Page 9 of Love on the Line

Chapter 5

Anne flungoff the covers and leaped out of bed. Pain shot up her leg and she cried out.

She’d rolled her ankle. Damn. She didn’t have time for this. In less than an hour she needed to be at a teacher’s conference in Baltimore.

The sun filtered in through the white, lacy curtains, happily punctuating her tardiness. After indulging in a moment of self-pity, she shook her head. No one to blame but herself. She’d left her phone on vibrate and hadn’t heard the alarm. Maybe because she’d been dreaming about Wyatt.

Ever since their encounter two weeks ago, she’d tried and tried to get him out of her head. One short exchange with the guy should not have affected her so much, but it had. His touch, his scent, the way his eyes had sparked when their gazes collided. She’d never had such a reaction to a man. Pointless because she’d probably never run into him again. She needed to get back to reality.

Gripping the sideboard, she pushed up to a standing position. She took a tentative step, then cringed. Painful, but she could put some weight on her foot. Forget about heels, though. She’d have to wear pants instead of the skirt and blouse she’d laid out.

She showered standing on one foot and sat on the toilet lid while she dried her hair. Of course she dropped a contact in the sink, losing more precious time. Her fingers froze as she filled a plastic bag with ice to put on her ankle while she drove. At least it was her left foot. Guess it was going to be water and a granola bar for breakfast. No time to boil water for tea.

She descended the stairs, gripping the handrail for dear life and cursed living on the third floor. Thank goodness her car was parked close.

Keeping an eye on the clock, she drove as fast as she dared. When she finally got to the assigned banquet hall, she eased the door open. She had to walk a distance to reach a seat in the cavernous room. A few people looked back as she slinked to an end chair in the last row.

A minute later, another latecomer entered the room. She was digging a pen out of her purse when a pair of crutches came into her peripheral vision. Since the seat beside her was empty, she slid over to make space for the person to sit on the end. She moved her bag and purse out of the way as a man sat and placed his crutches in the aisle.

People in front of her turned around, some whispering and pointing in his direction. Anne glanced over to see what the fuss was about and did a double take. Wyatt sat beside her.

His green eyes grew wide, and a big smile lit up his face.

Her cheeks flamed, and her heart jumped, like when she’d found out she’d passed her teacher’s certification test. She’d never expected to see Wyatt again. What was he doing there?

Anne didn’t talk to Wyatt, instead focusing on the speaker giving the presentation, but the fragrance of his cologne distracted her to the point of zero concentration.

Every time she dared to glance his way, he caught her. Or maybe she caught him, because he sure as hell didn’t seem to be paying attention to anyone else besides her.

She forced herself to breathe and relax. He didn’t know he was starring in her dreams. They weren’t on a date. He just happened to be at the same conference.

When they got a break, he turned to her. “So, you’re a teacher too?”

“Yeah. Fifth grade, how about you?”

“High school health.”

No surprise there. The guy could be a poster child for “fit.” She’d convinced herself that the crowded, cramped bar area had made him appear so much larger than life. Nope. He loomed just as big in the huge conference room.

She forced herself to break eye contact as every nerve in her body jumped to attention. Gesturing to his injured leg, she asked, “What happened?”

“Touch football gone awry.” He grimaced. “And I owe John another DD night now.”

A woman approached Wyatt and hovered by his crutches. He glanced at her. She licked her lips and held up a pen. “Any chance I could get your autograph…for my uh…nephew?”

Wyatt smiled, nodded, and took the composition book she held out to him. “What’s his name?”

“Christy.”

Wyatt gazed up at her. “Christy?”

The woman touched her neck and cleared her throat, a blush creeping up to her cheeks. “Yes. He’s um…Christopher…but he goes by Christy.”

Anne’s throat tickled with a giggle, but she held it in check, feeling bad for the poor woman. Her face had turned bright crimson, and sweat gleamed on her forehead.

Wyatt jotted a message on the paper, then handed it back to her. She read the note and smiled. “Thank you so much. This means the world to…him. I mean, it will mean the world to him.”

She clutched the notebook and walked away, glancing back at Wyatt twice before taking her seat.

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