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Leaving Oxford

By Janet W. Ferguson

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Chapter 1

Baby steps.
Sarah Beth LeClair forced one foot in front of the other and willed herself to soak in the new life bursting around her on the University of Mississippi campus. Dean Latham had been right. Teaching had renewed her…had given her purpose. But this April day, the anniversary of the events that occurred exactly a year earlier haunted her. The day her world came together and then fell apart in a matter of hours.
Only a few more steps to her classroom. She could do this. Cool air blasted as she entered the school of business. Inside the full room, she stood at the lectern and booted up her laptop. She’d barely made it on time, but at least her advertising lecture was ready to go.
The university’s quarterback, Cole Sanders, lingered in the doorway with another student.
“Okay, guys, in or out, but close the door. It’s time to start class.”
The guy beside Cole turned to face her and offered a shrewd smile.
Oops. Not a student.
Riveting brown eyes locked onto her own, launching her heart into her throat. “Oh, sorry, Coach McCoy. From your backside, you looked like a student. I mean, from the rear you looked like…not to say the front doesn’t…” She cringed. Not what she’d meant to say at all.
The class let out a snicker. “Hey, Coach McCoy,” two girls on the second row spoke in unison and waved.
The former Florida star quarterback, now Ole Miss offensive coordinator, smiled wider, which only accentuated his rugged good looks. And he appeared far too young for his own good.
Despite the air conditioning blowing from the ceiling, heat crept up Sarah Beth’s neck into her cheeks. “Oh, my stars.” A nervous chuckle escaped as she ran her fingers through the ends of her long hair. “I have no idea what I’m trying to say, but I need to start class. Coach McCoy, you’re welcome to stay. Or if you need to meet with me, I’ll be in my office in an hour.”
His broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Since you invited.” He slipped into a seat on the second row.
Really? Why would he stay? Cole hadn’t turned in the last couple of assignments, but he could still pass. Straightening her posture, she plowed into her advertising lecture, refusing to glance in Coach McCoy’s direction until she finished explaining the year-end project. When she paused, the sun had shifted to the perfect angle through the skylight to rest on his hair. Shimmering golden hair.
She needed to focus. On the class.
“This assignment is your opportunity to bring up your average if you’re behind.” She eyed Cole. “Which you shouldn’t be. Your groups are designed to be diverse, so you’ll have to deal with a variety of opinions. Soon you’ll be out of school, hopefully employed. No matter what field you choose, you’ll do a lot of tongue-biting, so get used to it.”
Coach McCoy smiled again and nodded, causing the tips of her ears to sting as if fire ants covered them. As if she needed another cocky former football player around, today of all days.
She hurried to hand out the assignment. “If you don’t have any questions, you’re dismissed.” All of you.
The coach approached the lectern as students filed out of the room. “I enjoyed your class and even came up with a few ideas for the football team.”
A scent, something like mandarin oranges and spice, drifted to her nose as he moved closer. Too close. Was that luscious smell coming from his hair? Her stomach growled. She did love oranges.
After taking two steps away from the orange aroma, she stuffed her papers and laptop into her tote. If he wanted to talk about his quarterback’s grade, he’d have to do it elsewhere. She wouldn’t talk about a student where anyone could hear. “We can meet in my office.”
He closed the distance she’d put between them and slipped her bag from her hand. “I’ll carry this for you, Professor.” He curled the bag up and down like a dumbbell. “What’s in here? Fifty-pound weights?”
Was he flexing his bicep? Did he think she’d be manipulated into changing Cole’s grade? Her jaw tightened as the phrase Do unto others…ran through her mind. She sighed and extended her hand. “I recognize you, but I don’t think we’ve officially met. I’m Sarah Beth LeClair.”
His grip was firm. “You can call me Jess.”
Not changing any grades. No matter how nice his hair smelled. She pasted on a smile and led him toward the exit.
Stifling humidity and heat charged in as he opened the door for her. Summer temperatures had arrived early in Oxford, Mississippi, and took hold, transforming the landscape almost overnight from gray to a bright green. They crossed the grassy lawn shaded with massive oaks, the sweet smell of the town’s rampant wild wisteria heavy in the air.
“I love hot weather.” They both spoke in unison.
Jess grinned. “That was strange. Are you a mind reader or something?”
“Maybe so. I have a good idea what we’re about to discuss.”
His brown eyes studied her. “You do?”
Something in his tone caught her attention. She should at least be polite. “But my brain could use coffee first. Hopefully there’s a cup or two still left from this morning.”
Impossibly, Jess’s grin grew wider. “You’re definitely reading my mind. I live on it during the season. Good thing the latest research claims it’s healthy. A lot less guilt.”
“At least until the next study proves that study wrong. But, hey, I’m addicted. I admit it.”
At Ventress Hall, the quaint, hundred-year-old building that housed her office, Jess opened one of the tall, white double doors, then waited for her to enter first. “This building has character. Especially the Victorian Romanesque turret.”
A jock fluent in architecture? “I love the turret. We called it The Castle when I was in school here.”
At the top of the stairs, her assistant, Cassie Brooks, stood behind her desk to greet them. The petite redhead, dressed in the usual business suit, looked over her small glasses and smiled. “Hi. There’s a fresh pot already brewing in there.”
“Perfect, Cassie. Thank you.”
As they entered, Jess scanned her large office, ran his fingers along the mahogany conference table, and whistled. “How did you score this nice piece of real estate?”
“I host Foundation meetings here. Do you take your coffee black, or do you need cream or sugar?”
“Normally black, but today, I’ll have sugar.” He gave her another grin and moved close to take the coffee from her. Too close. His long, tan fingers brushed hers as she passed the cup to him.
Sarah Beth stepped sideways. Just because most women fell all over themselves to meet the man didn’t mean he could be so familiar. Especially not today. “Coach McCoy, have you ever heard of personal space?”
He arched one eyebrow. “Maybe.”
“You’re in mine.” Was that obvious enough for him?
A smile creased the corners of his brown eyes as he stepped away and sipped his coffee. “Wow, this is unrivaled brew. Love it.”
“I know. Smooth and silky, but at the same time, bold and rich. The company is a fair trade roastery right here in Mississippi. I’m working on a name and logo.” She pushed a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Usually branding comes to me so easily.”
“Why are you naming coffee? Are you growing it in your backyard?”
A smile slipped past her defenses. “I’m an advertising specialist for the Parker Morgan Agency.”
“Thought you were a professor.”
“I’m just handling a few classes for Dean Latham. It’s been—a blessing. I’m glad he talked me into teaching.”
He took in a deep whiff and rubbed the blond stubble covering his chiseled chin. “What about exceptional, unforgettable coffee? Or unrivaled?”
At least he’d paid attention in class. “Brainstorming like I asked the students to do?”
Jess neared again. “You’re a good teacher.”
She backed out of his proximity and sighed.
“Personal space. Got it.” He glanced up and seemed to catch sight of something. A second later, he crossed the room and studied a group of photos on the credenza.
Why’d she let Mark bring those heartbreaking pictures here anyway? “You wanted to talk about Cole, right?” After a minute with no answer, she cleared her throat.
“Sure. But what’s up with you and these celebrities? And these doctors?”
A familiar pain crushed her chest and imprisoned the air in her lungs. She struggled to force out words. “Long story.”
Jess pointed at one. “This guy was the Ole Miss kicker with the record-breaking field goal, went pro for a couple of years. I can’t think of his name right now, but you have a lot of pictures with him. Boyfriend?”
The smiling face in the photo helped to loosen a bit of the chokehold. “His name is Mark LeClair. My brother.”
“Oh. Your brother.” His shoulders lowered. “I played against him my first year at Florida. Very cool.”
Jess dawdled, perusing more photos she’d scattered around the room.
As he peered at her pictures, Sarah Beth studied his profile. Tall. A strong bone structure, square jaw. Didn’t look like he’d taken any licks to his nose. Oddly perfect for a quarterback. He would be great in a commercial.
Was she crazy? The last thing she wanted to do was get to know another former football player. Wasn’t he here to talk about his quarterback? “What about Cole?”
“He claims his professors don’t get the life of a college athlete. I’m guessing because of your brother, you do.”
“I do. I was on an athletic scholarship as well. Cole’s problem is more ego and being l-a-z-y.”
Still inspecting her office, his mouth fell open. “Whoa, are those water skis and wakeboard behind the door available? Why are they in your office? Do you ski?”
Of course, the Florida guy liked to ski. “I’m developing a branding strategy and logos for them, too. I’d like to try them out, but I haven’t made it to the lake.”
“I have the boat, and if you’re available on Saturday, we’ll go out to Sardis Lake and get those wet.”
Perspiration coated her palms while a boulder seemed to lodge in her throat. Could she go all the way to the lake? With this guy? A tremor rippled through her arms and hands. “I don’t know. Where…?” Her ribs clamped down around her chest. She needed to breathe. “Where do you put the boat in?”
“My friends and I put in at Hurricane Landing.”
Forcing air in and out of her lungs, she sat and gripped the arms of her chair. Hurricane Landing wasn’t far. She’d been there when Mark visited. “I’ll meet you there. If I can make it.” She needed to think of something else. “About Cole. If he completes this project, he should pass. I have a student, Audrey Vaughn, who tutors. You know her brother Grant.” Her fingers shook as she wrote Audrey’s contact information on the back of her business card and passed it to him. Maybe he could read the writing.
Jess looked at the name. “Too funny. Her brother Grant’s on the offensive line. That should keep Cole from hitting on her, at least, if he doesn’t want to get hit.” He hesitated. “So, what sport did you play?”
“Soccer, but I wasn’t a star like Mark.”
A knock sounded on the white-paneled doors, then Cassie peeked in. “You have visitors.”
“Okay, thanks.” Yes, thank goodness. Maybe now this man would leave, and she could return to normal. Or at least this new normal. “Sorry, Coach, I mean, Jess. I, um, need to get back to work.” Between her stupid anxiety and his good looks, she needed to retake speech class. She escorted him to the door.
“I’ll see you Saturday. Is this how I reach you?” He flipped her card over.
She nodded. Once he left, she released a long exhale. Going to the lake should be easy, right?
Tears pressed at the back of her eyelids. If only her world and her mind hadn’t fallen apart a year ago in L.A.
~~~
Jess McCoy sent Cole a text and then fought the urge to sprint back to his office. He’d spent almost two hours on what should’ve been a ten-minute errand. No time for lunch out before his conference call. It wasn’t as if he had a shortage of women interested in him, but he’d followed this one like a puppy to her office—carrying her bag, no less. He’d surprised himself with a couple of audible calls. Not very good ones at that.
Back at his office, his laptop stared at him. Instead of words on the screen, he pictured those dark eyes outlined in long black lashes. He spun her card between his fingers. He’d seen her at a meeting a couple of months ago but hadn’t paid much attention. Today, she’d fascinated him—able to laugh at herself when she misspoke, confident when she taught. The way she blushed when he looked at her.
Getting the boat ready for Saturday hadn’t been on his agenda, but it was about time for some relaxation. College coaches didn’t get much, just the little window between the season, the bowl games, recruiting, spring practice, and summer camps. If he bumped up to pro like he hoped, his life would only get busier. He needed to dive through that window while he could.
The knock on the door signaled Cole’s arrival. “I got your message. What’s up, Coach?”
Jess handed him a note with Audrey Vaughn’s information. “Here’s your new tutor. They’ll set it up in the academics office.”
“Since when did you start going to classes? A sudden interest in advertising?” His voice held an edge of sarcasm. “Or maybe Professor LeClair?”
“Your business is my business, and my business is my business. Comprende?”
Cole laughed and scanned the paper. “Why the change in tutors?”
“Your professor suggested it. You know, Cole, you’re a lot like I was ten years ago. Wanting to go pro. Next season’s your senior year, and I don’t want anything to stand in your way. Show the scouts you have what it takes.”
Jess hoped Cole wouldn’t suffer an injury his senior year. Like his own shoulder tear. By habit, Jess stretched his right arm. One freak hit, and the dream of playing professional football evaporated as quickly as a sudden rain shower on a Florida afternoon. His dreams for professional football had turned to coaching, and like he had as a player, he dreamed of going pro. With the latest chatter out of Nashville and New Orleans, that reality was so close he could almost taste it. And he wouldn’t be disappointed again.
Cole scoffed. “Wait a minute. This isn’t Grant’s sister, is it? The guy’s a beast.”
“So watch yourself. Keep it on the up and up.”
“But I like the other tutor. She’s hot.”
Jess gave him a hard look. “That might be the problem.” Another issue he’d dealt with at that age–one more thing he and Cole had in common.
“Okay. I thought you told me something about having a conference call in Coach Black’s office?”
“Oh, shoot.” Jess hurdled his desk and sprinted down the hall. How had one quirky professor drawn him off course and reversed his whole morning?

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