The Beauty Queen's Makeover. Teresa Southwick

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СКАЧАТЬ the old man. “You’re exaggerating, my boy.”

      “Only a little. But I know firsthand your intricate understanding of words and knack for choosing just the right one. You were forever after me to put a finer point on whatever I was trying to convey.”

      “And what is it you’re trying to convey now, Nate?”

      “That leniency is an odd choice of words for a man who’s above suspicion.”

      “You always were too bright for your own good,” the professor mumbled.

      “What do you mean?” Kathryn asked, his words giving her a bad feeling.

      He shook his head. “Just that no one is perfect. Everyone has regrets, things they wish it were possible to go back and change.”

      Kathryn knew he was right. If she had it to do over, she’d never have dated Ted Hawkins in college. Professor Gilbert had tried to warn her, but she hadn’t listened. Then it was too late. The thought made her shiver, making her angry with herself. She tried so hard to bury all this. Yet here she was acting as if it had happened yesterday.

      “Hindsight is twenty-twenty,” Nate commented, echoing her thoughts. “And regrets are not an actionable offense.”

      “He’s right,” Kathryn agreed, shaking off her own demons.

      “I like being right.” He grinned down at her, then it faded. When his glance went to the older man, he shifted nervously. “But without knowing specifics of the allegations, I’m not sure what I can say in your defense.”

      “Unfortunately, I can’t be more specific,” the professor protested. He looked down at his hands, folded on his desk. “It’s all very complicated. But there’s someone involved—a…a benefactor who wishes to remain anonymous.”

      “Like the Lone Ranger?” Nate asked.

      “Hardly that heroic,” the professor said. “No mask. No silver bullets or white stallions. This person simply helped students. Made it possible for some to receive an education who might not otherwise have been able to attend college. That sort of thing.”

      “And he doesn’t want to be thanked?” Kathryn asked.

      “I never said it was a ‘he.’” The professor’s tone was sharp. “I’m sorry. I simply cannot say anything else. I won’t break a confidence.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at Nate. “And I understand you’ve become very adept at getting people to let unintended information slip.”

      “It’s my job to ask questions,” Nate said, the words clipped. “That’s what attorneys do.”

      “And isn’t it lucky for the professor that you are one,” Kathryn said, wondering what was going on between the two men. “He might need legal counsel if this goes any further.”

      “If Sandra Westport has her way it will go very far.”

      “You mentioned her before,” Kathryn commented. “What is she doing?”

      “Her husband, David, was one of my students. They met here at Saunders and fell in love. Now they own a store in Boston and she’s a journalist for her small, hometown newspaper. Unfortunately her nose for news has her sniffing my way.” The professor sighed. “She’s inordinately curious about what she calls ‘the mysterious patron.’ This is a very sensitive time for me. While my job is in jeopardy, it would be better if she ceased her inquiries. The uproar she’s creating is channeling suspicion toward me. Not that she’ll find anything,” he hastily added.

      “Maybe Nate could help,” Kathryn suggested. The words popped out before a cohesive thought had formed in her mind. But the idea had merit. He was an attorney. It was his job to sway opinion. “Maybe he could talk to Sandra Westport and convince her to drop her investigation.”

      Nate met her gaze, then nodded at the professor. “Of course. Whatever I can do.”

      Kathryn sighed. “You’re a wonderful role model and mentor, Professor Harrison. You’re the first person who challenged me. The first who made me consider the possibility that I’m more than just…” She stopped and looked down.

      “A pretty face?” the professor said gently.

      She met his gaze. For the first time since entering his office she saw the kindness and compassion in his expression that she remembered from all those years ago.

      “Yes,” she admitted. Absently, she touched her fingertips to the groove on her cheek. “Boy, that sounds conceited and so stuck-up. And ironic.”

      “I never knew you to be vain,” the older man said kindly. “The young woman I knew was honest and self-aware and to the best of my knowledge never said an unkind word to anyone.”

      “Th—there was an accident—” Her voice caught and she stopped. “My face—isn’t the same.”

      “No. Neither is mine.” He glanced up. “For that matter, neither is Nate’s.”

      “Some of us are just late bloomers,” Nate said, an edge to his voice as a muscle in his cheek jumped.

      “The point is,” the professor said, meeting her gaze again, “appearance is not a person’s defining essence. It’s simply one part of the whole, which is constantly changing.”

      She smiled ruefully. “You’re just giving me philosophical spin.”

      He shrugged. “Philosophy is attitude, and that can make all the difference. For what that’s worth.”

      “It’s worth a lot. Unlike anything I might have to say to the board on your behalf.”

      “You’ve always underestimated yourself, my dear.”

      She shook her head. “You sent out a call for help to your former students who made something of themselves. But I have to ask—why me?”

      “How can you say that?” Nate protested.

      She glanced up at the man still standing beside her. “You said it yourself—this is the face that launched a thousand lipsticks. That’s not a cure for cancer or a plan for world peace. It’s superficial and unimportant.”

      “Not to the cosmetics industry,” Nate commented.

      “How very defense attorney of you,” she said wryly. “But the fact is I don’t know if I can help. I’m not sure that anything I say will carry any weight. I’m not noble. I’ve done nothing very important with my career, or my life. For that matter, I don’t even have a life. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

      The professor smiled. “Then I would say your return to Saunders University is fortuitous.”

      “How do you mean?” she asked.

      “At the risk of a clichéd metaphor, roots are the best place to dig for bits of yourself. Your roots are here at college. Unless I miss my guess, this is where you truly began to blossom.”

      Nodding absently, she thought about what he said. “Maybe. But I wish it wasn’t your misfortune that brought СКАЧАТЬ