A Man Worth Marrying Read online

  A Man Worth Marrying

  By

  Phyllis Halldorson

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  "I'm attracted to you, Eve."

  Then Gray felt it, too! The enticement between them wasn't just on her side, Eve thought.

  "As you know, I've been married and have a daughter. It was never a happy marriage and I've learned my lesson. I'll never get seriously involved with a woman again."

  Eve was totally confused. "I'm flattered," she said, "but what does all this have to do with whether or not I tutor your daughter?"

  "For a while I thought it might not be a good idea to work closely with you, knowing there was this attraction for you on my part, but that's absurd," Gray said. "After all, you're a beautiful and charming woman. You no doubt have a lot of admirers."

  Eve didn't know how to reply to that. Did Gray want her to be his daughter's tutor or his lover? Both? Or neither? Heaven knew she was attracted to him, too. And she wasn't any more eager to get involved with him than he was with her. No matter what he had in mind, he was making it clear it wasn't wedding bells, and she wouldn't accept anything less from any man…

  Phyllis Halldorson met her real-life Prince Charming at the age of sixteen. She married him a year later, and they settled down to raise a family. A compulsive reader, Phyllis dreamed of some day finding the time to write stories of her own. That time came when her two youngest children reached adolescence. When she was introduced to romance novels, she knew she had found her long-delayed vocation. After all, how could she write anything else after living all those years with her own romantic hero?

  First published in Great Britain 2000

  Harlequin Mills & Boon Limited,

  Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

  © Phyllis Halldorson 1999

  ISBN 0 263 82094 7

  Chapter One

  Eve Costopoulos walked thoughtfully back to her classroom at Homestead Elementary School, after seeing to it that each of the third-grade children she tutored after school had been claimed by a parent or guardian and were on their way home.

  As she approached the room, she saw a man coming out of it. A man who had no business being there, as far as she knew. There was so much vandalism at this school that the staff had been alerted to challenge any stranger they saw on campus.

  He was looking down the hall in the other direction as she neared him. "Excuse me," she said, and hoped she sounded forceful. "May I help you?"

  He turned quickly toward her. Even with the startled expression on his face, he was uncommonly handsome. Tall. More than six feet, but slender, with dark brown hair and blue eyes. He looked awfully familiar, but she couldn't think where she had seen him.

  It only took a second for him to regain his composure. When he did, he looked closely at her, and he must have liked what he saw. There was admiration in those wide expressive eyes. "Maybe you can," he said. "I'm looking for Ms. Evangeline Costopoulos. I understand she's a teacher here."

  Now it was Eve who was startled. He was looking for her! But why? Eve taught underprivileged children in this school, which was situated in Rapid City, South Dakota, and it wasn't likely that he was the father of one of her students. He was too well dressed. For one thing, he was wearing a suit, and all the fathers she'd met so far wore jeans or cotton pants with denim jackets. Also, the suit was custom-made of fine wool. It had to be, to fit so well across his broad shoulders and still taper so exactly to his narrow waist and hips. None of the men in this area wore thousand-dollar suits.

  "I'm Evangeline Costopoulos," she said. "And you are…?"

  "Grayson Flint," he replied with a big smile. "I called earlier. You did get my message, didn't you?"

  She blinked. "Message? What message?"

  The name Grayson Flint was familiar to her, too, but she still couldn't place it.

  "I called this morning and asked the school secretary if I could arrange to see you after school hours. She gave me an appointment for three o'clock. Didn't she tell you?"

  Eve sighed. "I'm sorry, but we're so understaffed here that sometimes things like messages just fall through the cracks. I didn't get yours—but I'm free now. If you'd like to come into my classroom, we won't be disturbed."

  She led the way back to the room and placed a worn old wooden chair in front of her desk for him, then sat down in her equally worn chair behind it. "Sorry about the uncomfortable seats, but as you probably know the school system is financially strapped. There's no room in the budget for new furniture."

  She settled back in her chair. "Now, Mr. Flint, what can I do—"

  Her brain finally connected the name to the man, and she stopped short, flustered. "You're Grayson Flint, the weatherman on television!"

  It came out more like an accusation than a statement, and she felt the flush of embarrassment. "I—I'm sorry. That sounded rude, and I certainly didn't mean it to. It's just that your name and your face were familiar, but I couldn't place you until just now."

  He chuckled, and she noticed he was even better looking in person than he was on TV. "Don't apologize—that happens quite often," he assured her. "The weather forecaster isn't the star that the news anchor is. I only have a few minutes on the air in each newscast, and the listeners are more interested in the weather patterns on the Doppler radar than they are in the meteorologist who's delivering it."

  He was not only handsome, but modest as well. That wasn't an easy combination to find.

  "You're very kind," she said, "but I'm sure most people remember you well. Do you have a special interest in one of my students?"

  "Oh no, nothing like that," he said. "I understand you sometimes tutor students with learning disabilities."

  That puzzled her. "Well, yes, although the children I tutor don't have disabilities so much as bad learning environments. Most of them come from impoverished homes, and don't have proper nourishment, medical care, or supervision."

  Flint looked thoughtful. "I didn't realize…" His words trailed off.

  "Not only that," she continued, "but those whose parents do work go home to an empty house after school. The kids aren't motivated to get to school on time, or to study."

  Eve knew she was getting carried away. She usually did when she talked about the deplorable conditions under which so many of the children in this district lived.

  But that couldn't be this man's problem. Whether he was too modest to admit it or not, he was a television personality who made a lot of money. If he had children, they would never go hungry or without medical care.

  She stopped and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to deliver a lecture. It's just that this is my first year of teaching, and I guess I'm getting my first taste of the real world. It can be pretty hard to take at times."

  "That's because you're a caring and warmhearted person," he said. "And believe me, there are more like you than you think, but we'll talk about that another time. Right now I need to know if you're familiar with dyslexia."

  Her eyes widened. "Dyslexia? I know that it's a reading disorder that's associated with impairment of the ability to interpret spatial relationships—"

  Flint made a face and held up his hand. "Whoa there, slow down. I don't mean the textbook interpretation. I've already been given all the technical information. What I want is a translation into layman's language. What's going on in a person who has it?"
/>   Eve wondered why he had come to her with this request. Why didn't he seek out a specialist in learning disabilities? And what was he going to do with the information? Was he gathering it for a colleague at the television station who was doing a story on it? Or did he plan to do a story himself?

  Oh well, it couldn't hurt to tell him what she knew, she thought. "As I understand it, the people who suffer from dyslexia cannot grasp the meaning or sequence of letters, words or symbols, or the idea of direction. They often confuse letters or words, and may read or write words or sentences in the wrong order, such as god for dog. This causes them to have difficulty reading, and spelling."

  "Have you any new information on what causes it?" he asked anxiously.

  She shook her head. "Nobody knows. Sometimes there's a family history, sometimes it's due to brain damage. But generally the cause is obscure. We do know that more boys than girls have it, that dyslexic children generally have average or above-average intelligence, and that they don't differ from normal learners in their ability to hear, see and speak. Aside from that, there's really nothing else I can tell you, other than to recommend that you talk to a specialist in that field—"

  "I've already done that, and I have to confess that I haven't been altogether truthful with you. Or, rather, I haven't told you everything you probably have a right to know."

  She frowned, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "You see, I have a daughter who's recently been diagnosed as dyslexic."

  A daughter. That was one of the possibilities that hadn't occurred to Eve. Viewers don't tend to think of television personalities as family people. However, she admired his concern for his child.

  "Oh, I'm so sorry," she said. "How old is she?"

  Flint closed his eyes for just a moment before answering. "She's eight and in the third grade. Up until now her teachers have been reluctant to hold her back, assuming that she was just a slow starter. Now that she's finally been correctly diagnosed, she's been working with a therapist and is doing fairly well in her ability to read, but she's so far behind the other children in her grade that she desperately needs private tutoring. I'm looking for a tutor to help her catch up. I spoke to the district superintendent of schools, and he recommended you."

  "Me?" Eve asked, surprised. "But I don't tutor private students. I just give a little help to those in my class who show potential and a willingness to work hard in order to learn. What I do is strictly on a volunteer basis. I don't charge either the parents or the school district, but I do insist that the children attend every class, pay attention and do the light homework I assign."

  He leaned forward in his chair. "But that's exactly what I'm asking you to do for Tinker, except I'd prefer that you work one-on-one with her—and, of course, I'll pay you. Erik Johnson says you're getting amazing results with your small group of students, and Erik's word is good enough for me."

  She felt warmed by the compliment. "That's very nice of you to say. I gather you know our district superintendent?"

  He grinned. "Oh, yes. We in the media are on a first-name basis with most of the community leaders. It's to our mutual advantage. We give them public exposure for their pet projects, and they give us news tips. Come on, what do you say? Will you help my little girl?"

  When he put it like that, it was hard to refuse him. But she really didn't have time to take on anything else. Surely someone with his money and contacts wouldn't have any trouble finding another teacher to tutor his child.

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Flint—"

  "Please call me Gray," he interrupted. "Grayson is too formal, and Mr. Flint is my father."

  He smiled winningly, and though she knew she was being manipulated, she couldn't help being flattered. Still, she wasn't going to let him get away with it.

  "All right, Gray, and I'm Eve. But much as I'd like to work with your daughter, I just can't take on anything more at this time. I'm sure there are other teachers in the area who would be willing—"

  Again he interrupted. "I don't want just anyone, Eve, I want the best. Ideally that would be a teacher specially trained in reading disorders, but the only one who was available here with those credentials was let go last year because of the budget crisis. That's why I asked Erik Johnson for a recommendation, and he said there is no one better in the area than you."

  "I'm flattered, truly I am," she said, "but—"

  "He also told me you tutored one of his children who has dyslexia, and that that child is now making straight As in high school."

  She sighed. "That's true, but that was when I was still in college, and a lot of it was just dumb luck."

  "Not according to Erik. His praise for your skill as a teacher is boundless. He tells me you've even discussed the possibility of going back to school and getting credentials in teaching special education."

  She wished Mr. Johnson wouldn't be so vocal in his praise of her. It's true that his young son had been an especially difficult case, and that after several starts and stops she'd finally managed to capture his attention and turn him on to learning. Unfortunately, his father's gratitude knew no bounds, and sometimes put her in an awkward position, like this one.

  "I would like to get into the field of special education, yes, but right now I can't do justice to the youngsters I'm already responsible for if I take on more. My regular class is so overcrowded that it's not possible for me to give the students as much of my time as they need, so I choose the ones I feel are most likely to learn with a little extra help. I tutor them for half an hour after school on Mondays through Thursdays. That doesn't leave me much time for anything else."

  She tapped her pencil on her desktop. "I don't mean to get personal, Gray, but I have no doubt that you can afford a tutor for your child. The parents of my students can't. If I don't give them extra time and help, it's unlikely they'll ever catch up and be productive citizens— even though the potential is there."

  He frowned. "Of course I can afford to pay a tutor, and I'm prepared to pay you whatever you feel is fair. It's not the expense I'm concerned about, it's the quality of the help she'll be getting. She tries so hard, but learning is difficult for her and it's affecting her self-esteem. She's at the awkward stage, anyway, and being so far behind her classmates in school just adds to her burdens."

  Eve's heart melted. He was right—his youngster could be permanently damaged emotionally if she didn't receive expert help soon. But what could she do? She was no expert on dyslexia. Gray probably knew more about it than she did. He'd been dealing with it—albeit unknowingly—for all of his daughter's life. Plus, Eve could only stretch her time and energy so far.

  "I have no right to put my little girl's problems on your shoulders. It's just that I'm so worried about her. Her mother and I have handled this wrong right from the beginning. Except for the fact that her speech was difficult to understand, Tinker was always bright and cheerful before she started school. But that all changed once she got in first grade. We realized that some of her antics we'd thought were deliberate were actually the result of clumsiness, and she didn't seem to know her right hand from her left. Her grades got steadily worse, and we thought she was just not paying attention. We tried to help her but she was so easily distracted and frustrated—"

  "Those are classic signs of dyslexia," Eve interrupted, "but they could also signal other problems. Believe me, you're not alone in this. Actually, you were lucky to have caught on so quickly. Some dyslexic children aren't diagnosed until they're in middle or even high school."

  Gray had his back to her, so she couldn't see his expression, but she saw him nod his head. "We know that now, but at the time we scolded her, even punished her—"

  His voice broke, and Eve had to use all her self-control to stay where she was and not get up and go over to him. She was here to teach the children, not to comfort their fathers, but with this father it was hard to remember that!

  She cleared her throat. "That's a natural reaction. After all, you had no way of knowing she wasn't just goofing of
f. Please, don't blame yourself. These things happen, and it's not anybody's fault."

  "By the way, I don't think I caught her name correctly. It sounded as if you were calling her Tinker."

  This time he turned to face her before answering. "No, you didn't hear wrong. Her mother is the free-spirited type, and she wanted to name the baby Tinkerbell after the character in Peter Pan, but I wouldn't allow it. Who ever heard of a Tinkerbell growing up to be CEO of a company, or president of the United States?"

  Eve chuckled. "I see you have grand ambitions for your daughter."

  A ghost of a smile hovered at the corners of his mouth. "Don't all parents? But truly, all I want for her is to be happy, and giving her a name like that would only subject her to ridicule. I insisted we name her Sarah, but her mother didn't like that and started calling her Tinker. It stuck."

  Eve sensed a family squabble of serious proportions over the naming of the child, and knew she should not probe, but she was curious.

  "By which name does your daughter prefer to be called?" she asked.

  "Oh, everyone calls her Tinker now. Even me," he admitted. "She hardly remembers she has another name. I stopped calling her Sarah when she was younger—I realized it just confused her."

  His gaze roamed over Eve. "While we're on the subject of names, are you by any chance related to Alexander Costopoulos, the building contractor?"

  "He's my father," Eve told him. "Do you know him?"

  "Sure do. He added a couple of rooms to the television station last year. How is Alex? I seem to remember hearing he'd fallen at one of the construction sites and broken some bones."

  "A couple in his right leg, yes," she confirmed. "The doctor assures us they're healing nicely, but Dad hates not being able to get around without the help of crutches or a walker."

  "I'll bet he does," Gray agreed. "He doesn't like to be slowed down. Be sure and give him my best."