Read Online Ms. Miller and the Midas Man by Mary Kay McComas - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Kay McComas
Ads: Link
dense fog, from one side of the room to the other, pulling every eye in his direction. “I confess, I was completely blown over by my staff’s enthusiasm. A spark of an idea, and it caught on like wildfire.”
“Well, don’t keep us in suspense,” Beverly Johns, the perky first-grade teacher, said. She giggled like a six-year-old and stared up at him adoringly. “Scotty, you’re terrible to tease us like this.”
Gus rolled her eyes toward heaven and prayed for strength. Well, she wasn’t going to get sucked into whatever he was up to. No way. She wouldn’t even look at him, she decided, tracing a heat circle in the veneer of the big wooden table with her right index finger, her left hand under the table rotating round and round and round—then back in the opposite direction.
“You always were fun to tease, Bev,” he said.
She glanced up, caught off guard by the affectionate tone in his voice. He was grinning at Beverly as he slipped his hands halfway into his pockets. He looked very much at ease—as he did everywhere—and Gus wanted to loathe him for it. He quickly explained the situation at the high school and the plan devised to temporarily fill the need. Gus tried not to hear him, but he had a nice voice. Deep and low, infectious and entrancing, it had a tendency to vibrate with whatever emotion he happened to be feeling. It was a voice that was hard to ignore. Harder to forget.
Her thoughts strayed to that night, dark and intimate, mysterious and magical. Him, standing close and concerned, his hands on her shoulders, warm and gentle. His scent in her nostrils. Her heart racing. His words, “What happened to you? Who hurt you?” rang in her ears.
How would you tell someone like Scott Hammond—Mr. Damn Midas Man—that not everyone had the gift of turning everything they touched to gold? That the touch of some people turned things to dust? That it didn’t matter if, in the wee hours of the night, his warmth and concern might have been a comfort to her soul, the risk of reaching out to him was too great?
How would you tell someone like Scott Hammond that some people were simply meant to be alone? That they hadn’t the vaguest idea how to keep a man content and satisfied? That the future wasn’t something they looked forward to? That it frightened them? That they couldn’t be trusted with someone else’s hopes and dreams?
Draw him a picture? Pencil a failure graph along her life line? Tell him the truth?
“...working closely with your music director.”
Gus looked up to find him staring down at her, his dark eyes twinkling happily. She frowned in confusion. “What?”
“Well, we did consider A Midsummer Night’s Dream, but when The Wizard of Oz came up, it just seemed like the best vehicle for our purpose. Singing, dancing, acting, plenty of scenery and costumes...and with the addition of Munchkins, a bigger mandatory audience.”
He chuckled with everyone else who knew that no mother, father, grandparent, uncle, aunt, cousin, or neighbor would miss the chance to see their favorite first- or second-grader dressed up as a Munchkin. At the same time, he studied her.
“Of course, if you think this is too big a project for you to handle along with your other responsibilities here at the school,” he said, a calculating light coming to his eyes. “Well, I’m sure we could come up with a less challenging project for our first attempt at a senior class play. We’d probably also lose a lot of the enthusiasm and the momentum required to get something like this firmly rooted in the community, but...” He shrugged helplessly.
Slowly, she turned her head and then her eyes to the left to find everyone watching her expectantly. As this was only her second school year among them, she was still something of a newcomer, and an oddity, considering her background. She could see the uncertainty and hope in their expressions.
“I think I can manage to teach the children the songs,” she said
“Well, don’t keep us in suspense,” Beverly Johns, the perky first-grade teacher, said. She giggled like a six-year-old and stared up at him adoringly. “Scotty, you’re terrible to tease us like this.”
Gus rolled her eyes toward heaven and prayed for strength. Well, she wasn’t going to get sucked into whatever he was up to. No way. She wouldn’t even look at him, she decided, tracing a heat circle in the veneer of the big wooden table with her right index finger, her left hand under the table rotating round and round and round—then back in the opposite direction.
“You always were fun to tease, Bev,” he said.
She glanced up, caught off guard by the affectionate tone in his voice. He was grinning at Beverly as he slipped his hands halfway into his pockets. He looked very much at ease—as he did everywhere—and Gus wanted to loathe him for it. He quickly explained the situation at the high school and the plan devised to temporarily fill the need. Gus tried not to hear him, but he had a nice voice. Deep and low, infectious and entrancing, it had a tendency to vibrate with whatever emotion he happened to be feeling. It was a voice that was hard to ignore. Harder to forget.
Her thoughts strayed to that night, dark and intimate, mysterious and magical. Him, standing close and concerned, his hands on her shoulders, warm and gentle. His scent in her nostrils. Her heart racing. His words, “What happened to you? Who hurt you?” rang in her ears.
How would you tell someone like Scott Hammond—Mr. Damn Midas Man—that not everyone had the gift of turning everything they touched to gold? That the touch of some people turned things to dust? That it didn’t matter if, in the wee hours of the night, his warmth and concern might have been a comfort to her soul, the risk of reaching out to him was too great?
How would you tell someone like Scott Hammond that some people were simply meant to be alone? That they hadn’t the vaguest idea how to keep a man content and satisfied? That the future wasn’t something they looked forward to? That it frightened them? That they couldn’t be trusted with someone else’s hopes and dreams?
Draw him a picture? Pencil a failure graph along her life line? Tell him the truth?
“...working closely with your music director.”
Gus looked up to find him staring down at her, his dark eyes twinkling happily. She frowned in confusion. “What?”
“Well, we did consider A Midsummer Night’s Dream, but when The Wizard of Oz came up, it just seemed like the best vehicle for our purpose. Singing, dancing, acting, plenty of scenery and costumes...and with the addition of Munchkins, a bigger mandatory audience.”
He chuckled with everyone else who knew that no mother, father, grandparent, uncle, aunt, cousin, or neighbor would miss the chance to see their favorite first- or second-grader dressed up as a Munchkin. At the same time, he studied her.
“Of course, if you think this is too big a project for you to handle along with your other responsibilities here at the school,” he said, a calculating light coming to his eyes. “Well, I’m sure we could come up with a less challenging project for our first attempt at a senior class play. We’d probably also lose a lot of the enthusiasm and the momentum required to get something like this firmly rooted in the community, but...” He shrugged helplessly.
Slowly, she turned her head and then her eyes to the left to find everyone watching her expectantly. As this was only her second school year among them, she was still something of a newcomer, and an oddity, considering her background. She could see the uncertainty and hope in their expressions.
“I think I can manage to teach the children the songs,” she said
Similar Books
