the Battle of Somme had really kept their interest. Of course, how could it not? The clash of forces had been a total bloodbath.
He loved seeing young minds at work, spurring them into thinking. Some of those men and women could well be the leaders of tomorrow.
Made a professor feel good.
Unfortunately, on Tuesdays, he had this class that’d been dumped on him after the regular professor suffered a heart attack.
All freshmen. At least it was Tuesday, so most of them weren’t suffering from hangovers.
They did try his patience.
He flipped on the projector switch to display the homework assignment since some still hadn’t figured out how to use a syllabus. “Homework is due the beginning of next class.”
“Nooo,” one young man whined. “No homework. I have a hot date tonight.”
Ghost raised an eyebrow. “Does that mean you’ll have to write with your other hand?”
As the nearby students burst into laughter, the young man reddened.
Ghost tossed his lecture notes into his briefcase. Bad colonel.
His self-control had been frayed by the lack of sleep last night. He’d dreamed of his wife and the gut-wrenching weeks where she’d slowly wasted away.
Damn, he missed her.
She hadn’t been perfect—what person was? But she’d been a strong woman, sticking with him through moves and deployments and the ugliness of post-combat stress. They’d laughed and fought and made-up. He’d have given anything if she could have beat back the cancer and won her own victory.
That war they had both lost.
He shook his head. Kelly had been gone over four years now. Perhaps her loss felt closer today because, for the first time since she died, he’d truly seen another woman. Had wanted to be with her.
And damned if he didn’t feel guilty about wanting someone. About not being able to keep Kelly alive.
But her fight with cancer hadn’t been his to win or lose. He’d given her all his support and love. During her last month of life, she told him, over and over, that he’d better live his life to the fullest and find someone to love, or she’d come back and kick his ass.
He hadn’t been ready to hear those words then. Now he saw the truth. If he’d been the one to go first, he wouldn’t have wanted her to mourn him all her days. Well—he smiled ruefully—for a while, yes, but then he would expect her to put her life back together.
So, lose the guilt, Colonel.
The students filed out, chattering about their next classes, exams, and, of course, hot dates.
He stopped one young man with dreadlocks and piercings. “A moment, please.”
“Professor?”
“You had a good argument on whether prejudice was involved in the number of Irish who died. I look forward to hearing more from you in future discussions.”
The student’s mouth dropped open. “Uh…”
Suppressing a chuckle, Ghost tilted his head toward the door, releasing the student…who fled.
During the discussion, the light of battle had filled the freshman’s face, yet the diffident student rarely spoke in class. So, Ghost had singled him out and goaded him to talk. The youngster had an excellent mind, and it was Ghost’s duty—and honor—to encourage him to use it.
For the next hour, Ghost held office hours. He advised a student about study habits, another about what was expected in essay questions. And, oddly enough, another one about a possible military career. Apparently, his past in the service was common knowledge, and the lad wanted information a recruiter might not provide.
After buying a coffee in the Marshall Center, he enjoyed a quiet break by the lake next to the Fine Arts building. A few of the green and brown mallards waddled up, and he tossed out a handful of cracked corn.
Bread wasn’t good for them. Wasn’t particularly good for him either, but at least his morning PT kept his gut within bounds.
Brushing off his hands, he checked the time, then headed inside and down a hall, checking lecture room numbers. Here. He entered the room silently and chose a place in the shadows in the back.
At the front, Valerie Winborne was talking about Middle Eastern cultures. Her hair was pulled back in a tidy French braid. She wore tan pants and a white top with dark red embroidery. Professional…and, even when lecturing, she had the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard. Her vibrant contralto was somehow peaceful and sexy at the same time.
Curiosity had spurred him into searching for more information. Conveniently, very few professors were named Valerie. She held an interesting mixture of degrees and minors—philosophy, economics, world religions—and had