Calamity Mom by Diana Palmer Page B

with one hand and shook hands with the dean with the other. She moved past the podium and switched her tassel to the other side of her cap. Cortez could see the grin from where he was standing.
    He’d met Phoebe a year earlier, while he was investigating some environmental sabotage in Charleston, South Carolina. Phoebe, an anthropology major, had helped him track down a toxic waste site. He’d found her more than attractive, despite her tomboyish appearance, but time and work pressure had been against them. He’d promised to come and see her graduate, and here he was. But the age difference was still pretty formidable, because he was thirty-six and she was twenty-three. He did know Phoebe’s aunt Derrie, from having worked with her during the Kane Lombard pollution case. If he needed a reason for showing up at the graduation, Phoebe was Derrie’s late brother’s child and he was almost a friend of the family.
    The dean’s voice droned on, and graduate after graduate accepted a diploma. In no time at all, the exercises were over and whoops of joy and congratulations rang in the clear Tennessee air.
    No longer drawing attention as the exuberant crowd moved toward the graduates, Cortez hung back, watching. His black eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to him. Phoebe wasn’t one for crowds. Like himself, she was a loner.If she was going to work her way around the people to find her aunt Derrie, she’d do it away from the crowd. So he started looking for alternate routes from the stadium to the parking lot. Minutes later, he found her, easing around the side of the building, almost losing her balance as she struggled with the too-long gown, muttering to herself about people who couldn’t measure people properly for gowns.
    “Still talking to yourself, I see,” he mused, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest.
    She looked up and saw him. With no time to prepare, her delight swept over her even features with a radiance that took his breath. Her pale blue eyes sparkled and her mouth, devoid of lipstick, opened on a sharply indrawn breath.
    “Cortez!” she exclaimed.
    She looked as if she’d run straight into his arms with the least invitation, and he smiled indulgently as he gave it to her. He levered away from the wall and opened his arms.
    She went into them without any hesitation whatsoever, nestling close as he enfolded her tightly.
    “You came,” she murmured happily into his shoulder.
    “I said I would,” he reminded her. He chuckled at her unbridled enthusiasm. One lean hand tilted up her chin so that he could search her eyes. “Four years of hard work paid off, I see.”
    “So it did. I’m a graduate,” she said, grinning.
    “Certifiable,” he agreed. His gaze fell to her soft pink mouth and darkened. He wanted to bend those few inches and kiss her, but there were too many reasons why he shouldn’t. His hand was on her upper arm and, because he was fighting his instincts so hard, his grip began to tighten.
    She tugged against his hold. “You’re crushing me,” she protested gently.
    “Sorry.” He let her go with an apologetic smile. “That training at Quantico dies hard,” he added on a light note, alluding to his service with the FBI.
    “No kiss, huh?” she chided with a loud sigh, searching his dark eyes.
    One eye narrowed amusedly. “You’re an anthropology major. Tell me why I won’t kiss you,” he challenged.
    “Native Americans,” she began smugly, “especially Native American men, rarely show their feelings in public. Kissing me in a crowd would be as distasteful to you as undressing in front of it.”
    His eyes softened as they searched her face. “Whoever taught you anthropology did a very good job.”
    She sighed. “Too good. What am I going to use it for in Charleston? I’ll end up teaching…”
    “No, you won’t,” he corrected. “One of the reasons I came was to tell you about a job opportunity.”
    Her eyes widened, brightened. “A