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“Why not?” Joe asked, confusion evident on his face.
“Because you’re making me nervous by sitting there.”
“Why? A chair, is a chair, is a chair.”
“Shoo,” Polly said, flapping her hands at him. “Go somewhere else.”
Joe planted his hands on his thighs and pushed himself to his feet.
“Yes, ma‘am,” he said. “Whatever you say, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” Polly said, then turned back to the microphone.
Joe sat down again in his chair.
“Good morning,” Polly said, sweeping her gaze over the students. “I’m Polly Chapman and I’d like to thank you for inviting me here.”
Ho-ho, Joe thought. No wonder Polly was all in a flutter about his having taken up residency in her chair. The pretty lady had executed a perusal of his butt, and figured he’d do the same to her.
How right she was.
And what a nice, feminine bottom Ms. Chapman had.
An instant later Joe frowned as he felt that heat again, that damnable heat, coiling deep and low within him.
This was ridiculous, he thought, with self-disgust. His body was reacting to Polly Chapman the way one of his students with a hormone rush might.
He wasn’t a randy seventeen-year-old, for Pete’s sake. He was a mature, in control, thirty-three-year-old man. The absurd effect Polly was having on him was becoming very, very tiresome.
So, quit staring at the woman’s delectable rear end, Joe ordered himself.
He shifted his gaze to the back of Polly’s head and immediately wondered what those silky-appearing, blond curls would feel like sliding through his fingers.
That’s it, he thought, getting to his feet. He’d definitely had enough of sitting in this chair.
Joe moved to the end of the table and crossed his arms over his chest. Polly looked at him questioningly.
“Carry on,” he said. “Ignore me.”
Oh, right, she thought dryly. About the last thing a woman would be able to do in regard to Mr. Masculinity Personified Dillon was to ignore him. He was so male and so incredibly there.
“Yes, well,” Polly said, directing her attention to the students again, “ever since I was a little girl I wanted to be a veterinarian. I was always toting home dogs, cats, birds, frogs, anything and everything that I was convinced needed my tender loving care.
“That dream for my future career didn’t dim as I grew older, but I had to face reality. The amount of money it would take to become a vet was far beyond my reach. Even with the numerous resources available for student loans, my dream was not obtainable.”
Joe swept his gaze over the students, seeing their rapt attention, hearing the total silence as five hundred pairs of eyes remained riveted on Polly.
She had them, he thought. These kids knew, they understood, about dreams that would never come true. Keep talking, Polly. They’re listening to every word you’re saying.
“To my utmost joy,” Polly continued, “I discovered a program of study at the University of Arizona that would enable me to become a veterinary technician in half the time and less than half the cost of the veterinary medicine program.
“So, I looked at the bright side, saw a way to be included in the career arena I’d dreamed about, even if it wasn’t in the capacity I had initially hoped for. For several years now I’ve been employed by Dr. Robert and Dr. Nancy Dogwood, a husband-and-wife veterinarian team who have an office on the northwest side of town.”
“So what do they let you do, Bird Lady?” someone yelled. “Poop scoop after the dogs and cats have been there?”
Polly laughed. “Sometimes. But I’m capable of giving examinations, inoculations, doing follow-up treatment of animals who have had surgery—and the list goes on. It’s very rewarding, very fulfilling.”
“That’s cool,” a girl said. “So, what’s with the bird?”
“This is Jazzy,” Polly said. “In addition to their regular practice, the Dogwoods also offer a boarding service for pets. I thought it might be fun to bring Jazzy with me today. His owners are in Europe for six months.”
“Oh, ain’t that a shame?” a boy quipped.
Be careful, Polly, Joe mentally directed. Don’t cross over the line into a world where these kids will never go. Don’t lose them now.
Polly flipped open the door of the cage and Jazzy hopped out onto the table.
“Jazzy is a macaw,” Polly said. “Some of you heard him speak earlier. He has an uncanny knack of saying things that fit the moment, making a person believe, at times, that he’s carrying on a conversation. That, of course, is impossible. Anyway, I took extra classes in the care of exotic birds after the Dogwoods hired me, because they board an amazing number of them during the year.”
“Give me a kiss, hot stuff,” Jazzy squawked.
“How much does one of those fancy birds cost?” a girl asked.
Uh-oh, Joe thought.
“Jazzy comes from a long line of champion macaws,” Polly said pleasantly. “He’s worth...”
Don’t say it, Polly, Joe silently begged. Tell them you have no idea what the stupid bird is valued at.
“...I’d say,” Polly said, “probably several thousands of dollars.”
Oh, hell, Joe thought.
Polly blinked in surprise as the students erupted in boos, whistles and thumbs-down gestures.
What was going on? she thought frantically. The students had been listening to her; she knew they had. They’d been sincerely interested in what she had been saying. What had suddenly gone wrong?
Joe stepped in front of the table and raised his hands.
“Quiet down,” he shouted. “Knock it off. I understand where you’re coming from, but there’s no excuse for being rude.”
Well, she was glad Joe understood where the now angry and obviously upset students were “coming from,” Polly thought, wrapping her hands around her elbows in a protective gesture. She didn’t have a clue.
“You’re pushing me,” Joe hollered. “Knock...it... off.”
Then Polly watched in wide-eyed horror as Jazzy waddled to the edge of the front of the table, ruffled his feathers, then proceeded to bite Joe Dillon on the right side of his oh-so-gorgeous tush!
Two
It was bedlam.
Joe roared as the message of a sudden, sharp pain reached his brain, then he spun around, fury very evident on his face. Jazzy made a beeline for the cage and hustled inside. Polly quickly shut and locked the door.
The students went wild; laughing, hooting, pointing at Joe in obvious delight at what had transpired. The pounding of feet on the bleachers began again and three cheers of hip, hip, hooray were executed in Jazzy’s honor.
I want to go home, Polly thought frantically.
Mark Jackson left his chair and came to the table.
“I’ll take over,” he told Joe. “You’d better exit stage left with Ms. Chapman and the felon.” He grinned. “Do you need to see a doctor about your wound?”
“No,” Joe said, his jaw tight. “I need to find a recipe for barbecued macaw.”
“That’s not fair,” Polly said. “Jazzy was upset by the noise and acted out of character. He has never bitten anyone before. He was shook-up and your...your posterior was right in front of him and...”
“Save it,” Joe said gruffly.
He snatched up the cage, then came around the table to grip Polly’s upper arm.
“We’re outta here,” he said.
“Bye, Bird Lady,” a chorus of students sang out. “Bye, Jazzy.”
Polly smiled and waggled the fingers of her free hand in farewell. In the next instant she was nearly lifted off her feet as Joe began to haul her toward the side entrance to the building. Mark Jackson stepped up to the microphone.
“Okay, we’ve had some fun,” the principal said, “but it’s time to get serious. Quiet down. Our next speaker is...”
Before Polly knew the identity of the next speaker, she was propelled outside, the door clanging shut behind her, Jazzy and Joe. Joe set the cage on the ground, then rubbed the area of his anatomy that had been attacked.
“Damn it, that really hurt,” he said, glowering at Polly. “Not only that, but your stupid bird made me look like a fool in front of the students.”
“It wasn’t Jazzy’s fault.” Polly poked her nose in the air and folded her arms beneath her breasts. “He was frightened. I mean, heavens, so was I. One minute I was giving my nifty little speech and the next thing I knew the students went berserk. What did I do wrong?”
Joe sighed and picked up the cage.
“Come on, Polly,” he said. “I’ll walk you to your car. I purposely invited men to be the speakers today. I know there’s limited parking around the school, and it wasn’t my intention to have a woman wandering alone in this section of town.”
Polly laughed. “No one would dare bother me. I have an attack bird for protection.” She glanced up at Joe’s stormy expression. “Sorry. I was just trying to lighten the mood here. Look at the bright side, Joe. Jazzy could have clamped on to your...your person and refused to let go. Now that would have been very embarrassing.” She nodded decisively.
“Your car, Polly?” Joe said, no hint of a smile on his face.
Polly moved around him. “Okay, fine. It’s two blocks away.”
Joe fell in step beside Polly as they left the school grounds. Jazzy was blessedly silent.
“Well?” Polly asked finally, after they’d gone a half a block without speaking. “Are you going to tell me what giant mistake I made during my speech?”
“You don’t have even the slightest clue, do you?” Joe glared at Polly, then shook his head. “You just don’t get it.”
“Obviously not.”
“Look, you started out just fine, really great, in fact. You hit those kids where they live with your story of having a dream, but realizing you didn’t have the financial resources to achieve it. You definitely had their interest and full attention.”
“Hooray for me,” Polly said dryly. “It sure didn’t last long.”
“You were stopped short of your goal, your dream,” Joe continued, “but found a way to be connected to the field you wanted to be in. Then? Hell, you blew it.”
“What did I do?” Polly said, nearly yelling.
“Jazzy’s owners are in Europe for six months? This stupid bird cost thousands of dollars? Come on, Polly, get real.”
“What I said was true.”
“And that’s the problem. Don’t you see?” Joe said, none too quietly. “In the eyes of those kids you sold out. You struggled, you settled for less than you originally dreamed of, then you ran, did not walk, into the world of the idle rich.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Polly said. “The Dogwoods offered me a job and I took it. That’s what most people do when they need to pay the rent and buy food. What difference does it make where I’m employed to enable me to use the skills I worked so hard to obtain?”
“It makes a very big difference, Ms. Chapman. You could be with an open veterinary clinic in a low-income neighborhood. Or the Humane Society. Or be the veterinary technician for one of those organizations that finds families for homeless animals.
“But, oh, no, not you. You’re baby-sitting idiot birds that cost more than some of those kids’ parents make in six months. You copped out on your roots, on who you are, and those students knew it.”
“Call the cops,” Jazzy said. “Call the cops.”
Polly stopped walking, causing Joe to halt his step. She looked up at him, her blue eyes flashing with anger.
“Wait just a minute here,” she said. “You agree with those kids, don’t you? You’re expressing your own views about me, as well as theirs. Right? Isn’t that right, Joe? You’re standing in judgment of me, just like those students did.”
“Damn straight I am. You were in a position to give something back to the world you came from. Instead? You’re hobnobbing with the rich and famous, who go to Europe for six months and think spending thousands of dollars on a bird is chump change. Yeah, I agree with the students of Abraham Lincoln High School. You sold out, Polly Chapman.”
“And you’re certifiably insane, Joe Dillon.”
Polly spun around and started off again. Joe strode after her.
“Totally nuts, that’s what you are,” Polly raged on. “Oh-h-h, you’re infuriating. How dare you pass judgment on me? You’ve got a lot of nerve, do you know that? I work very hard for my paycheck and... No, forget it. I’m not justifying myself and my existence to you. You don’t know the first thing about me.”
“I know every word you said in your crummy speech, lady.”
“Well, excuse me to hell and back for making a living, Mr. Dillon, for keeping a roof over my head and food on my table.”
“Hell, I can’t get through to you, make you understand. I’m wasting my breath.”
“Oh, yes, do save your breath. I’m sure it takes an extra dose to be so full of hot air.” Polly executed an indignant little sniff. “You talk the talk, but do you walk the walk?”
“Meaning?”
“Does the lack of a wedding ring on your hand indicate that you’re single?”
“Yes.”
“So, you’re a single man, who has probably been teaching for a dozen years, or more. I imagine that adds up to what would be considered a sizable salary in this particular neighborhood.
“You arrive at Abraham Lincoln high every morning with your holier-than-thou attitude. But at day’s end? What part of town do you drive home to, Joe? What cushy, comfortable section of Tucson do you live in?”
Polly stomped off the curb and around to the driver’s side of her van, pulling her keys from her pocket as she went
“Well, that question is easy enough to answer,” Joe said, coming up behind her.
Polly unlocked the door. “Do tell.”
“What a convenient coincidence. You’re parked in front of the house I rent. This is the cushy part of Tucson where I reside, Ms. Chapman. I talk the talk and, by damn, I walk the walk.”
Polly opened her mouth with every intention of telling Joe that his sense of humor left a lot to be desired. She snapped her mouth closed again in the next instant, as the thought struck her that maybe he wasn’t kidding about her being parked in front of his house.
She moved to the left to enable her to see the structure in question clearly, her eyes widening.
The house was a small wood frame with several different-colored shingles on the roof. It was obviously old, but appeared well cared for. It was painted beige with dark brown trim, had a narrow porch that held two lawn chairs, and the minuscule front yard was covered in dark brown-colored gravel.
It was, without a doubt, Polly decided, the most tended-to looking house on the block, but that still didn’t mean it was where Joe Dillon lived. It just didn’t make one iota of sense for a man with his income to live in this high-crime part of town.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” Joe said.
“I’m thinking it over,” Polly said, still staring at the house. “I simply can’t get a grip on why you would choose to live...well, in the ghetto if you don’t have to.”
She looked at Joe, a puzzled expression on her face.
“The career day you organized at the school,” she continued, “is proof that you want your students to have hopes and dreams of a better life. You were attempting to show them that there are ways to get out of this environment. Why, Joe? Why would you intentionally remain here if you aren’t forced to?”
Polly shifted her gaze back to the house. “No, I’m not certain I believe that you live here. There’s no rhyme or reason for it.”
“Come on,” Joe said. “I’ll prove it to you.”
“Don’t you have classes to teach?”
“The career day assembly will last all morning. I’ll be back at the school in time for my next scheduled class. Are you coming?”
“Why not?” Polly said, throwing up her hands. “So far my day has been totally bizarre. What’s one more layer on the cake?”
“Cake and ice cream,” Jazzy said, “and a bottle of beer.”
“That’s a gross combination, Jazzy,” Polly said.
“Polly want a cracker?” the bird said.
“Oh, hush,” she said.
“I suppose I’d better hold on to this cage and not put it in the van,” Joe said. “After all, this mound of feathers is worth thousands of dollars.”
“Don’t start that again,” Polly said, frowning. “I’m not the one who determined the monetary worth of champion-line macaws.”
“No, you’re just the one who baby-sits them while the owners are in Europe for six months.” Joe moved past her and started toward the house. “What a terrific contribution to society you make, Ms. Chapman.”
Polly sighed and followed Joe up the cracked, cement sidewalk leading to the little house.
On the porch, Joe raised one eyebrow and cocked his head toward the black metal mailbox mounted next to the door. The name Dillon was spelled out on the front of the mailbox in white, stick-on letters. He removed some keys from his pocket.
“All right,” Polly said. “That’s enough. I believe that you live here. I can’t fathom why you do, but I’ll concede that this is your house.”
“Don’t you want a tour of the mansion?”
“I’m not in the habit of entering the homes of strange men I don’t even know,” she said, with a little sniff. “And you, sir, are very strange.”
Joe chuckled despite his determination not to. A funny shiver Buttered down Polly’s spine at the sound of the deep, masculine rumble. The smile that had touched Joe’s lips disappeared in the next second.
“Like I said, you just don’t get it,” he said. “How can I relate to my students, really understand them, if I don’t live in the reality of their world?”
He narrowed his eyes as he looked directly at Polly.
“You?” he said. “You function in a sphere of wealth, cater to the rich, who indulge themselves in such nonsense as expensive birds for pets.
“You rose above what were obviously humble beginnings, then turned your back on your reality, instead of giving something back. Am I even close to getting through to you, Polly?”
“You’re coming across loud and clear,” she said. “You’re a judgmental, narrow-minded man, with a mind-set that isn’t open for any kind of discussion. You pass censure on people you don’t even know, having no clue as to their personal circumstances.”
“I...”
“Guess what, Joe Dillon? I don’t like you. You might be the most blatantly sexy man I’ve ever met, but big macho deal. Give me the bird, Joe.”
“What?” Joe said, with a burst of laughter.
“You know what I mean,” Polly said, snatching the heavy cage from Joe’s hand. “I’m leaving. Now. I suppose I should be polite and say it was a pleasure to meet you, but it wasn’t. This entire experience has been grim. Goodbye, Mr. Dillon.”
Joe frowned as Polly left the porch and started down the sidewalk, heading for the van.
“Polly, wait,” he said.
“No!”
Joe watched as Polly maneuvered the van carefully out of the tight parking space. He had a smile and a wave ready to execute if Polly should glance back in his direction.
But she didn’t.
And within minutes she had chugged out of his view in the rattling vehicle.
With a sigh and a shake of his head, Joe sank onto one of the lawn chairs and dragged both hands down his face.
Lord, he was jerk, he thought, in self-disgust. Yes, he believed in what he was doing by living in the ghetto so as to better understand the students he taught who existed in this environment. He’d called this little frame house his home for nearly ten years.
But he’d hammered his convictions at Polly, had jumped all over her like a fanatic who gave no quarter to anyone’s opinion that didn’t match his own.
He’d been a totally obnoxious, overbearing, narrow-minded jerk.
Joe rested his elbows on his knees, laced his fingers loosely together and stared into space.
He knew why he’d behaved the way he had toward Polly Chapman. She’d picked up the price tag for the previous evening spent at his parents’ house. The hours with his folks had been worse than usual, and he’d arrived home wired, angry, unable to sleep for more than snatches at a time during the long night.
So what did he do? He slam-dunked the first person who crossed his path who even hinted at embracing the world of money. Damn.
Polly had not deserved the way he had treated her. So, okay, he believed she had sold out, was catering to the idle rich when she was in a position to give something back to the world she had come from.
But Polly had been right when she’d accused him of passing judgment on her without knowing her personal circumstances. He’d never done that to anyone before and he definitely felt like the scum of the earth for doing it to Polly.
With a muttered expletive, Joe planted his hands on his thighs and pushed himself to his feet.
He had to apologize to Polly, he thought, stepping off the porch. He still believed in what he’d said, but that didn’t excuse the way he’d said it. It was a conditional apology, he supposed, but one that definitely needed to be extended.
“What a lousy day,” he said aloud, as he began his trek back to the school. “Polly want a cracker? No, Polly Chapman would probably like to punch me right in the nose.”
Polly was so furious that she was halfway back to the office before she realized it. She blinked, telling herself to pay attention to the surging traffic, then sighed as a wave of fatigue swept over her.
She wasn’t accustomed to engaging in confrontations like the one she’d had with Joe Dillon. It had left her emotionally drained, so exhausted she could weep.
She had to forget it, push the disturbing memories from her mind, along with the lingering images of Joe. The entire morning and the people involved in it were going to be erased from her brain.
Somehow.
“Give me the bird, Joe,” Jazzy squawked. “Joe. Joe. Give me the bird.”
“Oh, great, just dandy,” Polly said, shooting a glare at the macaw. “Shut up, Jazzy.”
“Shut up, Jazzy. Give me the bird, Joe.”
Polly mumbled a very unladylike word and forced herself to concentrate on her driving.
Doctors Nancy and Robert Dogwood were an attractive, friendly couple in their early forties. They’d chosen not to have children, stating that their maternal and paternal instincts were lavished on the animals they cared for. They were both standing by the receptionist’s desk when Polly entered the office.
“There they are,” Robert said, smiling. “Our ambassadors to Abraham Lincoln High School. How did it go, Polly?”
Polly hoisted the heavy cage up onto the counter.
“Give me the bird, Joe,” Jazzy squawked.
“I beg your pardon?” Nancy said, laughing. “That’s a new one. I hope he forgets it before his owners return. So, Polly? Who’s Joe?”
“It must be Joe Dillon,” Robert said, “the teacher who called to ask if I’d speak at the career day assembly. You don’t look too happy, Polly. Did something go wrong at the school?”
“Everything went wrong,” Polly said miserably. She plunked her elbows on the counter and rested her chin in her hands. “Students in that part of town get a tad hostile when you tell them a bird costs thousands of dollars and its owners are gallivanting around Europe.”
“Whew,” Robert said. “I never thought of that. I’m sure I would have rattled off the same information if I had given the speech.”
“Yes, well, Joe Dillon seemed to think I should have known better than to divulge that data. He was not pleased with me. Then to add spice to the soup, Jazzy bit Joe on the tush in front of all the students.”
“Oh, good heavens,” Nancy said, laughing. “You poor dear. What an awful morning you’ve had.”
Polly nodded, mentally cataloging the things she couldn’t, wouldn’t, share with her employers, who were also her friends.
To relate how Joe Dillon had accused her of selling out by working for the Dogwoods was a direct, negative reflection on the doctors themselves. That they definitely didn’t need to hear.
And she certainly wasn’t confessing to the strange, sensual reaction she’d had to Joe Dillon, nor the fact that there was still a lingering heat simmering within her that had been caused by Joe’s touch.