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She’s haunted by the sexual past she never had!
Taylor leaned toward Dylan, the intensity of her gaze making his temperature edge up a few degrees. “Do you really want to make it up to me?”
He swallowed. “Of course.”
She angled closer, her knees brushing his. “I’ve decided I’ve let those rumors haunt me for too long. I’m ready to get them out of my system for good.”
“How are you going to do that?”
She took his other hand and rested them both in her lap. “That’s where you come in.” She traced the lines of his palm with one red-painted fingernail, sending a lightning bolt of sensation straight to his groin.
“I want to revisit the past, so to speak, and turn those hot rumors into truth.”
He blinked, trying to pull his thoughts away from sex, to the discussion at hand. “I don’t understand. You can’t go back in time.”
“Not physically.” She continued to stroke his palm, so that he ached to reach out and pull her to him. “I want to take all those wild stories and re-create them today.”
He’d never wanted anything more. Had wanted it ten years ago, but hadn’t had the courage to admit it. “If you’re sure…”
Dear Reader,
Not many of us would want to live through high school again. But what if we could go back to one moment and correct a mistake we made? What if we had a chance to get things right this time?
That was the idea that sparked Taylor and Dylan’s story for me. And then I remembered the diary I kept in school. Mine was filled with mundane teenage ramblings (oh, the angst!). But Taylor’s diary, on the other hand, is definitely more interesting, filled with the sexy escapades people thought she and Dylan were having, things Taylor wished had been true.
I hope you’ll enjoy reading about two people who get a second chance with each other. I love to hear from readers. E-mail me at Cindi@CindiMyers.com. And be sure to visit my Web site at www.CindiMyers.com to see what’s coming up from me.
Happy reading,
Cindi Myers
www.millsandboon.co.uk
This book is dedicated to the Conroe High School Class of 1979.
Go Tigers!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
1
SOMETIMES THE PAST sneaks up and bites you in the butt. You think you’re doing great, planning for the future and then up pops a ghost from your personal history to prove you wrong.
“I hear Dylan Gates is moving back to town.”
Alyson Michaels, who taught physical education as if it were merely an extension of her long career as a Cedar Creek Cyclone cheerleader, dropped this bomb as she stood with Taylor Reed and several other teachers on the bus ramp in front of the high school one bright September morning.
For half a second Taylor stopped breathing. She hadn’t thought of Dylan Gates in a long time, but the memory of him was enough to bring a hot flush to the back of her neck, even after ten years. She swallowed hard and stared out at the lines of students who slouched up the steps of Cedar Creek Senior High with all the enthusiasm of cattle being led to slaughter. Ah, the joys of high school. How ironic that after enduring her own personal high school hell, Taylor had ended up coming back here to teach. Guess she was just a glutton for punishment.
“It’ll be great to see Dylan.” Fellow English teacher Grady Murphy sidled closer. “Last I heard, he was out in California.”
“He was, but he’s moving back to Cedar Creek to open a law practice,” Alyson said.
Dylan, moving here? Taylor’s stomach flip-flopped. “How do you know that?” she asked.
Alyson bounced on her toes like a hyperactive poodle. As usual, she was dressed in a too tight golf shirt, white shorts and tennis shoes with white anklets. She carried the bus duty roster on a clipboard and her blond hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. In her more vindictive moments, Taylor wondered if Alyson’s whole face would collapse if that ponytail was undone. “Troy Sommers, the real estate agent, is a friend of mine. He said Dylan e-mailed him last week about renting space downtown, across from the courthouse. And he told Troy he intended to move back into his parents’ old place.”
“Who’s Dylan Gates?” Mindy Lewis, freshman algebra teacher and Taylor’s best friend, joined them.
“Before your time, child.” Grady grinned at their younger colleague. “Alyson, Taylor, Dylan and I were all at school together, right here at good old Cedar Creek High.” He laughed. “Those were the days!”
“Yeah, right,” Taylor mumbled. Days of sheer torture as far as she was concerned. Even Dylan…
“Speaking of our high school days, are you going to the reunion Saturday?” Alyson asked.
“Why do I need to go to the reunion when half our class is still here?” Taylor said the words only half jokingly.
“I’m on the reunion committee and I noticed you hadn’t sent in your R.S.V.P.” Alyson frowned at Taylor. “I can’t believe you’d think of missing our ten-year reunion. Everyone will be there.”
“I won’t,” Mindy said. “Of course, I’ve got years to go before my reunion.”
Alyson ignored the dig from her younger colleague and pointed a pencil at Taylor. “You don’t want to miss out on this reunion. Trust me.”
Taylor shrugged. “I guess I’m not very big on reliving old times.” In fact, she’d just as soon forget her short career as a student at Cedar Creek High.
“It’ll be your last chance to see everyone before you head off to London or wherever it is,” Grady said.
“Oxford.” In January, Taylor would start a graduate fellowship at the hallowed university, far away from Cedar Creek, Texas, and reminders of the past.
“Dylan will be there.” Alyson studied Taylor through lowered lashes. “Maybe you two can pick up where you left off, for old times’ sake.”
“That’s right—you and Dylan were quite an item senior year, weren’t you?” Grady mused. “Is it true Coach Nelson caught the two of you in the boys’ showers?”
For once Taylor was grateful for the shrill bell that announced the start of classes. Nodding goodbye to Alyson and Grady, she maneuvered past groups of students and headed toward her second-floor English classroom. Only four more months to endure Alyson’s and Grady’s snide comments and suggestive winks. Four months until she started life over in a place where no one had ever heard of her allegedly torrid past.
Mindy caught up to her. “What was all that about? Who’s Dylan Gates?”
Taylor shrugged. “A guy I was friends with in high school.”
“Friends? As in boyfriend-girlfriend?”
“No, it wasn’t like that.” Not that Taylor hadn’t dreamed about the possibility. “There were some rumors about us, but they weren’t true.”
“Alyson and Grady apparently think they were.” Mindy wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Of course, those two are still stuck in high school. I mean, look at them. Alyson still thinks she’s the popular cheerleader and Grady is the dumb jock panting after her. It’s pathetic, really, when people can’t move on with their lives.”
“Yeah, pathetic,” Taylor echoed. But were they any worse than a twenty-eight-year-old woman who let high school teasing still get to her?
“Good morning, Mindy. Taylor.” The principal, Clay Walsh, waved to them from the door of his office.
“Good morning, Clay.” Mindy’s cheeks flushed pink as they moved on down the corridor.
Taylor nudged her friend. “If you like him so much, why don’t you come right out and tell him?”
Mindy’s smile dissolved into a look of openmouthed horror. “Does it really show that much?”
“Relax. Only because I know you so well. But seriously, why not let him know how you feel?”
Mindy glanced back at Clay, who was still watching them from his office doorway. She quickly faced forward again. “I’ve tried dropping hints,” she said. “But he doesn’t seem interested.”
“What kind of hints?”
“Well…I always give him a big smile and say hello whenever I see him in the hall. And when I sent Larry Atwater to the principal’s office last week for disrupting class, I walked him down there myself and told Clay I was available to discuss the situation further after school.” Her shoulders slumped. “But all he said was that he appreciated the offer, but he didn’t think that would be necessary.”
Taylor couldn’t hold back her laughter. Mindy glared at her. “What’s so funny?”
“You! How are any of those things supposed to let a man know you’ve got the hots for him?”
“Well, what do you think I should do?”
Taylor composed herself. Who would have thought usually outgoing Mindy would have such a problem letting a man know she was interested? “Flirt with him,” she suggested. “Make it a point to sit with him at lunch. Stop by after work and invite him to have a drink with you.”
Mindy’s eyes widened. “I couldn’t do that!”
“Why not? The worst that could happen is he’d turn you down. And I’d bet money he wouldn’t.”
Mindy shook her head. “It’s complicated, with him being principal. Not to mention fifteen years older than me.”
“That shouldn’t matter. I think you two would be good together.”
“Like I’m supposed to trust the judgment of a woman who hasn’t had a serious relationship with a man in how long?”
Taylor switched her book bag from one hand to the other. “It’s been a while. Maybe I’m just picky.”
“Maybe you’re too picky. Or a coward.”
“A coward?” Taylor glanced at her friend. “Because I have high standards?”
“Sometimes women use that as an excuse because they’re afraid of getting hurt.” She shrugged off Taylor’s glare. “Hey, I may be an algebra teacher, but I minored in psychology.”
“I minored in home economics, but you don’t hear me telling you what to fix for supper, do you?”
“Feeling feisty this morning, are we?” Mindy laughed and came to a stop at Taylor’s classroom door. “Okay, I promise not to analyze you anymore if you promise not to say anything else about Clay.”
“Deal.” The two friends parted, still laughing, and Taylor prepared to face another day of trying to make classical literature relevant to hormonal teens.
“Wassup, Ms. Reed?” Class clown Berkley Brent-meyer greeted her as he passed her desk. “I had a great idea this weekend. Instead of wasting our time studying all this boring old stuff, why don’t we move right along to modern literature?” He held up the latest Stephen King release. “I guarantee we’d all stay awake in class if we were reading this.”
“Nice try, Berk. But I’m betting even Stephen King did his time studying the classics.”
As Berk shuffled to his place in the third row, Taylor took her seat at her desk and pulled out her roll book. “Open your books to page seventy-six. This morning, we’re going to continue our discussion of Beowulf. While everyone is getting ready, please pass in your journal entries.” As part of the creative writing portion of senior English, students were required to keep a journal. Some days Taylor assigned topics for them to write about; other days they were free to explore any subject they wished.
A tall blonde in the fourth row raised her hand. “Yes, Jessica?” Taylor asked.
“I thought a journal was supposed to be private. But how can it be private if you’re reading it and grading us?”
“If there’s anything you don’t want me to read, don’t put it in the journal.” Taylor surveyed the class. “Certainly all of you should feel free to keep private journals outside of class. In fact, I’d encourage it. The journal entries you make for class may be completely separate from those.”
“Did you keep a journal in high school?” Berk asked.
Taylor smiled. “Yes, I did. My family moved to Cedar Creek from California my senior year and, as you can imagine, it was quite an adjustment. Writing in my journal really helped me.”
“Do you still have your journal?” Jessica asked.
Taylor laughed. “It’s probably somewhere in a trunk. I haven’t looked at it in years. But that’s one of the things about journals—the main benefit comes in the writing, not so much the reading later.”
Jessica pursed her lips in a pout. “Then why do you have to read it?”
“All I care about reading are the assignments. Anything else you write is your business.”
“I’m going to keep my journal forever,” the class brain, Patrice Miller, announced. “Then when I’m older, I’ll dig it out and write a bestselling novel about high school angst.”
Uh-huh, Taylor thought. As if anyone would want to relive high school.
DYLAN GATES STOOD on the sidewalk across from the Bee County Courthouse and felt the tension in his shoulders ease for the first time in months. He slipped off his jacket and loosened his tie, relishing the feel of the still-hot September sun on his back. Next summer he’d be moaning about the Texas heat along with everybody else, but right now he was glad to be home.
“Hey, Dylan. Sorry to keep you waiting.” Real-estate agent Troy Sommers crossed the street from the courthouse, his hand already extended in greeting. “It’s good to have you back in town, man,” he said, shaking Dylan’s hand.
“It’s good to be back.” Dylan grinned at the man who had played tight end to his quarterback for the 1993 District Champion Cedar Creek Cyclones. “I’m anxious to see this office you’ve picked out for me.”
“Oh, you’ll like it.” Troy dug a ring of keys out of his pocket and motioned down the sidewalk. “It used to be Pokey’s Barber Shop, remember? Dale Hanson turned it into an office a few years ago and it came up vacant about the time you got in touch with me, when Debra Nixon moved over to that new complex by the library.”
Dylan laughed. “It’s amazing to think that even though I’ve been away ten years, I know every one of the names you mentioned.”
“Plenty has changed since you left, I promise.” They reached the glass-fronted office door and Troy unlocked it. “So how was Los Angeles?”
“Crowded. Stressful. Impersonal.” Dylan followed him into the darkened office. “Lots of people love it, but I guess I’m not cut out for the big city. I wanted to come back to a place where I can be really involved in a community again.”
Troy flipped a switch and flooded the room with light. “You can be involved here, all right. If you don’t watch it, you’ll be signed up for every committee and club in the book.” He moved down a short hallway. “Bathroom’s down here and a Pullman kitchen. Private office back here.”
Dylan followed him to the room at the back. Sunlight streamed through two windows onto scuffed wooden floors and a massive oak desk. “Don’t see how they ever got that big thing in here.” Troy shook his head at the desk. “But it comes with the place if you want it.”
Dylan ran his hand along the edge of the desk. His father had had one like this. Dylan had spent hours playing under the kneehole, reading adventure stories by flashlight and munching peanut-butter crackers while his father worked above him. Texas Ranger Sam Gates was already a local legend by then, but to Dylan he was just his father who was equally at home with a gun and a typewriter.
He supposed his youngest sister had the desk now. She’d agreed to take most of the furniture when his parents’ estate had been settled. “I’ll take it,” he said.
“Good deal.” Troy rubbed his hands together. “We can go over to my office and finish up the paperwork now.”
As they walked around the courthouse square to Troy’s office, Dylan looked for familiar names among the businesses they passed. The Courthouse Café still advertised a daily lunch special, but the office supply, florist and dry cleaner were all new. “I guess things have changed,” he said.
“Yeah, but there’s still a lot of us old-timers around.” Troy glanced at him. “You seen Taylor yet?”
“Taylor?” He stopped. “Taylor Reed? Did she come in for the reunion?” That surprised him. After the hell they’d put her through, he hadn’t thought Taylor would ever want to see any of them again.
They started out walking again. “No, she lives here. Teaches over at Cedar Creek High.” Troy grinned. “She’s still a hot number, I tell you.” He glanced at Dylan. “You two were quite an item, weren’t you? Is it true you almost got arrested for making out up on Inspiration Point?”
Dylan frowned. “That never happened.”
Troy laughed. “If you say so. But that was a long time ago. You don’t have to worry about protecting her reputation now.”
He only wished he’d done a better job of protecting it then. Taylor Reed. He’d thought of her a lot over the years. When she’d moved to town, all the way from Los Angeles, California, you’d have thought a movie star had descended into their midst. Taylor was at least as pretty as any movie actress and every bit as exotic with her fashionable clothes and big-city attitude. But underneath all that polish had been a really sweet girl. Someone he’d considered one of his best friends.
Then all those rumors had sprung up and he’d started avoiding her, thinking that would put a stop to the talk. But all it did was isolate her further. She’d been his friend and he’d let her down. Even ten years later, the guilt made a knot in his stomach.
What would have happened if he’d stood by Taylor? If he’d told her how he’d really felt about her—how much he’d wanted to make the rumors about them true? Would they still be together now or would they have both moved on to other relationships?
“We had some wild times in high school, didn’t we?” Troy said. “Sometimes I regret not being able to live that way again.”
“Yeah. I know what you mean.” Too bad you couldn’t go back in time and do things over. Only this time, he’d do the right thing. This time, he wouldn’t run out on Taylor. He’d let her know he really cared about her. Enough to stick with her, the opinions of others be damned.
TAYLOR ARRIVED HOME a little before six and headed straight to the refrigerator for a glass of iced tea. Summer was hanging on into September and the air conditioner in her car was on the blink again. She drained half the glass, then sagged onto a bar stool at the counter. Why did some days seem so much longer than others?
She glanced at the stack of mail on the end of the bar and spotted the invitation to the Cedar Creek Senior High School Class of ’93 Reunion. She picked up the engraved card and studied it. Should she go, or not?
If she didn’t show up, Alyson and the others would be sure to talk about her. But if she attended, wouldn’t all those painful memories resurface like some nasty, long-dormant rash?
Frowning, she laid the invitation aside. Coming to a small town her senior year, to a class full of students who’d been together since grade school, had been bad enough. The fact that she’d moved from the exotic land of Los Angeles to the dusty isolation of South Texas had made things ten times worse.
Then all those rumors had started about her and Dylan Gates.
Dylan. She smiled, remembering. The moment she’d laid eyes on him, she’d been as infatuated as any other girl. He was the school quarterback and the salutatorian, cowboy-handsome in a way that made California surfers seem like pretty boys. He had thick brown hair, eyes that were almost black and a smile that made everyone like him instantly.
What did he look like now? she wondered. Had those boyish good looks matured to true handsomeness? How ironic that he was moving back to town now, when she’d be leaving in a few months. Several times over the years she’d been tempted to try to contact him, but had pushed the thought aside. After all, Dylan was only a high school crush. He probably wouldn’t even remember her and the brief time they’d been friends.
Her smile faded. If he did remember, would it be the good times they’d shared or the bad things everyone had said later?
She pushed aside the memories and opened her briefcase, intending to grade papers. The folder containing the students’ journal entries lay on top. If anything could take her mind off herself, these would do it. Despite her permission to keep personal things to themselves, her students seemed eager to pour their hearts out onto the page. She felt privileged to read their secret desires and troubles and was often amused by the minor things they took so seriously.
But that was life as a teenager, wasn’t it? You were the center of your own universe and everything that happened to you was new and painfully important.
If she found and reread her own journal, it would no doubt be filled with as many petty worries and moments of high drama. She pushed aside the stack of student papers, distracted by the thought. Had she made too much of the events of her senior year? Had what happened back then been no big deal after all?
She stood and carried her empty tea glass to the sink. There was only one way to find out. Unable any longer to avoid the idea that had nagged at her mind all day, Taylor went into the hall and pulled down the stairs that led to the attic.
Her old footlocker sat under the eaves beneath a layer of dust. She opened it and carefully lifted out a stack of yellowed college dance programs, followed by a shoe box filled with withered corsages, the peppery smell of carnations rising up when she slipped off the lid. Next came the thick, bound volume of the school annual. The Cedar Sage. Beneath, wrapped in brown paper, she found the blue leather diary her grandmother had given her the day the family had left California for Texas. “Write all your problems in here,” Grandma had told her. “Then maybe they won’t seem so bad.”
She ran her fingers over the diary, tracing the gold-toned metal heart that served as a lock. Who knew where the key was now; surely she could find a way to open the book. She lay the diary on top of the annual and replaced everything else in the trunk. Then she carried the two books down to the kitchen.
She poured another glass of tea and looked at the books laid out on the bar, reluctant to open them. Thank God no one was here to see her being so silly. Finally she took a deep breath and opened the annual. The plastic cover was stiff with age and the first grouping of pictures, of the freshman class, made her laugh. Had they really worn such awful hairstyles back then?
Quickly she flipped to the back of the book, to the section devoted to the seniors. She found her picture: a pretty young girl with short dark hair who smiled shyly at the camera. Beneath her name were the words “Voted girl most likely to…”
She frowned. Mark Wilson, the yearbook editor, had put that in after she’d refused to go out with him. She closed the book. Maybe digging up all this old stuff wasn’t such a good idea, after all.
But the diary beckoned her. In the bright light, the cover looked scuffed and faded. Harmless. Why not revisit her seventeen-year-old self in those pages? It might be good for a laugh.
She found a pair of kitchen shears in a drawer and sliced through the leather flap that held the book closed. Carrying the diary into the living room, she settled herself at one end of the couch to read.
The entries began with her arrival in Cedar Creek.
Well, we’re here, and all I can say is it’s hot and dusty and looks like a set out of some old Western movie. The only kids I’ve seen so far are wearing boots and jeans and cowboy hats and they all stared at me when I rode by on my bike and didn’t say anything.