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Cindy and the Fella/Calling All Glass Slippers

Harlequin Enterprises Limited

Chapter One

From behind a dog-eared menu, the bearded English professor peered at the loveliest lady in Clair De Lune, California: Blair Riley, a teaching assistant in Comparative Literature. In Hugh, she had inspired three odes, two sonnets, several quatrains and a late-night limerick, which he had crumpled and discarded as inappropriately lighthearted.

Until now, the exquisite T.A. had known nothing of his sentiments. Merely from watching her beautiful form move along the hallways of the English and Comparative Literature Department, Hugh had fallen in love with her.

He'd imagined himself in this state many times before, but it had never hit so hard. The memory of his former flames faded before this slender beauty, her black hair gleaming, her green eyes glowing and her crop top revealing a bare midriff of unparalleled perfection.

There was, Hugh admitted silently, a slight impediment to his plan to touch the lady's heart. That would be the handsome man sitting opposite her, holding her hands across the table.

The fellow was tall, with broad shoulders and golden hair. De Lune University was a small world, and without half trying Hugh had learned that the newcomer went by the name of Roland Greenwald, hailed from Minnesota and was a graduate student in Medieval Studies.

Steeling his spine, Hugh reminded himself that faint heart ne'er won fair lady. And he had every intention of winning. He planned to launch his opening sally the moment he stopped hyperventilating.

Nervously he brushed a hank of prematurely graytinged hair off his forehead. Since the lady and her escort were taking their time paying the bill, Hugh removed his wire-rimmed glasses, breathed on them and wiped them with his shirttail. Now he was ready.

Blair arose, tossed her gorgeous mane, and smiled at Roland. The man smiled back, clearly besotted. How little he suspected that he was about to be bested in a lovers' duel!

She began walking toward Hugh, her hips swaying as masculine heads turned to watch. He sprang to his feet. From one of his overstuffed pockets, he pulled the poem he had stayed up all night revising. Clutching a small bag of rose petals in his free hand, he read aloud:

"There once was a T.A. named Blair, To whom none on earth can compare."

Wait a minute! This wasn't the poem he'd labored to perfect, it was the discarded limerick. In his usual absentminded manner, Hugh must have stuck it in his pocket by mistake.

Yet he couldn't stop. The entire room was staring at him.

The owner, Stu Crockenmeyer, paused openmouthed with an order pad in one hand. Behind the grill, the chubby cook, Daffodil O'Foy, froze, her metal spatula raised like a tennis racquet.

Helpless in the grip of his own momentum, Hugh read on:

"I'd be there in a jiff If I might take a whiff Of the fragrant perfumes in her hair."

His heart sank as he heard a guffaw from one of the onlookers. Then Blair said, very gently, "Did you write that poem for me, Professor Bemling? How sweet!"

Roland merely gawked at him. Apparently people didn't make this kind of gesture in Minnesota.

The pair turned away and the blond man held the door, admitting a rush of warm November sunshine. Panic seized Hugh. She was getting away before he'd finished! Hurriedly he grasped his small mesh bag and shook it into the air.

A draft from the door sent velvety pink petals fluttering into the open mouth of Stu Crockenmeyer. The heavyset man spat them out in disgust. His face burning, Hugh hurriedly paid his bill and departed.

He regretted the poetic switcheroo that had foiled what would otherwise have been a glorious tribute, but it had been worth humiliating himself to make the attempt. Perhaps, if angels came with rearview mirrors, Blair might at least have seen the petals and been moved by them. Even so, now that she knew of his feelings, she should gradually lose interest in the empty-headed hunk at her side.

Hugh wished that fate had bestowed on him a husky build and tawny hair, but even so, his heart beat as fiercely and honestly as any man's. Someday, Blair was going to realize it and love him in return.

* * *

A brisk wind, hinting of the approaching Minnesota winter, swirled colorful leaves across the softball field. Although autumn wasn't the usual season for the sport, the children of Oofdah took advantage of any spell of good weather to hone their skills.

At home plate, the ball whizzed past a four-foot-tall player, who waved his bat wildly. "Strike three!" cried the umpire.

Mutters of protest wafted from the bleachers. A man sprang to his feet. "What're you, blind?" he yelled. "That ball nearly took my son's nose off!"

"Then he shouldn't have swung at it," someone said.

"He was protecting himself!"

On the sidelines, a tall, stocky woman held up the score: 4-3. "Congratulations, Tigers!" she announced.

"Congratulations, my butt!" roared the outraged father as he shoved his way through the bleachers. "That was the most boneheaded call I've ever seen! The Mammoths aren't out, and my son deserves another turn!"

As soon as he reached the ground, it became obvious that the man towered over the slender umpire. One of the coaches started toward him, then hesitated as the giant raised a fist menacingly.

"Dad," said a small voice. "It's okay."

"It's not okay, and you shut up!"

That was when the stocky woman got annoyed. She showed this by setting down the scorecards and straightening her large-framed glasses.

She walked calmly toward the enraged father. The woman lacked several inches of his height and, even with the added bulk of her sweater, she couldn't match his muscular mass. But there was something about her that made the crowd fall silent.

"You're new in Oofdah," she said.

"We've been here a few months." He frowned. "You're the second-grade teacher, right?"

"Cindy McChad." She extended one hand. "And you're Al Saxon, I believe."

Apparently realizing he was on the brink of being coopted, Al ignored her hand and growled, "Get out of my way."

"I don't think that would be a good idea," said Cindy. Around the field, the young players watched with fascination. In the stands, one of the parents tried to take bets on who would win the confrontation, but when he sided with Miss McChad, no one would bet against him.

The father appeared to have transferred his anger from the quivering umpire to the unflappable woman blocking his path. "For the last time, move!"

"I'm president of the Softball Boosters," said Cindy, her blue eyes placid behind the large lenses. A few pale blond hairs, blown free from her long braid, wisped around her face. "If you have any complaints, you can bring them to me."

"Don't say I didn't warn you!" Hunching his shoulders, Al barreled forward like a football player intent on making a touchdown.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Cindy and the Fella/Calling All Glass Slippers by Jacqueline Diamond Copyright © 2002 by Harlequin Enterprises Limited
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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