Without Mercy - Lisa Jackson [36]
Maybe Jules was taking this too seriously. Shay was, and always had been, the princess of high drama, waiting to become queen, but so far, Edie wasn’t giving up her crown.
Jules tossed her pen onto the desk and told herself to give it a rest, consider the fact that everyone seemed to think Shay was in the best place for her.
Diablo jumped onto the desk. His long tail flicked, and his gold eyes stared at her fingers as she took another turn at the keyboard of her computer. “Don’t tell anyone,” she whispered, and Googled Cooper Trent. Ever since having drinks with Erin and Gerri, she’d wondered about him. It was stupid and she knew it, but she couldn’t stop herself.
“Oh, great,” she muttered, seeing that there were dozens of articles about him. Photos, too. She weeded through them all, searching for the most recent information, and found that a few years back, he had signed on with the Pinewood Sheriff’s Department in Grizzly Falls, Montana. He was listed as the arresting officer in a few articles, but those had been several years before. When looking at the Web site for the county, Deputy Cooper Trent’s name wasn’t listed, his picture missing.
So either he was fired or he quit and was now off the radar.
Not that she should care. The cat hopped into her lap, looking up at her and meowing. “I know,” she admitted, stroking his sleek head. “I’m an idiot. So what else is new?”
Trent locked the door of the equipment storage shed and gave it a tug, hearing the metal bolt rattle as it held fast. Used as storage for the canoes, snowshoes, kayaks, and hiking and fishing gear, this out-building near the boathouse was one of his responsibilities. Satisfied his gear was secure, he turned his collar up against the wind and headed across campus to his cabin, one of several that housed the staff. His place was a long haul from here—over a quarter mile away, on the far side of the dorms and rec hall, closer to the kennels, stable, and barns.
But he wasn’t complaining. He figured he’d gotten lucky. He didn’t have to have a roommate, mainly because of the state of repair of his particular bungalow. It was not only the smallest, but was also the oldest on the campus, one of the few buildings that remained from the years when this isolated spot had been a haven for hunting and fishing. Built in the early 1900s, the original lodge had been demolished and the gravel access road had washed away in spring thaws and flooding. But a few small cabins were still standing. Barely.
Trent could deal with a leak in the bathroom ceiling and plumbing that screeched when he twisted on a tap or flushed the toilet. He’d take a dilapidated old cabin if it meant privacy. The newer staff quarters were like town houses, big enough for two with common walls, each unit identical to the next.
No thank you.
Being near the stable was a plus for him. He had always felt more comfortable with animals than most people, to the point he’d been considered a loner by some, a cowboy by others. Not that he gave a rat’s ass.
When he wasn’t teaching sports like basketball and volleyball in the gym, Trent was the go-to guy for wilderness survival and a backup for Bert Flannagan, who was the horse and dog handler. All his years on the rodeo circuit had been on his résumé when he’d applied for this job. His experience had convinced Reverend Lynch that he should spend time with the animals, which, Trent thought, shoving his hands into the pockets of his denim work jacket, was far more preferable than working with his peers.
The kids he liked.
Sure, a lot of them had attitude problems, and some were seriously on the way to becoming criminals, but for the most part, they could be challenged and changed. He couldn’t say the same for some of the teachers and counselors here.
Was Tobias Lynch, the reverend, theologian, head administrator for the school, as pious as he portrayed himself to be? His wife, Cora Sue, spent little