the present as two of the regents’ wives flanked him, smothering him in a cloud of opposing perfumes.

  “Mustn’t dawdle, Doctor. If you’re going to win, you’ll need to strip off those kid gloves and climb into the ring.”

  Garrett recognized Maxine March, wife of the board president. She clucked over him as if he were a prize at a silent auction. As if she saw in him an eligible bachelor to hook up with a friend’s single daughter. He knew that look from Huntsville. Campus communities were alike in many respects. He needed to let the matchmakers know that he and Keith did okay as bachelors. His son went to school clean and well fed. As for a divorced dad’s other needs, Garrett had learned to live with celibacy. Long periods of celibacy. He told himself it built character.

  He wasn’t looking for wife number two, and he had no intention of owing these women favors of any kind. Yet as he opened his mouth to set them straight, Garrett remembered why he’d tossed his hat into the ring.

  Carla. Keith.

  There wasn’t another suitable opening on a campus within a hundred-mile radius. Tempted as he was to chuck it all, he knew he couldn’t. He was stuck with this sideshow—because he intended to walk away with this job.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE TOUR SEEMED to lift everyone’s spirits. Brick buildings warmed by afternoon sun dotted a campus scattered with trees dressed in crimson fall foliage. Flowering shrubs lined interwoven walkways, scenting the air with a pleasant fragrance.

  Sherry never tired of the ever-changing seasons here. She counted herself lucky to teach in such a stimulating atmosphere. In springtime the grass greened and the trees budded with new leaves. Rain washed everything clean. Summer heat brought a quiet period, lazy and relaxed, while autumn reinvigorated everyone with its briskness and beauty. Then winter winds blew in from the north, dropping a soft blanket of snow that students loved, and faculty and staff grumbled about good-naturedly.

  Three generations of Campbells had received their higher education at Wellmont College, now in its seventieth year. All had proudly worn the burgundy caps and gowns on graduation day. At times Sherry stood at her office window and dreamed of seeing her own children among the students scurrying between classes. She’d never breathed that fantasy to a soul. Her yearning for babies contradicted how she felt about love, about marriage. Yvette, now, fell in and out of love on a regular basis. She attracted drop-dead gorgeous guys the way flowers attracted bees. And discarded them as ruthlessly as a bee sucked a flower dry. That never used to bother Sherry. Lately it did. She and Yvette were growing in different directions and that saddened Sherry. She supposed they should terminate their present arrangement as housemates before their friendship, which had spanned three decades, deteriorated beyond repair.

  Ahead, administrators and board members trudged up the steps and into the counseling center where the departments of Women’s Studies and Collaborative Programs shared space. Sherry had an office there, as did the dean of Human Services.

  Sherry wondered what her opponents thought of the campus thus far. Maybe they wouldn’t like it. It certainly didn’t compare in size to the sprawling California institution where Aguilar worked. She hadn’t caught the name of Lock’s school, but she’d heard Texans were possessive about their particular portion of the vast state. So why was he hoping to move? Advancement, she thought glumly. He was already an assistant dean, and on paper at least, seemed the most experienced of the three.

  She looked for the two men to see if their faces gave away their feelings. A casual glance over her shoulder had her sucking in her breath. Lock stood so close that when he exhaled, her skin absorbed his breath. His eyes, fathomless blue, reflected the ivy-covered brickwork. He’d stopped to read the words carved into the ledge circling the six-floor building. “‘You must do the thing you think you cannot do,’” he read aloud. “Good advice,” he said as if in response to Sherry’s scrutiny. “A quote from Eleanor Roosevelt, isn’t it?”

  “Why, yes.” The fact that he knew surprised Sherry. The quote was repeated on all four sides of the building, but Mrs. Roosevelt’s name had only been carved on the south side when this building was added in the early 1940s. He couldn’t have seen it from where they stood.

  By now most of the entourage had disappeared, leaving them alone. Garrett laughed in the face of her amazement. “What can’t you believe, Dr. Campbell? That I recognize the quote or that I deem it good advice?”

  “Both, I guess,” Sherry said honestly.

  Bracketing his hips in a very male stance, Garrett shook his head. “Is that an opinion you formed because I’m a man or because I’m from Texas?”

  Set to give a terse comeback, Sherry found herself responding favorably to the deep grooves creasing his tanned cheeks. Annoyed by that, she linked her hands loosely over her stomach and pretended to study a crack in the cement. “My remark did sound sexist. I’m really not—no matter what you may hear.” Her head came up and Sherry stared straight into his eyes. Why it was important to make herself clear, she couldn’t say. Maybe because of what Yvette had said concerning remarks floating from campus into the community.

  A small frown gathered between Garrett’s straight brows.

  Sherry was very glad when someone hollered for them to hurry. Lock was puzzling over her statement far too long. She didn’t want to be forced to explain. He probably hadn’t heard the rumors. Lies. Sherry didn’t hate men. She got tired of playing second fiddle to them on this campus. Perhaps it wasn’t true of all colleges, but here men got the best jobs. They were promoted faster and held most of the top positions.

  Sherry was quick to respond to the summons, leaving Garrett behind. Or so she thought. She hadn’t heard his tread and she gave a start when a masculine hand reached around her toward the door. For a second she gaped at the strong wrist and the long fingers gripping the knob. A thin gold watch lay in a dusting of light bronzed hair, gleaming below his starched French cuff. Nice hands. But then, she’d thought that earlier. With a jolt, Sherry discovered that he was staring at her quizzically. Of course. She needed to step aside and give him room to open the door.

  “Excuse me,” she mumbled, backing up and right into him. Her heel landed squarely on his foot and she felt him wince.

  “Well, that’s one way to eliminate the competition,” he said pleasantly, a deep dimple winking briefly in his left cheek.

  “Sorry. I didn’t realize you were so close.”

  Dr. Westerbrook threw open the door, startling them both. “There you two are. We’re waiting for Sherry. As department chair, she’d ordinarily give the grand tour. To avoid any perception of bias, I thought we’d ask the department secretary to fill in. What’s her name?” he muttered behind his hand. “I should know.”

  “Angel,” Sherry said. “Angel Baby W
ebster is her legal name. But I wouldn’t advise using it,” she said with a teasing grin.

  Westerbrook grimaced. “Now I remember. She’s rather, uh, flamboyant. Maybe you’d better do the honors, after all. You know how conservative the board is.”

  “Angel should talk to them. We hired her after she completed our program,” she said for Garrett’s benefit as they walked toward the waiting group. “Angel is the epitome of what we’re about. The first time I saw her as a referral from the battered-women’s shelter, she had a black eye, swollen lip and two broken ribs. The father of her six-month-old boy had thrown her down the stairs because the baby was sick and she couldn’t keep him from crying. She has two older kids from a previous bad marriage. Our program offered her an alternative to living on the streets—or in prison. When the police arrived at her door, she was one step from carving up the boyfriend because he’d started to slap her kids around.” There was more to tell, but Sherry felt a collective uncomfortable shifting of the VIPs.

  Wishing she’d kept Angel’s story to herself, Sherry elbowed her way to where the secretary sat. She quickly introduced the petite young woman, then said, “Angel, please explain how we operate. I’ve told them you’re an expert on our work-study program.” Sherry gave her arm a supportive squeeze, then stepped back.

  Westerbrook sidled up to Sherry and whispered, “You’ve accomplished miracles. The dean brought me through the department right after you hired her. She looked like a...a vagrant.”

  “Many of our students arrive at the shelters with nothing. Did the dean tell you he opposed hiring her? Job placement is the final phase in whole-life training. Education isn’t much good unless it puts food on the table and a roof over one’s head. I hope no one considers it fat that needs trimming from our already meager budget,” she said, looking pointedly at Garrett Lock.

  The president coughed by way of response. Sherry was disappointed but not surprised. The old guard believed that degree in hand was the primary if not the only duty of this institution. They opposed funding anything that might be misconstrued as vocational training. Westerbrook and his henchmen would graduate ten thousand poly-sci majors, never mind that only one in a thousand would find work in that field.