Taming Jesse James

He squinted, trying to follow her logic, and she saw his hand waver slightly. Pushing her advantage, she held out her own hand. “Come on. Give me the gun.”

For several long moments he stared at her, a dazed look on his face as if he couldn’t quite figure out what he was doing there. Finally, when she began to feel light-headed from fear, he shoved the gun back into his waistband and stood there shaking a little.

“Good. Okay,” she murmured. “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll get you a glass of water?” And maybe slip out and call the police while I’m at it, she thought.

“I don’t want a glass of water,” he snarled, and without warning he smacked her hard across the face.

The force and the shock of it sent her to her knees. The next thing she knew, he had gone crazy, striking out at her with anything he could reach—the legs of her wooden chair, the stapler off her desk, the stick she used to point out locations on the map during geography.

She curled into a protective ball, but still he hit her back, her head, her legs, muttering all the while. “You have to pay. Nobody narcs on Tommy D and gets away with it. You have to pay.”

A particularly hard hit at her temple from the large, pretty polished stone she used as a paperweight had her head spinning. She almost slipped into blessed unconsciousness. Oblivion hovered just out of reach, like a mirage in the desert. Before she could reach it, his mood changed and she felt the horrible weight of his hands on her breasts, moving up her thighs under her skirt, ripping at her nylons.

She fought fiercely, kicking out, crying, screaming, but as always, she was helpless to get away.

This time, before that final, dehumanizing act of brutality, the school bell pealed through the dingy classroom and she was able to claw her way out of sleep.

The ringing went on and on, echoing in her ears, until she realized it was her alarm clock.

She fumbled to turn it off, then had to press a hand to her rolling, pitching stomach. The jarring shift between nightmare and reality always left her nauseated. She lurched to her feet and stumbled to the bathroom, where she tossed what was left of her dinner from the night before.

After she rinsed her mouth, she gazed at herself in the mirror above the sink. She hardly recognized the pale woman who stared back at her with huge, haunted green eyes underlined by dark purplish smears. Who was this stranger? This fearful person who had invaded her skin, her bones, her soul?

Gazing in the mirror, she saw new lines around her mouth, a bleakness in her eyes. She looked more hungover than anything else, and Sarah despised the stranger inside her all over again.

She hated the woman she had become.

For the past eighteen months she had felt as if she were dog-paddling in some frigid, ice-choked sea, unable to go forward, unable to climb out, just stuck there in one place while arctic waters froze the life out of her inch by inch.

How long? How long would she let a vicious act of violence rule her life? She pictured herself a year from now, five years, ten. Still suffering nightmares, still hiding from the world, burying herself in her work and her garden and her students.

She had to be stronger. She could be stronger. Hadn’t she proved it to some degree by going to Chief Harte the day before with her concerns about Corey?

She couldn’t consider it monumental by any stretch of the imagination. Still, she had done something, even if it was only to kick just a little harder in her frozen prison.

Beginning today, things would be different. She would make them different.

If she didn’t, she knew it was only a matter of time before she would stop paddling completely and let herself slip quietly into the icy depths.

Her resolve lasted until she arrived at school and found Jesse Harte’s police Bronco out front.

She cringed, remembering how she had fought and kicked at him the day before in the middle of another of those nasty flashbacks. He must think she was completely insane, the kind of woman who boiled pet rabbits for kicks.

Maybe she wouldn’t even see him.

Maybe the vehicle belonged to a totally different officer.

Maybe an earthquake would hit just as she reached the doors to the school and she wouldn’t be able to go in.

No such luck. Inside, she found Jesse standing in the glass-walled office taking notes while Chuck Hendricks—the principal of the school and the bane of her and every other Salt River Elementary teacher’s existence—gestured wildly.

Whatever they were talking about wasn’t sitting well with Chuck, judging by his red face and the taut veins in his neck that stood out like support ropes on a circus tent.

Jesse didn’t see her, she saw with relief. She should have hurried on to her classroom, but the temptation to watch him was irresistible. The man was like some kind of dark angel. Lean and rugged and gorgeous, with rough-hewn features and those unbelievably blue eyes.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, to the funny little ache there, like a dozen tiny, fluttering birds.

“He’s yummy, isn’t he?”

Coloring fiercely, Sarah jerked her gaze away as if she’d been caught watching a porn movie. She had been so engrossed in watching Jesse that she hadn’t even heard Janie Parker walk up and join her.

“Who?” she asked with what she sincerely hoped was innocence in her tone.

The art teacher grinned, showing off her dimples. “Salt River’s favorite bad-boy cop. Jesse Harte. The man makes me want to run a few stop signs just so he’ll pull me over. He can write me all the tickets he wants as long as I can drool over him while he’s doing it.”

Janie was probably exactly his type. Petite and curvy and cute, with a personality to match. Sarah had a quick mental picture of the two of them together, of Jesse looking down at the vivacious teacher with laughter in those blue eyes, just before he lowered that hard mouth to hers.

The image shouldn’t depress her so much. She quickly changed the subject. “What’s got Chuck’s toupee in such a twist?” she asked.

It was exactly the kind of thing the Before Sarah would have said, something glib and light and casual. But it was obvious from Janie’s raised eyebrows that she didn’t expect anything remotely glib from the stiff, solemn woman Sarah had become.

The rest of the faculty must think she had no sense of humor whatsoever. How could she blame them, when she had given them little indication of it?

She also hadn’t tried very hard to make friends. Not that she hadn’t wanted friends—or, heaven knows, needed them—but for the first time in her life, she hadn’t been able to work up the energy.

This was one of the things she could change, if it wasn’t too late. Starting today, she would go out of her way to be friendly to her fellow teachers. If anybody dared invite her anywhere after she had spent six months rebuffing all their efforts, she wouldn’t refuse this time.

“Somebody broke in to the school last night,” Janie finally answered.

Sarah immediately regretted her glibness. “Was it vandals?”

“Nothing was damaged as far as anybody can tell, but they got away with the Mile High Quarter Jar.”

She suddenly realized that was the reason the foyer in front of the office looked different. Empty. “How? That thing must have weighed a ton!”

As a schoolwide project, the students were collecting money for the regional children’s medical center and were trying to raise enough quarters to cover a mile if they were laid in a straight line.

They still had a way to go, but had raised nearly fifteen hundred dollars in quarters.

Janie shrugged. “Either we’ve had a visit from a superhero-turned-bad or they must have used a dolly of some kind.”

“How did they get in?”

“A broken window in Chuck’s office. That’s probably why he’s so upset. Forget the kids’ money, but if he knows what’s good for him, Chief Harte darn well better catch the villains who dared scatter glass all over His Holiness’s desk.”

Broken glass littering a desk like shards of ice.

Sarah drew a quick breath and pushed the memory aside. She forced a laugh, which earned her another surprised look from the other teacher.