Teacher's Crossroad

What young Ms. Taylor didn't know was that Tyson did despise drifters but was becoming one himself. That clarified the man's self-regard.

If George had been a religious man, he'd pray for Christy's success in breaking Tyson out of his self-imposed isolation.

He grinned to himself. It certainly didn't hurt that the young woman was a close physical match to Ashley in her younger years.

His smile slipped away as his thoughts turned to the woman who disappeared the night of the Dean's retirement party. For a short time afterward, everyone suspected Franklin had done something horrible to her. Then information leaked out that she'd left the country the next day. Most of the money from their joint bank account was gone, and a law firm in New York contacted Franklin with divorce papers. The man couldn't sign them fast enough, and days later, he sold the house and disappeared into the jungles of Central America.

So, Tyson's best friend was gone, just like his wife.

George did his best to fill the gap, but he'd been unable to get through to the man.

Perhaps his approach was missing the feminine touch.

Ms. Taylor had plenty of that.

Chapter 3

Tyson stood barefoot on the grass of his back yard, next to the small patio table and chairs he rarely used. Outside of his daily morning routine, that is. He undid his big terry dressing gown and pushed it off his shoulders. He draped it over one of the chairs then walked forward towards the lake until he was standing on the small patch of sand at the edge of his property. He wasn't as hidden from neighboring properties this close to the water, but so far, none of them complained about his habit of swimming in the nude. Or sunbathing the same way, for that matter.

He'd never looked to see if anyone was watching, but then, he didn't care.

He stepped into the chilly water and walked out until he could dive forward. The water was really brisk, but he pushed himself through the pain until he had a nice smooth stroke pattern going and his muscles warmed up.

With so little body fat, he had to keep swimming, or he'd sink like a stone.

As he did every day, he swam in a straight line away from his home until he felt the first signs of exhaustion, which would tell him to turn around and swim back. If he made it back, he'd have earned a great cardio workout and boosted his stamina and endurance. If he couldn't make it back, then he'd have given it all he could, and the lake would take him.

Would that be today?

-=-

Three miles south of the university town was a lovely lake entirely surrounded by dense forest. Situated along the lake's northern edge was a three-mile stretch of road with twenty small homes spread out along the only area suitable for building. The rest of the lake's shoreline was sheer granite walls rising ten to twenty feet above the water's surface. The northern lip was a gradual slope with a sandy patch before dropping off into the depths.

The lane of homes was once linked to the town via the narrow country lane that wove its undulating way through more granite outcroppings to the western edge of town. There were no homes along that stretch of road, and now it was closed to vehicular traffic.

Christy drove her white Mercedes Benz C-Class Coupe along the smooth paving of a road built just four years ago. It linked the eastern edge of town to the east end of the lakefront road.

From her research, she'd learned of the incredible and terrible fate that placed Tyson Kane's car on the tracks at the precise moment the speeding locomotive reached the defunct crossing.

Two emotionally tormented high school students, the victims of brutal high school bullying, one the son of a railroad worker and the other, the son of a construction foreman, hatched a plan to strike back at the town they felt failed them. They managed to liberate an old engine from the yard after linking it to a flatbed car loaded with explosives and the incendiary devices they'd built. They drove the train onto the abandoned branch line that led through the countryside, past the lake, eventually curving up and into the heart of old downtown. The two young men planned on driving the train into the center of town, detonating their bombs, and burning it to the ground.

Instead, they struck Tyson's car, tearing it in two. He was thrown from the driver's seat to land in a ditch while the rest of the car went under the train, causing it to derail a short distance further east. Tyson's wife and the two young men were killed, but the explosives did not go off. Being a remote and sparsely populated location with very infrequent traffic, no one witnessed the accident or was even aware it happened.

Two hours after the crash, the student's manifesto automatically uploaded to social media outlining their plan and why they did it. The town's police force was immediately contacted, and its three cruisers were sent out to investigate. Ninety minutes later, an officer found Tyson in the ditch, close to death.

That's when the shit really hit the fan.

While Tyson was rushed to the hospital, emergency workers discovered the train on its side in the brush further along the torn-up tracks. The young men's bodies were relatively intact, but the same could not be said for Imani.

A bomb disposal team was brought in to disassemble the explosives.

Christy read about how GRT Corporation, the owners of the local freight rail system, was given a beating in the legal courts and in the court of public opinion, forcing them to make significant reparations to the surviving victim, Mr. Kane and to the town.

GRT immediately launched a program to remove the tracks from the branch line. Rusty rails and creosote-soaked ties were ripped up and taken away. Next came road crews who graded and smoothed the rail line ground and installed a lovely six-foot-wide ribbon of smooth asphalt over the route from the accident site to the town's eastern edge. They refused to remove the rails from within the town proper.

With permits granted to them from the town council, those road crews built the straight and smooth two-lane road which Christy was currently using. When it was completed, the town council closed the old country lane to vehicular traffic, making it part of the trail system. As it connected up to the western edge of town, the complete route made for a fifteen-mile semi-circular loop.

As with any new urban development, the elected officials had their sticky fingers in every pie. Large plots of land next to this new road, and more importantly, not surrounded by granite slabs, were opened up with new zoning for high-end housing developments. Neighborhoods of huge mansions sprung up.

One fortunate outcome for the existing homeowners around the lake, ownership of the land south of the old rail line remained in the hands of GRT. They prevented any new development there. The existing lakefront property agreements with GRT had a grandfather clause, and as such, would remain untouched. There would be no more homes built on the lake.

Once Christy had a clear picture of the events surrounding the man, she looked into his history directly and saw proof that he was, indeed, a mathematical genius. His education credentials were impeccable, and the reviews of his career with the university made her wish he was still there. He was referenced a few times as a big cuddly teddy bear if one could also be brilliant at math.

She went over the photo archives at the university and saw how the man had grown into this reputation over the years. He'd been fifty-three at the time of the accident and as large a man as he'd ever been. She pictured him now as a fifty-eight-year-old chubby bear using a walker or a wheelchair if the stories of his injuries were to be believed.

Still, she just needed his brain to break her free from her current mental block.

As Christy drove past a neighborhood of monster homes, she shook her head. The land around them was open and barren. She thought they should have planted large trees around the houses like they had in her parents' neighborhood.

Ahead, she spotted the rail trail crossing the new road and saw no one approaching from either direction, so she drove over the slight hump and entered the forest. A short distance in, she turned onto the old lakefront road. Christy glanced at the envelope again and saw the house number she needed to find. Tyson's place was closer to the other end, so she drove on, enjoying the scenery.

All of the homes were on the lake side of the road, of course, and many were gated, which seemed silly to her as they were all open to the lake. Thankfully, all of the homes were single-story dwellings that fit into their natural settings. Some were double-width to compensate for not being two stories.

Eventually, she saw the numbers getting closer to her destination's address, so she slowed and turned into a gravel driveway. There was no other car in the driveway, so she worried that he might not be home.

The house itself was so sweet! It was a ranch-style cottage tucked in amongst the trees with many unique and thoughtful design touches. She almost expected to see faeries flying around the lush gardens surrounding the home.

Shutting off the engine, she stepped out and took a deep breath of the morning air. It smelled so fresh and clean.

She checked out her outfit one last time. She dressed for success in her best business attire: red silk blouse, tight black slacks, and sexy but low-heeled red leather shoes to match her top. She didn't want to oversell her physical attributes, so she'd worn a top that didn't cling quite so snugly to her breasts. She didn't have pants that weren't flattering, so she went with black, which might visually minimize her sleek curves.

Steeling her nerves, she prepared herself for her pitch as she climbed the three steps to the front door. She pressed the doorbell and heard it faintly from inside.

After a long moment, she pressed the doorbell again. Still nothing.

Christy hadn't planned for this scenario. She had a dozen different strategies for appealing to his teacher's instincts, but nothing if he just wasn't there.

She stood atop his front step and looked around. Maybe he visited a neighbor? The lack of a car in the driveway and no garage certainly suggested he'd gone somewhere else.

"Come on... you can do it... don't give up..."

The morning was so quiet, the faint words drifted over to her from her left. She looked to the neighbor's home and saw it was also a single-story dwelling, but it had a rooftop deck. On this stood an older, white-haired woman, holding a pair of binoculars to her face as she watched something in the direction of the water.

Curious, Christy climbed down the steps, walked to the home side, and saw a gate to the backyard. There was a small sign on it saying private, but after a moment, she went through, anyway. The path led between the house and a six-foot privacy hedge to the backyard. While the wall of plants seemed to go straight down to the water's edge, she realized the home was far deeper than she expected. It must be quite large inside. This was not the impression she'd had from the curb.

The sound of coughing and gasping caught her attention, and she looked to the water. Someone was trying to climb out of the lake. He managed to push himself to his feet and stagger a few feet forward before his muscles wobbled, and he fell forward onto his hands and knees, his head dropping as he continued to gulp in air. She instinctively moved to help.

A deep throaty roar of defiance exploded from him, and she stopped at the back corner of the house to lean against it as she watched him thrust himself back up to his feet. He was... he was naked!

He stood there with eyes closed, breathing hard, feeding oxygen to his trembling muscles. Once he seemed a little more stable, he began to walk out of the shallows toward the house. He lifted both hands to run them from his forehead back over his head, squeezing the water out of the tight curls of his long black hair. That made the patches of grey at his temples stand out.

Christy wasn't sure what to do. She was here to see the teddy bear professor, and some hardbody was staying at his house. Her eyes traveled down his firm, lean body. He was definitely fit, as his muscle definition was exceptional. He wasn't bulky, but the muscles he had were very evident.

His skin was smooth, and there was so much of it to see. She noticed he had a slight limp as he was favoring his left knee. Her eyes caught the impression of scarring over that joint, so he'd had knee surgery?

Since her eyes were in the neighborhood, they visited his cock, and she liked what she saw. The cold water had obviously drawn his balls up closer to his body, but his cock must not have felt the cold as much.

She didn't realize he'd stopped moving until he spoke.

"Who the hell are you, and why are you trespassing?"

His voice was deep, and his tone was angry. Christy automatically became defensive. She took a step away from the building into the backyard.

"I'm Christy Taylor. I'm here to speak with Professor Kane."

The man scowled and continued walking toward the chair that had a robe over it. He didn't attempt to hide himself from her view as her eyes were drawn back to his groin before she forced herself to look back at his face. She examined his expression to see if he enjoyed her attention but saw only anger and annoyance there. He lifted the robe and put it on, cinching it tight around his flat tummy before looking at her again.

"There's no one by that name here. Go away."

"P-Professor Haley told me he lived here. He sent me to speak to Professor Kane," she insisted, more confident now that his body was covered.

The man paused as his expression showed discomfort. "George Haley?

"Yes! I have a letter from him that I need to give Professor Kane," she said, smiling as she sensed victory. She'd get this man to tell her where Tyson Kane was. Maybe this was a cousin, and Tyson took his car into town? The guy in the robe was... late thirties to early forties, maybe. There was some resemblance to the professor.

He held out his hand, and she stared at it, then back at his annoyed expression.

"Give me the letter," he growled.

She frowned at him. "No. I have to give it to Professor Kane directly."

"And I told you there is no Professor Kane here. Just Tyson Kane, and that's me. Give me the letter."

Christy's eyes flew wide as she stared at his impatient face. He gestured with his fingers for her to hand the letter over. "You... you can't be him."

His face showed confusion. "What do you mean? Of course, I can."

"He's- he's almost sixty! You can't be that old!" she exclaimed.

He snorted in amusement, then his face clouded over again. "Listen, I don't have time for this, especially since, as you say, I'm almost sixty. Either give me the letter George wrote for me or leave."

"If-if you're him, why did you say there was no one here by that name?" she asserted.

His scowl was back. "I said there was no Professor Kane here. That man died five years ago. I haven't taught anyone since... that night." Something in his expression hinted at horrors witnessed.

Christy's jaw dropped open as she suddenly believed him. This was Tyson Kane, but he looked so different! She had to acknowledge how he looked now was a vast improvement! Teddy bears are cute and all, but this...

Her eyes once more took in the long black hair now drying down his back. The grey patches at his temples took on new significance. They weren't there in the pictures of him before the accident.

"The letter?"

She jolted, then reached into her purse and handed him the envelope.

He took it from her and glanced at the writing on the front. With a deep sigh, he opened it.

Christy allowed her eyes to wander over his body as his attention was diverted.

She hadn't felt this tingle of excitement in a long time.

-=-

Tyson unfolded the paper with trepidation. The writing on the envelope was definitely George's.

His eyes interpreted his quickly scribbled message.

"Dear Tyson,

I hope this letter finds you well. The woman standing before you is Ms. Christy Taylor. She's in my class, and over the past few months, her grades have taken a sudden and unexpected downturn. She is a very bright and promising individual, so this drop in performance is out of character, and I'm not sure of the cause.

You are probably asking why you should care, and I cannot give you any other answer than it would be a favor to me if you could find some time to review what is giving her trouble and point her in the correct direction.

I find myself in a rather embarrassing position of owing her father a good sum of money after a night of exceptionally poor performance whist playing poker in his home. He indicated he will accept this assistance instead of the cash owed. I would not interfere directly with her grade, so tutoring is the only avenue available.

I cannot show my students favoritism, and I doubt anyone, but you could turn her performance issue around as quickly as you can.

Please do not mention the gambling debt to Ms. Taylor. I do not wish her to have any doubts that she achieved her grades based on her efforts alone.

Thank you for your consideration, your friend, George."

Another sigh was pulled from his tight chest muscles. He really didn't want to do this, but he couldn't turn down George's request. Of all of his friends, only George continued to visit, though Tyson didn't know why, as he was a terrible host. That was Imani's thing.

He folded the letter and carefully tucked it back into the envelope, but these were just delaying tactics as he tried to think of something to say to the young woman before him.

"Will you do it?" she asked.

He looked into her eyes and found himself preparing to nod. Did anyone ever tell this beauty no?

He controlled his expression. "I haven't even had my breakfast yet. Come on. You can tell me why I should give you my valuable time."

He immediately set off for the patio doors leading into the living room of his home. When he gestured to the lovely blonde to have a seat, he saw she was looking around in delight. That made him take another look about as well to see what she might be seeing. Instead, all he saw were reminders of who was no longer in his life. His mood dipped.

He stepped over to a small wood-burning stove heating the room, opened the door, and tossed George's letter inside. As he closed the door, the letter ignited and was soon just ashes. He turned to look back at his guest.

"I have to take a shower and get dressed. Then I'm making breakfast. Have you eaten?" he asked.

She nodded quickly. "But, I wouldn't mind an espresso or a coffee if you're making some?"

He frowned and pointed to the machines in the kitchen. He'd never learned how to use it, but the last time George visited, he brought some specialty beans, used the grinder and the espresso machine to make them both a lovely pick-me-up with the damn thing. "It works, but I haven't clue how to use it. If you know, help yourself."

Tyson walked away without looking to see if she needed anything else. He closed his bedroom door and walked into the bathroom to put his robe in the laundry basket. He took a quick shower, shaved, and dressed, tan shorts and a black t-shirt. He rubbed a little unscented liniment over his left knee as it was aching this morning.

Taking a deep breath, he opened his door and headed back to the living room.

He spotted the blonde— no, Ms. Taylor, standing in the kitchen before the espresso machine. It was making its normal sounds, so he assumed she knew what she was doing.

She turned to smile at him, and he was struck by how familiar she looked at that moment. Something about her...