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Alastair ignored the collective groan as he stood and walked to the door. “Hello,” he said, “you must be Dora.”
She nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry I’m late. I went to the wrong room.”
“It’s quite all right.” She was tense and he smiled, hoping to put her at ease. “Just between the two of us, this building is a bit like a rabbit warren. My first week here I got lost going to the bathroom.”
He was rewarded with a small smile in return. Her eyes were grayish green with obscenely long lashes, and while he’d read the description “porcelain skin” in literature, he’d never met anyone who deserved the words until now.
When Dora flushed, he realized he’d been staring and stepped aside. “Come in. You’re just in time.” He walked to his desk and began looking through his papers.
“Who’s she? A new student?” Maribel’s voice had an edge to it.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but this is Dora Allard. She is a service sub and my new assistant.” He looked at Dora and smiled. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, Sir,” she said quietly and something about her voice gave Alastair a small, pleasant stir in the pit of his belly.
“Why do you need a service sub?” Maribel whined, but he ignored her and held out the paper he’d found. The hand that took it was soft, the nails well-manicured. Short French tips. He’d always loved French tips. When he was Alice, his high school crush—a classmate named Lydia—had French tips. They’d gone through three years of schooling without Lydia knowing her best girlfriend harbored deep romantic feelings. Even as Alice, he’d known how to hide how he felt.
“There’s a copying machine in the little teacher’s work area at the end of the hall. Do you know how to work one?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl. I need twenty copies of these.” He handed her another paper. “And five copies of this discipline form.”
He watched her walk out but turned at the sound of Elizabeth’s distinctive high giggle. Across from her, Maribel was puffing her cheeks out in an exaggerated fashion. At her teacher’s stern stare, she stopped and looked down. The smirk on her face repulsed him. He considered calling Maribel out on her silent jab at Dora’s weight, but hoped his obvious disapproval conveyed his message. It was one thing to be a brat. It was another to be cruel, and he would not tolerate it.
It took ten minutes for Dora to return with the papers. She’d used paper clips to hold both stacks together. Alastair asked her if she would mind grading some tests then and handed her a stack along with an answer key. “You can sit at that table in the corner over there,” he said.
“Time for the quiz.” Alastair handed out papers to the first student in each row with instructions to hand the papers back. He ignored those grumbling that they hadn’t read the whole passage; they’d had ample time. By the time the bell rang to signal the end of class and start of his planning period, most of the students had finished. A few grumbled dejectedly as they passed them to the front, but that was nothing new. No Littles liked pop quizzes.
“I’m finished, too.” Dora handed Alastair a stack of graded papers. “Is there anything else I can do?”
Alastair started to say no, but because he didn’t want her to leave, he instructed Dora to wash the old-fashioned blackboard that really didn’t need it. She did so without question, and as she worked, he stole glances at her. She was soft, curvy. He remembered what Cord had said about her being self-conscious about her size and was glad she hadn’t seen Maribel’s rudeness.
“How are you enjoying the Ranch?” he asked. There were thirty minutes between classes, and he decided to take the time to get to know her a little better.
“It’s nice.” She stepped back from the clean board. “Is this okay?”
“It’s perfect,” he said. “You’re just the helper I’ve been needing.”
She stood twisting the rag and staring at him thoughtfully.
“Is there something you’d like to ask, Dora? Or say?”
Dora pushed a strand of hair away from her face and shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess… you’re just different than what I expected.”
“Really?” Alastair stood and walked to the front of his desk where he sat on the corner. “How so?”
“Well. It’s just that they said…”
“They?”
She flushed. “Bobbi and Kit.”
“Ah.” He crossed his arms and grinned. “Go on.”
“They said you were mean and strict and… sour. But you’ve been really nice.”
“Isn’t it funny how I’m nice to the Littles who are well-behaved?” He gave her a little wink.
