The Little Maverick Matchmaker

Claire laughed. “I’ll take a break while she’s not looking.”

* * *

Later that morning, Josselyn was putting a stack of returned books back on their proper shelves when a group of second-grade students trooped into the library. The normally quiet room instantly came to life with the sound of tapping feet and voices that were several decibels above hushed.

“Hi, Miss Weaver. Remember me?”

Turning, she was more than surprised to see little Dillon Strickland grinning up at her. Since school had started over a week ago, this was the first time she’d seen the boy in the library.

Smiling back at him, she said, “Sure I remember you. You’re Dillon Strickland.”

His brown eyes sparkled and Josselyn couldn’t help thinking how the boy’s features resembled his father’s.

“And my dad is Drew. Remember him?”

That was something she hadn’t been able to forget, Josselyn thought wryly. Throughout the weekend, the man and his son had drifted in and out of her thoughts.

“Yes, I remember. Your dad is Dr. Strickland,” she said, and, deciding it was time to get on with school matters, left it at that. “I’m happy to see you in the library, Dillon. I believe this is your first visit since school started.”

His eyes wide, he glanced around the rows of bookshelves, and as Josselyn studied the expression on his face, she got the impression he was seeing the library for the very first time.

He swiped at the dark hair hanging near one eye. “Uh—yeah. I’ve already read all my books at home. So I wanted to get some more. Reading is fun. Real fun.”

Josselyn smiled to herself. “I’m glad you think so. What kind of books were you looking for today? Maybe I can help you find something.”

“Oh, I like all kinds.” With a look of bemusement, he peered up and down the aisle. “Do you have books about fish? I like fishing. Me and my grandpa go to the river and catch trout.”

Grandpa. Mikayla had mentioned that Old Gene and Melba Strickland were Drew’s grandparents. Could this child be referring to Old Gene, or did Drew or his ex-wife have parents living in or around Rust Creek Falls?

Josselyn was telling herself that Drew Strickland’s private life was none of her business when Dillon suddenly interrupted her thoughts.

“I should have said great-grandpa.” He spoke again. “My grandpa Jerry doesn’t live here. He lives in Thunder Canyon with Grandma. Old Gene lives here.”

“Old Gene is your great-grandpa?”

Another wide smile dimpled Dillon’s cheeks. “Yeah. But I call him Gramps. Bet you know him, don’t you? Everybody knows Old Gene. He has lots of friends.”

“No. I’ve heard of him, but I’ve never had the opportunity to meet him,” she said, trying to follow his conversation while a girl with brown braids stood a few steps away, waving frantically to attract Josselyn’s attention. “Now we’d better see about finding you a fishing book. Follow me, Dillon, and I’ll show you.”

“Miss Weaver, I need help, too!” the young girl wailed.

“I’ll be right back, Chrissy,” she assured her. “You might want to look at the new-arrival section until it’s your turn.”

Clearly disappointed, the girl gave Dillon a glare before she stomped off in the opposite direction.

“Chrissy needs to learn her manners,” Dillon muttered.

Josselyn certainly agreed, especially since it wasn’t the first time the girl had tried to push her way to the front of the line.

“Or maybe she don’t understand,” Dillon said with a shrug of one shoulder. “Maybe she don’t have a mother. Like me.”

The boy’s empathetic remark made Josselyn desperately want to stop in the middle of the aisle and hug him tight. It also had her mind whirling with even more questions about Drew Strickland. But now wasn’t the time or place to talk to the boy about personal matters. And even if they had been somewhere other than school, Josselyn certainly wasn’t about to pump the child for information.

“Well, I wouldn’t worry about it, Dillon. She’ll get her turn. Right now, let’s find you a fishing book. Maybe one with a grandpa in it. How would that be?”

He grinned up at her. “Oh, that would be super! I’ll read every word, Miss Weaver.”

* * *

“Looks like school is rubbing off on little Dillon,” Melba commented, as she eased her frame into an armchair.

Drew lowered the medical journal he’d been reading to look at his grandmother, who’d finally found the time to sit down. Since he and Dillon had come to live at the boardinghouse, he’d learned one thing. His grandparents were always busy and appeared to have the energy of a pair of teenagers. Where they found such get-up-and-go Drew could only wonder.

“What are you talking about?” Drew asked her.

The gray-haired woman inclined her head to a spot on the opposite side of the sitting room. Drew glanced over his shoulder to see Dillon cozied up to his great-grandfather. The boy was holding an open book in his lap and appeared to be reading the story to Old Gene.

“I never noticed Dillon liking books before. Did he do a lot of reading back in Thunder Canyon?” Melba asked.

Drew should’ve been encouraged to see his son take an interest in reading. Books opened up a whole new world to a child and generally made them better students. Yet he couldn’t deny that it hurt to see Dillon happily reading to his great-grandfather. Drew had been here in his grandparents’ living room for the past half hour, but instead of sitting on the couch, close to his father, Dillon had chosen to ignore him.

The move from Thunder Canyon to Rust Creek Falls was supposed to have drawn Drew and Dillon closer together. At least, that’s what Drew’s parents had believed. Jerry and Barbara had certainly used that particular argument to persuade their son to take the temporary job at the clinic. But as far as Drew could see, his parents had been wrong. The move had actually pushed Dillon closer to his gramps.

“I think reading is something new for Dillon,” Drew said to Melba, while telling himself he was being childish to resent his son’s relationship with Old Gene. The two of them were good for each other and that was the most important thing.

Melba pulled a piece of knitting from a sewing basket sitting next to her chair. “That’s good. Maybe he’ll decide he wants to be a doctor someday. Like his dad and uncle Ben.”

A cynical grunt erupted from Drew. Dillon never talked about wanting to become a doctor, or even be like his father. “I seriously doubt Dillon will want to go into the medical field, Grandma. He thinks being a horseman like his uncle Trey or a rancher like his grandpa Jerry would be more fun.”

Focused on her knitting stitches, Melba smiled knowingly. “Nothing wrong with that. Most little boys like the idea of being outdoors and living the rough, tough life of a cowboy. But give him a few years. He might set his sights on something altogether different. Like a businessman or a lawyer.”

During the first year of Dillon’s life, Evelyn had often talked about their son’s future and the dreams she had for him. She’d always summed up her wishes in one word. Happy. That was the main thing she’d wanted for Dillon. To live a full and happy life. Since her death, Drew had fallen short in the dad department. But he was determined to change. To make certain Evelyn’s vision of their son’s future came true.

“Sometimes I wonder, Grandma, if becoming a doctor was the wrong path for me. I was raised a rancher—a cowboy. Things might have been better if I’d never left that life.”

Frowning, Melba lowered her knitting and studied him over the rim of her reading glasses. “How could you think such a thing, Drew? You studied so long and hard. Babies are a family’s hopes and dreams and you help them come true by seeing those new little lives safely enter the world. It’s an admirable profession.”

Along with all consuming, Drew thought ruefully. Even now, as he sat quietly here in his grandparents’ living room, his evening could change in a split second with an emergency call. Babies didn’t wait for a convenient time to arrive.

“Yes, but I might still—”

He stopped abruptly and Melba’s keen eyes were once again studying him closely. “Might what? Still have Evelyn? Is that what you were going to say?”

Drew silently cursed, knowing the perceptive woman was going to hound him until she got an answer.

Claire had started in on him this morning and now his grandmother this evening. Both women ought to know he didn’t want to talk about his late wife. Anyone in his family should understand that just speaking her name was like swallowing shards of broken glass. Yet they had to bring up the whole tragedy, as if talking about it was going to make all the pain and loss go away. Damn it, why couldn’t they see that nothing was going to make things better for him?

Releasing a heavy breath, he closed the journal and laid it aside. “Something like that.”

Melba’s lips thinned to a disapproving line. “You’re thinking like a fool, Drew.”

He couldn’t help but bristle at her unkindly observation. “Am I? Well, it was an emergency medical call that sent me to work instead of taking my son to day care. It was my job that put Evelyn in that car. If I’d been working on Dad’s ranch, the accident would’ve never happened.”

“You think so, huh? Well, I don’t.” She leveled a pointed gaze at him. “Things in our life happen for a reason, Drew. Until you realize that and accept it, you’re never going to be happy.”

Happy. That was a condition Drew never expected to experience again, he thought bitterly. His happiness had died beneath that oak tree.

He was trying to gather the words for a reply when a buzzer sounded, alerting his grandparents that someone was at the office at the back of the boardinghouse.

Frowning, Melba glanced at the clock on the wall. “Now, who could that be at this hour? All the boarders are paid up.”

“Could be a new tenant, Ma.” Old Gene spoke from his spot on the window seat.

Sighing, Melba laid her knitting aside and rose from the comfortable armchair. “I’ll go see.”

“I’ll go with you,” her husband said.

She started out of the room. “No need for that. We have a vacancy. I’ll take care of the registry.”

“Just the same, I’m going with you,” Old Gene insisted, as he left his seat next to Dillon and joined her at the door.

“But, Gramps, I haven’t finished the story yet!” Dillon complained.

Old Gene cocked a bushy eyebrow at his great-grandson. “You read the rest of it to your dad.”

Dillon scowled. “But he don’t like fishin’!”

“He might if you give him a chance,” Old Gene said as he followed his wife out the door.

Dillon stared sulkily at the floor, a reaction that surprised Drew. It wasn’t like his son to be crabby.

“Bring your book over here, son,” Drew invited.

His bottom lip pushed petulantly forward, Dillon snapped the book shut. “I don’t want to read anymore,” he muttered.

Drew contained a weary sigh. “Okay. But come here anyway. I want to talk to you.”

Dillon jammed the book beneath his arm and walked over to the couch. “Am I in trouble?”

Was he really so miserable of a father that Dillon thought the only time his father wanted to talk to him was when he needed to be disciplined? The idea was one more heavy weight on Drew’s shoulders.

“No.” He patted the cushion next to him. “Do you think you’ve done something wrong?”

Dillon climbed onto the couch and scooted backward until his athletic shoes were dangling off the edge of the seat.

“No,” he mumbled. “But I guess I wasn’t talking very nice to Gramps just now.”

“Well, you could have been more understanding,” Drew gently agreed. “Gramps has work he has to do.”

Dillon’s lips twisted into a smirk. “Not like you, Dad. You work all the time.”

He might as well have been kicking him in the shins, Drew thought. It wouldn’t have been any more painful.

“I’m not working now,” Drew said pointedly. “So show me your book.”

Relenting, Dillon placed the book flat on his lap. “See. It’s about a boy who catches a great big fish, but nobody will believe him.”

“Why not? Doesn’t he show the fish to everyone?”

Dillon shook his head. “He can’t. While the boy wasn’t looking, a raccoon snuck up and stole the fish. Nobody believes that, either.”

“Sounds like this guy has a big problem.”

Dillon’s chin bobbed up and down. “He’s pretty sad right now. I hope he gets happy by the end of the book.”

“I do, too. Being sad isn’t any fun.” Drew gestured toward the book. “Did you get the book at school or does it belong to the little boy who lives downstairs with his mother?”

Frowning, Dillon glanced up at him. “You mean Robbie? No. He can’t read very good. He’s got something wrong with his eyes and he sees things funny.”

From the few times Drew had spotted the little boy around the boardinghouse, he would guess him to be about the same age as Dillon and extremely shy. Most of the time he’d remained half-hidden behind his mother, a thin, harried-looking young woman. “How do you know this?”

“’Cause Robbie told me so. He has to take extra lessons to read better.”

Leave it to Dillon to know more about their neighbors than him, Drew thought. His son did get around.

“I got the book about fishin’ at the library at school. Miss Weaver helped me pick it out.”

Miss Weaver. Drew had pretty much pushed the brief meeting with the woman out of his thoughts. At least, that’s what he’d been telling himself. But the images of her gentle smile and soft green eyes were still dancing through his mind, reminding him that he was a long way from forgetting.

“Miss Weaver—the lady we met at the picnic,” Drew stated more than questioned.

Dillon’s sulky demeanor suddenly vanished with a bright smile. “That’s right. The really pretty one! She’s super nice, Dad. And she knows all about books.”

Drew started to explain that Miss Weaver knew all about books because that was her job, but he quickly nixed that thought before he spoke. Dillon was a child. Hard facts weren’t what he needed to hear.

“I’m glad she was so helpful. Uh...you didn’t say anything about me to her, did you?”

Dillon’s smile faded, but didn’t quite disappear. “No. There was too many kids around. Besides, I figure she was thinking about you anyway.”

Over the years, Drew had learned to expect the unexpected from Dillon, but this was one time his son’s remark took him aback. “Why would you have that idea, Dillon? The woman doesn’t even know me.”

“Sure, she does. She met me and you at the park. So when she seen me in the library, that made her think of you. It’s simple, Dad.”

Simple. There was nothing uncomplicated about this quest of Dillon’s to find his father a wife. And what had gotten into his son, anyway? Even though Dillon’s mother was gone, the boy still had plenty of mothering from Drew’s mom and grandmother. It wasn’t like he’d grown up in an all-male household and was starved for maternal attention.

“Well, simple or not,” Drew told him, “I don’t want you going around talking about finding me a wife. Not to strange women. Not to anyone. Can you promise me that?”

As Drew watched his son’s mouth fall open, he expected to hear a loud protest. Instead, Dillon said, “Okay, Dad. I promise.”

Drew patted his knee. “Good, boy. Now, about this fishing book. You know, what you told Gramps about me not liking to fish was wrong.”

Dillon’s face was a picture of surprise. “It was? I never seen you go fishing before.”

“Well, it has been a while,” Drew conceded. About eight years, he thought ruefully. “I used to take your mother fishing back in Thunder Canyon. There was a big stream on the family ranch with lots of trout. And after we caught a bunch, we took them home and had a fish dinner.”

“Golly, that sounds like fun. Why don’t you do that now, Dad?”

Yes, why didn’t he?

Because Evelyn is gone. Because going without her wouldn’t be the same. You’ve used that excuse for the past six years of your life, Drew. When are you going to throw it away and start enjoying these precious years with your son, instead of clinging to a memory?

Torn by the reproachful voice in his head, Drew stared at the window on the opposite side of the room. Oh how he wished he could open the paned glass and let all the painful memories in his heart fly away. Never to torment him again.

“Dad? Why don’t you go fishing now?”

Dillon’s repeated question pulled Drew out of his wistful reverie and as he looked down at his son, he did his best to ignore the guilt pressing down on his shoulders.

“I’ll tell you what, Dillon, if you’ll finish reading your book to me, I’ll promise to take you fishing.”

Dillon eyed him skeptically. “You really will take me? You’re not going to say you have to work?”

Dear God, he had a long ways to go to prove himself as a father, Drew thought. “I’m not just saying it.” To underscore his words, Drew made an x across his heart. “I really promise.”

“Okay, Dad! We got a deal!”

Dillon raised his hand for a high five and as Drew gently slapped his palm against his son’s, a small sense of triumph rushed through him.

* * *

By the time Friday arrived, Josselyn decided that where little Dillon Strickland was concerned, something was amiss. So far the boy had visited the library every day this week, at times during periods when he should have been on the playground running and playing with his friends.

Not wanting to get the boy in trouble, Josselyn hadn’t spoken to his teachers about his unusual behavior. After all, fretting over a child’s visits to the library sounded ridiculous. Even to Josselyn. But Dillon was checking out more books than a normal child his age could read in a month. And each time she questioned him about the books, he evaded answering by steering the conversation back to the fishing story.

Clearly he’d read that book. He even talked about how he was going to be like the hero and catch the biggest fish in Rust Creek Falls. But she’d make a bet that the other books had never been opened.

Josselyn stared at the small sticky note lying on her desk. The telephone number scratched across it was the contact number Drew Strickland had provided to the school.

She glanced at the large clock hanging on a far wall of the library room. The man was a doctor. She didn’t like the idea of interrupting his work. But it was nearing the lunch hour. Hopefully he’d already dealt with most of the morning patients.

Drawing in a bracing breath, Josselyn punched in the numbers, and as the ring sounded in her ear, she wondered why her heart was beating a mile a minute. This was nothing but a school-parent call and Drew Strickland was little more than a stranger.

“Dr. Strickland here.”

As soon as the rich, male voice came back at her, Josselyn’s pent-up breath rushed out of her.

“Hello, Doctor. This is Josselyn Weaver, the librarian at Rust Creek Falls Elementary. We met at the school picnic.”

After a short pause, he said, “Yes, I remember. How are you, Miss Weaver?”

A physician would be asking about her well-being, she thought. “I’m good, thank you. I—uh—apologize for calling you at work. Do you have a minute or two? I promise this won’t take long.”

“You’ve called at the right time. My nurse is having lunch, so I have a short break. Is there something I can do for you?”

Her mouth suddenly turned as dry as Death Valley in mid-July. “Actually, I’m calling about your son, Dillon. I’ve been seeing quite a bit of him in the library.”

“That’s encouraging. Maybe he’ll develop a love of reading.”

For no sensible reason at all, she was suddenly picturing the shape of Drew Strickland’s strong lips and the deep dimples carved into his cheeks. Just the thought of kissing him was enough to make her breath catch in her throat.

“Yes. I’m hoping that happens, too.”

He must have heard something amiss in her voice because he suddenly asked, “Are you calling because Dillon has been acting unruly? If so, I’m not surprised. I’m fairly sure he’s not yet learned that a library is a place for silence.”

In other words, Dr. Strickland hadn’t visited a library with his son before, she concluded. But that wasn’t all that unusual. Some men’s reading habits never went beyond the newspaper or an occasional magazine.

She said, “Students are taught the rules of etiquette by their teachers before they visit the library. Besides, Dillon hasn’t been unruly. He’s—well, he’s coming in every day and checking out an unreasonable amount of books. When I questioned him, he says he’s reading all of them. Is that what you’re seeing at home?”

This time there was a long pause before he answered.

“I’m not exactly sure. I’m in and out of the boardinghouse so much answering emergency calls. Dillon could be reading when I’m not around.”

Which could be most of the time. She was beginning to get the picture now. Apparently Dillon needed more than a mother. He needed his father’s undivided time and attention. But she wasn’t about to point that out to the man. His idea of proper parenting was his business. Not hers.

“Oh. I see.”

Silent seconds passed before he spoke again. “Tell me, Miss Weaver, do you think my son has a problem?”

She wasn’t certain about Dillon’s problem, but she realized she had one of her own. He was tall, dark haired and sexy enough to curl a woman’s toes. Just the sound of his deep male voice was making her skin prickle with awareness.

“I’m not sure. I just know he’s spending an inordinate amount of time in the library.”

“This deduction is coming from a librarian?”

Josselyn bristled. No matter if the man was a walking dream, she didn’t deserve or appreciate his sarcasm. “Yes. And you can do what you like with the information. As a part of the school staff, I thought you should be alerted to your son’s behavior. Thank you for your time, Dr. Strickland. Goodbye.”

She hung up the phone, then, realizing she was shaking, rose and walked over to a window that overlooked the school playground. Except for a few yellow cottonwood leaves rolling across the dormant lawn, the area was quiet. But as soon as lunch was over, the area would be full of children, most of them laughing and playing. Would Dillon be among them? Or would he choose, as he had yesterday, to come into the library and talk to her, rather than play with his friends?

Josselyn hadn’t bothered telling Dr. Drew Strickland that bit of information. Not when he’d seemed to be dismissing her concern about Dillon as much ado about nothing.

Maybe she doesn’t have a mother. Like me.

The boy’s remark was still haunting Josselyn. Almost as much as the sad shadows she’d spotted in Drew Strickland’s gorgeous brown eyes.

Chapter Four

Monday afternoon, thirty minutes before it was time to pick up Dillon from school, Drew was kindly escorted to the library by a teacher’s aide.

“No need to knock,” the dark-haired woman told him. “Miss Weaver is still here. She never leaves until long after the last bell rings.”

“Thanks.”

The woman went on her way and, taking a deep breath, Drew opened the door and stepped inside the world where his son had been spending an inordinate amount of time. Or so Miss Weaver had said.

Throughout the weekend, he’d thought about her call. The words she’d said and the way she’d said them had stuck in him like thorns of a briar branch. His son wasn’t getting the attention he needed at home. At least, not the right kind. She’d not uttered those exact words, but the tone in her voice had been clear, and that bothered Drew. Bothered the hell right out of him.

At first glance, he spotted a large oak desk situated close to a window. At the moment it was empty, and as he walked slowly toward it, he glanced between the tall shelves jammed with books. The aide had said Miss Weaver was still here, but the long room was as silent as a tomb.