Return to The Zodiac Series - Virgo

Tim Mitchell felt an awful lot like a guy who could get sick--really sick--really soon. But he was in charge here and there were twenty-five fifth graders tugging on him and asking where they were going next.

“Are you all right?” asked a soothing voice just over his left shoulder.

He turned to see an incredibly hot girl wearing the standard maroon blazer with the science museum logo on her lapel.

“I uh...” He knew he was flushed as he reached to loosen his smile-face tie.

“The Journey Through the Birth Process room does that to a lot of people,” she said softly.

“I guess I didn’t eat much this morning and it was really hot in there.”

She smiled, tilted her head so her sandy hair fell to the side and handed him a crinkly cellophane package of crackers. “It is warm. We like to represent the exact temperature at the time of birth.”

“Mr. Mitchell! When do we get to the dinosaurs?”

Tim turned his attention to Josh Connors, who was hopping, pleading and pointing.

“Um...” Tim fumbled in his pocket for his trip itinerary, but his new friend intervened before he’d located it.

She turned to the class and spoke in an authoritative voice. “I’m going to arrange for Miss Hoople to take you to the dinosaurs. She’s an expert on the Mesozoic era and she’ll be very informative.”

A collective cheer sounded as the beautiful girl threw her hair over her shoulder and whispered to a woman standing a few feet away. In just seconds Mrs. Ryder’s fifth grade was following the Mesozoic expert up the stairs.

A pit formed in his gut when Tim realized he felt disappointed because now Ms. Museum would smile sweetly, point him to a drinking fountain and be on her way. But she surprised him instead as she walked to his side, directed him to an empty bench near a display case of extinct birds and then lowered herself next to him. “I’m Suzanne Tate. I’m one of the curators here.”

Tim took her extended hand and felt an instant zing during the quick shake. “Tim Mitchell. Substitute for Mrs. Ryder’s fifth grade.”

She laughed then--clear and melodic. “Sub? That wasn’t nice of Mrs. Ryder to get sick on fieldtrip day!”

“Or Mrs. Lincoln, Miss Parks and Mr. Hammersmith.”

“You were choice number four?”

Tim shrugged. “Maybe more, who knows.”

Her eyes were a soft shade of blue. “So, Mr. Mitchell, what do you do on the days when you’re not lassoing fifth graders through the Museum of Science?”

“I’m the district’s middle school gym teacher and football and baseball coach. But the middle school is closed until Monday to repair a leaky roof.”

She raised her delicate brow. “And the gym teacher was the first one they asked when the sub pool dried up?”

Tim leaned in and caught a gentle whiff of lilac. “I was the only one dumb enough to answer the phone this morning at six.”

She laughed again and swung her feet ever so slightly. “Ah. Well, the children would’ve been disappointed to miss this. Teachers tell us it’s the highlight of their science unit.”

“Glad to be of service.”

“You still look a bit pale. Would you like to take a walk over to The Constellations and Zodiac room? It’s nice and cool in there.”

Tim glanced behind him. “I would, but will the class be okay?”

Suzanne stood up and smoothed an unseen wrinkle on her blazer. “Miss Hoople is extremely long winded,” she said, with a smile he felt from his heart to his shaky gut to his crotch.

He managed to stand, and though the nausea had really passed, he allowed her to steady his arm with the gentle grip of her hand. He followed her down a short corridor to a whirling tunnel that must’ve been representative of the Milky Way. Why the hell hadn’t this been on his itinerary?

Instantly a cool puff of breeze hit him.

“Look up,” Suzanne whispered, still holding on to his arm.

Tim raised his eyes to the twinkling psuedo-night sky above. “Wow.”

“Wow,” she repeated as she nudged him along. “This is Aries. It’s the first in line of the Zodiac, though many people believe that Aquarius is because it coincides with the beginning of a calendar year. In fact, Aquarius is actually the eleventh sign. Pisces is last.”

“I can honestly say I didn’t know that.”

“What sign are you?” she asked as they walked.

There was something about her hair, her smile, the way her nose wrinkled up when she laughed that made his mind blur. He struggled to remember. “Virgo I think.”

“You think?” she asked and his damn heart pounded, making him weak all over again.

“September 14th.”

“You’re a Virgo all right.” She stopped then and turned to him. “Guess what?”

“Hmm.”

“I’m a Virgo too.”

“You’re kidding me.”

She shook her head and her silky hair swung. “Uh uh. September 1st. I knew I was passing the Journey Through the Birth Process room at that moment for a reason.”

Tim leaned against a railing that separated the curious public from the display. “So that’s why you intervened on my pitiful behalf?”

She shrugged and giggled and he really wished to hell she’d stop doing that. They stood quietly for a moment, just looking, and he wondered if she felt it too. Did she feel something that was bigger than anything he could ever remember feeling before? He instinctively looked down at her delicate fingers. A class ring with a jewel of blue, but no diamond or band of plain gold to be found.

She glanced at her watch. “What school are you from?”

“Madison Elementary.”

“In Red Brook?”

“Yup.”

She palmed her flawless woolen skirt. “That would put you on the one forty-five pick up?”

Feeling a bit less like a Martian now, Tim nodded. “That’s what it says on my trusty paper.”

“I’ll hurry Miss Hoople along then. I wouldn’t want you to miss your bus. I do hope you’re feeling better now.”

“I am, thanks.”

She moved to leave. Uncharacteristically, Tim took her arm. “I know this is going to sound really weird, but would you like to go to dinner?”

She didn’t say anything. He hadn’t felt like such a heel since he’d fumbled the last play that could’ve won the championship when he was in eleventh grade.

Her pretty head tilted and he let go of her.

“I meant with me?” he said, and she crossed her arms, making him feel like an even bigger jerk than before.

“We don’t even know each other, Mr. Mitchell.”

“Tim.”

“All right, Tim.”

“I know that, and believe me, I don’t generally go around asking out museum personnel that I’ve known for a total of four minutes, but I can’t help but think that we met for a reason. That I felt sick in here for a reason.”

“And that reason was to take me to dinner?”

“I’m not sure.”

She looked toward the corridor beyond the display. “I’ll go hurry the children along,” she said and disappeared through the Milky Way.

Tim was mighty proud that he’d spotted Lawrence Edward’s portable CD player and confiscated it as per Mrs. Ryder’s rules. He took one final assessment of his class list, double-checked that they’d all boarded and reached for the shining handle of the bus just as he heard his name. Suzanne was making her way toward him.

“I’m glad I caught you,” she said, looking flushed herself this time.

“Did I forget something?”

She shook her head. “No, I just wanted you to know that I’ve thought it about it and I’d like to go to dinner if the offer still stands.”

“Excuse me?”

She looked from side to side and then stood on her tiptoes. “I’d like to see you again.”

Tim shushed the rowdy ten-year-olds and then stepped to her side. “Are you sure?”

Suzanne stuffed her hands into the pockets of her blazer. “Do you know the number of people who feel sick or faint after leaving the Journey Through the Birth Process display? On average, ten a day. The only other one I’ve ever assisted was a ninety-year-old woman who couldn’t believe she’d lived through all of that seventy years before. I generally let one of the guides take care of it.”

Tim’s brow furrowed as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m not sure I understand.”

She whispered, “I felt it too. Like it was meant to be. It scared me a little.”

“I know,” he whispered back and tried to ignore the teasing cackles coming from the bus.

She crossed her arms. “So, does the offer still stand?”

Tim smirked and felt so glad that he’d forgotten to eat breakfast in his hurry to make the eight o’clock bell. “Absolutely,” he said with a nod.

“Great, but may I make a suggestion?”

Tim banged the bright yellow panel of the bus when the class began to jump inside so much that the contraption actually started rocking. “I’m up for suggestions.”

“The museum closes at six. Why don’t you come back and I’ll have the cafeteria chef make us something. It’s quiet and we can take a bit of time getting to know each other. That is, if you’re feeling up to this tonight after feeling sick earlier.”

“I’m up to it,” Tim said, laughing to himself at the irony of his words.

His dick was up to a full eight inches at the moment and still had one more to go.

Scott Carnes was sick and tired of being a hero. Sick and tired of being put on display like a fucking show pony, with a chest full of medals to compensate for his missing left eye.

He shifted in his chair, listening uncomfortably to a list of his accomplishments as a Pararescueman in Afghanistan. Tuning out the announcer’s voice, he looked over the fundraiser’s dinner crowd. All were opulently dressed, fitting the elegant setting of the Oklahoma Governor’s Mansion. At least he was home again, or almost home.

“...Afghanistan, where he was awarded the Airman’s Medal, Bronze Star, and two Purple Hearts. Ladies and gentlemen, our honored guest, Senior Airman Scott Carnes.” The emcee, a burly lumberjack of a man shoehorned into an ill-fitting tuxedo, waved Scott to the podium.

He stood, experiencing the same wash of vertigo he had for the past few days, since he’d been allowed to walk out of San Antonio’s Wilford Hall Medical Center under his own steam. They said it would go away as his equilibrium adjusted to the loss of sight, but it didn’t make life any easier in the meantime.

An hour later, he choked down the last of his gourmet coffee and frou-frou cheesecake and fled for the door.

Home. All he wanted was to make it home to Guthrie in time for his birthday tomorrow, lonely though it might be.

Cassidy Thompson swiped a damp rag over the spotless linoleum counter and stared out the big picture windows into the ominously still Oklahoma night. The comforting, rich smell of coffee and pastry swirled in the air around her, but even that couldn’t settle her jangling nerves.

Something was going down ... she could feel it, and so could her customers, if their lack of attendance was any indication. She was glad she’d let her one full-time employee, Erica, take some extra time off. There wasn’t enough business to justify her pay tonight.

Hell, it was late August and the weather just wasn’t right for this time of year.

On a normal Tuesday night, Cassidy’s Cuppa Café would have been hopping with regulars and tourists who’d wandered out of the Main Street district. Even this close to her nine o’clock closing time. Not so tonight. The locals knew better than to stray far from home during conditions like this, and the visitors seemed to be sticking close to their hotel rooms.

The bell above the door chimed, pulling Cass’ attention away from the window to her brave-the-elements customer.

For a brief moment, she allowed herself to examine the young man standing in profile to her. With strong, regular features, he looked like any other twenty-something Oklahoma college student. Probably ROTC, she thought, noting the strawberry-blonde hair cut high and tight and the well-toned build only slightly camouflaged by faded jeans and Oklahoma State University t-shirt.

Ah, if only I were ten years younger...

She took a closer look ... yeah, he had an athletic, yummy body, but there was something about the way he carried himself--almost as if he were cradling an injury--that was in direct contrast to the air of invincibility he projected. It was strange, because she’d seen the same look in the mirror more times than she could count over the years.

Cassidy liked to think she could tell a lot about people before they even opened their mouths. In this case, she was pretty sure she’d hit the nail on the head ... this boy had suffered, was probably still suffering, as a matter of fact, but wouldn’t let a damned soul know about it.

Then he turned and the breath clogged in her lungs. One sky-blue eye assessed her in a decidedly tactical manner; the other was concealed behind a black eyepatch that contrasted starkly against his pale skin. While she knew he could have lost the eye as a child, in a farming incident or car accident, something made her think it was recent, very recent ... and most likely ugly.

“What can I get for you?” Cassidy tossed the rag over one shoulder, happy her voice didn’t wobble. The last thing this kid needed was someone feeling sorry for him. Not that he looked as if he’d take it.

“Leaded, no foof ... and maybe a piece of pie.” His voice was deep and resonant, too resonant for a man in his early twenties. The impression of injury she’d sensed before was gone now, and in its place was certain, calm surety.

“Comin’ right up. Pick a seat, any seat.” She waved a hand.

He settled onto a stool before her. “Slow in here tonight.”

Sliding a heavy porcelain mug in front of him, she grimaced as she poured. “Yeah. Storm’s got folks twitchy. What kind of pie you hungry for? We’ve got apple, cherry and lemon meringue.”

He smiled, and it was a slow, beautiful thing that jumpstarted her pulse and set off a riot of butterflies in her stomach. “Apple, of course. Is there any other kind?”

Oh hell. This kid is waaaay to young for me.

“You got it.” She turned and took a calming breath before plating up hottie’s deep dish.

“So,” she plastered on a bright smile and set the plate and a fork in front of him. “Who’re you visiting?”

“Pardon?” His forehead scrunched for a moment, drawing her attention back to his hidden eye.

“Well, I haven’t seen you before and I thought I knew everyone in town your age.”

He laughed at that. “Honey, my age hasn’t been an issue since I turned eighteen. Anyway,” he paused to take a sip of coffee, “I used to live here ... well, until six years ago. I’m revisiting my old stomping grounds and settling into a new job. But you’re new.” He looked around. “You’ve done a nice job in turning this place around. I remember when kids drank beer and smoked doobage in here, hiding out from their parents and the cops.”

She propped a hip against the counter. “Yeah, it was a mess when I bought it. Took a lot of work, but it’s been worth it.”

A gust of wind rattled the plate glass. “Guess the storm’s here. Yup, here comes the rain.” The window sheeted with the sudden downpour. Thunder boomed directly overhead, rattling the door on its hinges. She jumped, but her young customer didn’t even flinch.

“Well, so much for this kind of weather only rolling through in April and May.”

He smiled again, but this time his smile was cold. “I’ve lived through worse. If you don’t mind, I’ll just hang out here until it blows over.”

“Ummm, okay.” Cassidy busied herself with cleaning the already spotless counter, then turned up the radio, just enough to fill the tiny café with the twang of Tim McGraw.

Scott watched the woman, Cassidy he assumed, putter behind the counter. I wonder if my eye makes her nervous. It wouldn’t be the first time. Watching her didn’t give him that impression. No, he got the feeling he made her twitchy. He stifled a wry grin and shot a quick glance over his shoulder at the now-foreboding night outside.

It looked like they were gonna be caught inside for a while.

“So, you’re Cassidy, right?”

She looked up and caught his eye. He liked the way she met his gaze without flinching and found himself looking, really looking, at her. She was very pretty in a toned-down way, with laugh lines around her hazel eyes and mouth that made him think she smiled early and often. Faded blue jeans and a white t-shirt that stretched the restaurant’s name across full breasts, showcased a nice, rounded-in-all-the-right-places body. Her sandy-blonde hair was pulled up into a ponytail hanging halfway down her back.

In his job, he was used to making instant assessments and he liked what he saw standing in front of him. Liked it a lot.

“Yup, and you’d be...?”

“Scott.” He extended his hand over the counter. She met him grip for grip and his awareness of her clicked up half a dozen notches. Damn. He held her hand for a moment too long, trying and failing to analyze the thrill of sensation jumping from her palm to his.

She was still looking him straight in the eye, but there was something else in her expression now, something primitive that hadn’t been there before. God. He felt it too and his cock stirred in anticipation. The air thickened between them, charged with far more than the electricity building in the air outside.

Cassidy pulled her hand back, fingers trembling faintly and cleared her throat. “Nice to meet you, Scott. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll join you with a cup of joe.” She turned to the coffee urn, mumbling good-naturedly under her breath.

“Get a grip, you dirty old woman. He’s just a kid.”

Scott caught every word--maybe he was supposed to. He stifled a grin. He couldn’t imagine a better birthday present than a good cup of coffee, great apple pie and an even finer woman. And that’s what Cassidy was, a woman. He’d shuttled between Iraq and Afghanistan fairly continuously since 11 September--special forces, especially PJs, didn’t get the same kind of rotation regular troops did--but he hadn’t forgotten the differences between girls his age and a lady like Cassidy. The good, “worth it” differences. Then again, he wasn’t the same boy who’d left Oklahoma all those years ago.

That thought made up his mind. He could ignore her comment, finish his coffee and pie and go home to the comfortable, lonely bungalow he’d bought here three years ago on an infrequent trip home. Yeah right. He’d take his chances on the lovely café owner and just see where things led.

“I may be younger in years, but not up here.” He tapped the temple next to his wasted eye.

The cup of coffee in Cassidy’s hand shook, sloshing scalding liquid over the side. “Oh shit. You heard?” She looked slightly embarrassed.

“Yeah. I thought about letting it go, but figured ‘what the hell’. So, Cassidy, what the hell?”