Josh peered at her over the rim of the glass, pausing before taking a drink. “Okay for what?”
Marissa gave him a look, but couldn’t quite suppress a smile. “Well, okay, I admit, maybe Rick is a little…”
“Nerdy?”
“Persnickety,” she corrected him pointedly. “But he’s a good teacher and knows a lot about industrial arts, manual arts, and he’s great with computers. Actually, I’m lucky to have him on my staff.”
“Wow, lucky,” Josh joked, rolling his eyes. He reached for the platter in the center of the table, sliding it toward him.
She watched as he refilled his plate with another heaping mound of pasta and dug in. She’d read somewhere that teenage boys were the perfect eating machine, and, watching as he dove into his second helping, she was inclined to believe it was true.
She glanced down at her own half-finished plate. She’d eaten only a fraction of what Josh had consumed, and she felt overstuffed and uncomfortable. Pushing her plate to one side, she leaned back in her chair.
“Well,” she said, pulling the napkin from her lap and dabbing at the corners of her mouth. “I’m not asking you to like him—just put in your time, do your work and cooperate.”
Josh lowered his fork to the plate, his smile fading. “I’ve been trying to, honest. I’m not doing anything wrong.”
“Oh, sweetie, I know, I know,” Marissa said earnestly, sitting back up and reaching across the small table. She covered his hand with hers, cursing under her breath. What was she doing? She knew he was sensitive about everything that had happened, and the last thing she wanted was to make him think she planned to bring up the past every time something came up. “I’m really impressed with the efforts you’ve made. You buckled down, accepted your punishment. You haven’t whined or made waves. You’ve shown a lot of maturity and a lot of responsibility. I’m not only impressed, I’m very proud.”
Josh’s cheeks flushed with emotion, and he quickly looked away. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she said, squeezing his hand. And then, because she knew she’d embarrassed him, she quickly changed the subject. “So…did you and Sheriff James have a nice talk today?”
“Yeah,” Josh said, scooping up another forkful of food. “It was okay.”
“Did he ask a lot of questions?” she prompted, making an effort to keep her tone light.
“Some,” he said with his mouth full.
“I’d just wondered,” she said casually, leaning back again in the chair. “Because he seemed to keep you out there so long. I was getting a little worried. Skip told me the sheriff has harassed you guys before. I thought maybe…you know, maybe he was giving you a hard time or something.”
“No,” Josh said, shaking his head and swallowing. “Skip’s just paranoid. He thinks everyone’s out to get him.”
Marissa frowned. So much for being subtle. It looked as though the only way she was going to find out exactly what he and Dylan had talked about for so long this afternoon was to come right out and ask.
She drew in a deep breath. “So what did you two talk about for so long?”
“Fly-fishing,” Josh said, chewing.
“Fly-fishing?”
“Yeah.”
“All that time?”
“Yeah,” Josh said, shrugging. “Well, mostly. He asked me some stuff about school, and Skip.” He smiled again. “And Mr. Mathers. But mostly we just talked fly-fishing.”
“And that’s how this goofus insect thing came up?”
“Goofus bug.”
The dinner in her stomach rolled queasily around. “That’s it?”
“Pretty much,” Josh said. With a small corner of garlic bread, he shoveled the last bite of pasta onto his fork and downed it in one gulp. “He said he’d take me sometime, if I wanted.”
Marissa came forward in her chair. “Take you fishing?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You and Dyl…uh, you and the sheriff fishing? Together?”
Josh glanced up, giving her a curious smile. “Yeah, together.”
“Why would he want to take you fly-fishing?”
“I don’t know,” Josh said, settling back and tossing his napkin down onto his plate. “We just got talking about it. I told him about that place Dad and me used to go up near Long Barn. He told me about some of the places he goes around here.” Josh flicked his wrist, practicing a few more air shots. “Just asked if I’d want to tag along sometime, that’s all.”
“What did you say?”
“I said maybe.” He glanced at her again, his dark brows knitted together. “Was there something wrong with that?”
Marissa shook her head. “No, no. Of course not. I guess I’m just a little surprised, that’s all.” She stood up and began to clear the dishes away. “I never thought of Dylan James fishing.”
“Not just fishing,” Josh pointed out, air casting a few more times, and wiggling his eyebrows. “Fly-fishing. There’s a difference.”
Marissa laughed as she carried the dishes to the sink. “Well, its just so much smelly fish if you ask me.”
“Girls,” Josh muttered with a smile as he carried the pasta platter into the kitchen.
“Women,” she corrected him.
They continued to talk as they worked together in the kitchen, clearing the table and stacking the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. Josh told her about the new girl in his algebra class, and Marissa asked his opinion on the new menu in the school cafeteria. It was a casual conversation—idle chitchat, really, but the kind of comfortable, relaxed talk she enjoyed the most, the kind she’d missed all those years she’d spent without him.
After a while, Josh headed for his room to start on his homework, and Marissa finished up in the kitchen.
It wasn’t until she heard the low rhythms coming from Josh’s CD player that her mind turned to Dylan again.
She told herself his offer to take Josh fly-fishing had just been a casual gesture. She could almost imagine how the thing had come up—they’d been talking, one thing had led to another, and Dylan had just brought it up. It was simply a spur-of-the-moment thing that neither of them had taken very seriously. But she couldn’t help feeling a little uneasy about it. The thought of Dylan and Josh developing any kind of a relationship made her uncomfortable. As far as she was concerned, the less time the two of them spent together, the better.
But she had to be careful. If she’d learned one thing from that fiasco in her office this afternoon, it was that she couldn’t afford to panic, couldn’t afford to let her fears and her paranoia make either of them suspicious. She and Josh were just starting their life together, and as long as Josh was on probation, Dylan James was going to be a part of it. It was up to her to find a way to cope, to set the tone for the others to follow.
She snapped the lid down tight on the plastic bowl that held the meager leftovers of their dinner and pulled the refrigerator door open. It was only then that she noticed the empty milk carton.
Picking up the empty container, she tossed it into the trash. Keeping a house stocked with enough food for a hungry teenage boy was proving quite a challenge. Having lived alone for so many years, she was forever having to throw away food that had gone unused and forgotten. But now with Josh, it seemed she couldn’t keep enough food in the house.
Snatching up her purse, she walked to the stairwell and called up.
“Hey, Josh.”
Immediately the music died, and she heard the sound of his door opening.
“What’s up?” he called down the stairs.
“We’re out of milk. I’m going to run down to the market and get some. Be back in a minute.”
Dylan looked down at the folder on the seat beside him. He might as well go ahead and admit it. This was just an excuse—plain and simple. An out-and-out excuse he’d come up with—and not even a very good one at that. After all, getting Marissa’s signature on the report he’d compiled for Judge Kent was really nothing more than a formality, nothing that couldn’t have
waited until morning. Yet here he was, parked in front of her condo as though he were delivering a vital organ on which a human life depended.
He reached up, switching the key off and bringing the Jeep’s motor to an abrupt halt. He sat there for a moment, listening to the engine creak and groan and trying to find some justification as to why he was doing what he was about to do.
It really made no sense. After all, he’d been perfectly content these last couple of weeks doing what he could to avoid her, concentrating on work and trying to forget she was even back in town. If it hadn’t been for this damn report for the judge, maybe he would have forgotten about her completely.
Dylan made a face. Even he didn’t buy that. It had been sixteen years since he’d held the woman, and he hadn’t done a very good job of forgetting.
He peered out of the window, looking across the lawn toward her door. The sun had all but disappeared behind the mountains, just the meekest of rays drifting through the twilight sky. So why was he there? What had him racking his brain, coming up with this flimsy excuse just so he could see her again?
He thought of that moment in her office—that moment when he’d pulled her close, when she’d looked up at him with emotion so evident in her eyes. When she’d looked so much like the girl he’d loved, the girl he’d wanted all those years ago.
But that wasn’t the reason. He’d come because he’d had to, because he couldn’t stay away. He’d left the small maintenance trailer and walked back with her to her office. He’d dutifully picked up the copies of the documents he’d requested, then he’d shaken her hand, walked to his Jeep and driven away. But something hadn’t felt right, something nagged at him as though it had been left undone, or unsaid.
He glanced down at the folder again, staring at it as though he expected it to spring to life, as though it would suddenly come alive and advise him on what he should do. But instead it did nothing—just lay there staring up at him, mute and pathetic—just like the excuse he was using it for.
It was stupid—this whole thing was just one big stupid mistake. He had to get out of there, get out before anyone saw him, before he made a bigger fool of himself than he had already.
He reached for the key in the ignition, but before he could twist it on, before he could crank the engine back to life and speed away, the light above her door suddenly switched on, flooding the small porch with light.
Dylan froze. She was down the steps and halfway across the lawn before she spotted his Jeep—but then, it would have been a little hard to miss sitting there at the curb parked right behind her car. She came to an abrupt stop, peering through the darkness.
Dylan swore under his breath, reached for the folder from the seat beside him and opened his car door. It was a flimsy excuse, but it was the only one he had.
“Looks like I caught you at a bad time,” he said, stepping out of the car and giving her a small wave from across the hood of his Jeep.
“I was…I was just on my way to the market,” she stammered, walking to where he was parked. Her defenses were immediately up. She stopped on the curb, resting her hands on the warm hood, gazing across at his tall, dark form. “Did you need to see me about something?”
He held up the folder. “Just a signature on this report for Kent, but it can wait.” He reached for the door handle, feeling almost relieved. She looked entirely too soft, and too vulnerable, in the pale glow of the porch light. The tight, constricting bun was gone, and her hair fell long and free. “I’ll catch you some other time.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, stopping him. “If it’s important…”
“No, that’s all right,” he insisted, pulling the door open. “Go do your grocery shopping, we can talk later.”
“It was just milk,” she said, stepping away from the patrol car.
He stopped, poised in the open door, and glanced back at her. He tried not to notice how the light formed a golden halo behind her. “Just milk?”
Marissa laughed, realizing that might have sounded a little strange. “Yeah, milk. We’re out. I think Josh goes through a couple of gallons a day. I was just going to the corner market for some.”
Dylan didn’t even miss a beat. “Hop in, I’ll drive you.”
“So, what do you think?”
Marissa lowered the folder to her lap. The report was straightforward and accurate, and she could find nothing to complain about.
“I think it sounds fine,” she said, opening her purse and slipping her pen from its holder in her checkbook. She rested the folder on her lap, signing the cover letter in the space he’d left for her. She closed the folder and handed it to him. “Do you think I could get a copy of this for my files?”
“Sure,” he said, taking the file from her and depositing it on the seat between them. He pulled into a free spot in the small parking lot, turning the motor off. “I’ll have Kim send one over.”
“Thanks,” Marissa said, gathering up her purse and pushing the door open. “I won’t be more than a minute.”
“No hurry,” he said, opening his door, too. “I’ll go with you.”
Marissa headed down a narrow aisle of the small market, feeling self-conscious and uncomfortable. Each step she took she was aware of Dylan following closely behind. The small store was nearly deserted, and no one paid any attention to them at all, but in her mind she felt as though every eye in the place was watching.
It had given her quite a start to look up and find him parked at the curb in front of her house. For a moment, all she’d been able to do was stand there and stare. A million different things had run through her head, a million reasons as to why he’d come—another random check on Josh, a question about the visit at school, another troubled student. But just for an instant, just for one brief fraction of a millisecond, she’d thought that maybe he’d come to see her.
She reached the dairy case, her eyes scanning for the lowfat milk. Reaching for the largest container she could find, she picked it up.
“Here, let me help you with that,” Dylan offered, relieving her of the heavy container.
For a brief moment, their hands brushed, and Marissa felt the reaction of that brief contact reverberate through her entire system.
“Thanks,” she mumbled.
“Wow,” he said, surveying the size of the carton. “I didn’t even know they made them in this size.”
“You’d be surprised what you learn when you have a teenager living with you,” she said, heading back down the aisle toward the checkout line. “And you’d be surprised how much more time you spend in a grocery store than you used to.”
“Growing boy,” Dylan commented dryly, following her to the end of the line.
“Growing and hungry,” she said.
They waited silently in line. Marissa concentrated her attention on studying the busy pattern on the blouse of the woman in line in front of her, and Dylan scanned the headlines of the tabloid newspapers that lined the racks on either side of the counter.
The line grew longer as other shoppers moved in place behind them, and Dylan stepped close to make room. His arm brushed hers, and the sudden contact caused her to jump. She tried to step back, but the conditions were too crowded, and she only succeeded in banging her knee into his.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, feeling clumsy and embarrassed.
“No problem,” he said, shifting the heavy carton of milk from one hand to the other.
Marissa turned and watched with growing impatience the slow, steady pace of the checkout clerk. It seemed to be taking forever. When she’d finally finished ringing up one customer and started on the next, the tape on her cash register suddenly ran out, and she had to call the manager to come help her install another spool of paper.
Dylan shifted the milk again, causing their arms to brush again. Marissa closed her eyes. She felt like screaming. She just wanted out of there, wanted to get moving again, but it seemed that forces were conspiring against her to prevent that from happening. It made her nervous having
him so close—nervous and uneasy. It made her think of that moment in her office when he had touched her arm, when he had said her name.
“Marissa?”
Marissa’s eyes snapped open, and she looked around, confused and flustered. But it wasn’t Dylan who had said her name. It was the woman who stood at the end of the line behind them.
“Marissa Wakefield, it is you?”
Marissa looked into the woman’s smiling face, recognition coming to her in a rush. “Jill? Jill Lawrence?”
“You remember,” the woman screeched, leaving her basket at her spot at the end of the line and rushing up to give Marissa an enthusiastic hug. “You know, my sister told me you’d moved back to Jackson, but I could hardly believe it.”
“Jill Lawrence,” Marissa murmured again, remembering the face of her childhood friend. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“No? You don’t think so?” Jill laughed, stepping back and pointing to her extended tummy.
Marissa laughed, her cheeks darkening as she realized how that sounded to her very pregnant old friend. “Well, maybe a little.”
“Oh, Marissa,” Jill said again, giving her another hug. “You look great. You’re the one who hasn’t changed. My God, how long has it been? Fifteen years? Sixteen?”
“Long enough that it’s probably better not to count,” Marissa laughed. The line moved forward, and they all took a step closer to the counter. “Jill, do you know Dylan James?” She looked up into his dark eyes. “Dylan, this is Jill Lawrence.”
“I don’t think there’s anyone in Jackson who doesn’t know Sheriff James,” Jill said, extending her hand to him. “We’ve never met officially, Sheriff, but I know all about you.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “I’m Kimberly’s sister. She talks about you all the time.”
Dylan made a face, giving her a crooked smile as he took her hand. “Well, I hope you don’t believe everything she tells you.”
“Oh, it’s all good,” Jill assured him. “And it’s Scaletti now. Jill Scaletti.”
“You and Dom got married,” Marissa said, remembering Dom Scaletti and his kind brown eyes. He used to joke and tease with her and Mallory whenever they stepped into his father’s deli for salami sandwiches and potato salad. “That’s wonderful.”
Father Figure Page 8
