Dylan looked at her and shrugged. “Well, what?”
Kimberly made a face. “You know exactly what. Jill said you were with Marissa Wakefield.”
“Yeah.”
“So…” Kimberly started, urging him on.
“So?”
“So what’s going on?”
Dylan’s frown deepened slightly. He’d been asking himself that same question for the last six days. “What makes you think there’s anything going on?”
“Oh, come on,” Kimberly insisted. “She was with you, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah.”
“You came together.”
“Yeah.”
“Jill said you gave her a…you know…a ride.”
Dylan laughed. “I give Emma Crandall a ride to the post office from time to time also. I suppose you think there’s something going on there, too?”
“Emma Crandall is eighty-seven years old,” Kim pointed out dryly. “And the two of you didn’t date back in high school.” She started to take another bite of the éclair, then stopped. “At least I don’t think you did, did you?”
Dylan laughed again, and gave his eyebrows a wicked wiggle. “Don’t underestimate those little gray-haired ladies.”
“Very funny, very funny,” Kim said, rolling her eyes. She finished the last of the éclair and walked over to the sink, pushing him aside and washing her hands. “So I guess you and Emma make out in parking lots all the time, too, then, is that right?”
“Make out?” he asked stiffly. “I’m not sure I’d know how to make out anymore.”
“Oh, is that right, Grandpa?” Kimberly said sympathetically, tweaking her fingers and flipping a few drops of cool water in his direction. She reached for a paper towel and dried her hands. “According to Jill, it looked like you knew exactly what you were doing.”
Dylan’s smile slowly faded. He was rather hoping Jill hadn’t seen them—not that he was interested in keeping secrets. He’d wanted to kiss Marissa very much, and it didn’t bother him who knew, or who saw them. It was just that he didn’t feel like talking about it. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to work? I mean, if you don’t have enough to do, I could always find something more for you—”
“Okay, okay. I can take a hint,” Kimberly conceded, cutting him off. She crumpled the paper towel and tossed it into the trash, heading for the door. After a few steps, she stopped and turned around. “Did I ever tell you I hate it when you start sounding like a boss?”
He laughed, but as he watched her head out the door and down the corridor toward the main desk, the smile slowly faded from his lips. It had been a long week—long, and tiresome, and hectic. There had been more budget headaches and useless wrangling with the board, and a freak rash of summer colds had left them short-staffed and scrambling. He’d stayed late at the station every night, and had taken several of the night patrols himself.
He glanced up at the clock. It was almost noon. What he really needed to do was work through lunch and try to make a dent in the paperwork that was piling up on his desk—not go rushing off to the courthouse for a command performance in front of the judge. But that was what he’d do—like it or not. And he didn’t like it much.
He finished his tea and rinsed out his cup in the sink, then headed back for his office. He rounded his cluttered desk, ignoring the stack of unfinished paperwork, and settled into his chair. He thought about Kim, and the questions she’d asked him.
If Kim was asking about Marissa, there was a good chance others in his department were curious, as well. It was safe to say he wasn’t crazy about the idea of his private life being the subject of office gossip, and he didn’t want to encourage or condone rumors and innuendos. Their work was too serious, the service they provided the community too important, for him to tolerate that. But he was realistic, and knew that it didn’t matter how dedicated or how hardworking an employee was, loose tongues and idle chitchat seemed to be an inevitable part of the work experience.
So he didn’t doubt that the grapevine was alive and well in his department, and that he was probably the subject of it from time to time. But the truth of the matter was, he really hadn’t been thinking about who might be watching, or what kind of gossip might follow, when he’d leaned across the seat of his Jeep and kissed Marissa. All he’d had on his mind was the woman, and how much he’d wanted her right then.
Then—and now. He swiveled his chair around, staring out the window and picturing her in his mind. She’d asked him for time, and maybe he’d needed some, as well. But it had been six long days, and not one had passed that he hadn’t wanted to call, hadn’t wanted to hear her voice, to hold her again. But he hadn’t, he’d tried to be patient.
It wasn’t as though he’d thought this all out, as though he had a plan or had charted a course to follow. He hadn’t driven over to her house that night with the intention of kissing her. It just happened. He hadn’t known what his feelings for Marissa Wakefield were—maybe he still didn’t—but he understood something now he hadn’t when he’d pulled up in front of her house almost a week ago. He wanted her, and he had a pretty good idea she wanted him, too.
He remembered how it had felt to hold her again, to kiss her, to feel her soft mouth against his. He had no idea what her reaction would be, but she hadn’t pulled away from him, hadn’t lashed out in fury and indignation. Instead, she had sighed sweetly, her lips growing soft and compliant, and she’d leaned into his kiss—intense and hungry.
He closed his eyes to the sudden surge of desire that clutched at him. There had been women in his life—a string of them since he and Stephanie had split up. But he was far from being a ladies’ man, hardly the kind of guy who went around making moves on the women he knew. But he’d made a move on Marissa Wakefield—a big one—because Marissa was different, and she had a way of making him different, too. She made him want to reach out and do things he didn’t normally do—like thinking up excuses to see her, and impulsively kissing her in a public parking lot.
Impulsive. That’s what the kiss had been—impulsive. Impulsive, and foolish, and dangerous, and…unbelievable, and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since.
He glanced at his wristwatch, sighing heavily. If he didn’t leave soon, he would be late for his meeting with Judge Kent—and he’d discovered it was never a good idea to keep a judge waiting.
He rounded his desk, heading out the door and down the corridor. Maybe it was just as well that Judge Kent was waiting for him. Otherwise he’d probably do something stupid—like get in his Jeep and drive to Sutter High School and storm into her office unannounced and unexpected. That would not only be stupid, it could prove disastrous. She wasn’t the kind of woman you could push, and he understood the need for patience. After all, they weren’t a couple of kids anymore, and couldn’t go jumping into something without considering the circumstances. He’d tested the waters, and she hadn’t told him to get lost, so the ball was in her court. He just had to wait for the serve.
“You have to understand, this is just a rough outline,” Marissa pointed out anxiously, leaning forward in her chair. “There is much more that would need to be worked outpoints that could be added, or modified.” She clasped and unclasped her hands. It was ridiculous to be nervous, but she couldn’t seem to help it. “Hopefully there is enough there to give you the basic idea.” She hesitated. “Basically.”
Randolf Kent lowered the folder and leaned back in his high-backed leather chair. His bushy white brows were scrunched together tight, making him look much like a gaunt, sinister version of Santa. “I have to tell you, Miss Wakefield, I studied your idea very carefully. I found it very…interesting.”
Marissa felt her heart sink. She could all but feel the “but” coming—as in “I loved your idea, but…” She forced herself to lean back in the chair, preparing herself and keeping her composure.
Judge Kent had been a friend of her father’s for years, but that wasn’t why she’d come to him with her idea. She’d submi
tted her idea to him because he’d seemed open and receptive to her plans for Josh. She wasn’t looking for special attention or favoritism, just fair consideration. Of course, she’d doubted Dylan would believe that. She remembered how he’d accused her and her family of using their influence and connections in the community to get what they wanted.
Dylan. Reluctantly her thoughts moved back six nights to when he’d kissed her, and she felt color warm her cheeks. She’d asked for time to think—and God knows she’d been thinking. She was wondering now what she’d been thinking. Not only had she let him kiss her, but she’d kissed him back. Didn’t she realize she was playing with fire—again? This wasn’t just any man, just some man she found herself attracted to. This was Dylan—Dylan.
He’d made his intentions very clear. They were two responsible adults, unattached and uncommitted. There was an attraction between them—for her to deny it would be stupid. Maybe the idea of an affair wasn’t unreasonable under normal circumstances, but there was nothing normal about their situation. She could probably handle an affair with another man, but not with Dylan. She had loved him once, and his love had changed her life forever. And now, with Josh in her life, there was just too much at stake.
Judge Kent picked up the folder containing her proposal and perused it once again, and Marissa forced her mind back to business.
“Yes, very interesting,” Kent murmured again, removing his glasses and peering at her from over the top of the folder. “So much so that I passed it along to a few friends to get their feedback. I hope you don’t mind.”
Marissa’s eyes widened, and she sat up. “Uh, no. No, of course not.”
“Good,” he said, smiling and setting the folder down again. “I think you might know them—Tom Dyer, the county’s chief probation officer, and Maureen Porter, who’s on the county’s board of supervisors? And I have to say, they were both impressed with the idea, I might add. As a matter of fact, I’ve asked them to join us this afternoon. They should be along any time now.” He slipped his glasses back on and picked up the folder again. “I think we’ve got something to discuss here.”
Marissa stared at him, smiling and feeling just a little light-headed. She was thrilled. This whole plan had come to her because of the situation with Josh. While the arrangement that had been made with Judge Kent and the juvenile courts—making it mandatory for Josh and the others to attend school and do the actual work on construction—had been rather unique, it was proving to be a productive one. Early reports from their teachers indicated that their progress in class had been good, and construction on the shed was actually moving ahead of schedule. It was becoming apparent that not only were all three of the boys putting in their time in the classroom, but they were also working hard at the site and learning a lot about construction.
Marissa figured if the arrangement worked for Josh, Skip and Randy, why couldn’t it work for other young people in the same situation—kids who had gotten into trouble with the law and who needed help and a second chance more than they needed a jail sentence? She’d felt if a coordinated effort could be made between the juvenile courts and the school district, a program could be developed that would direct youthful offenders away from juvenile hall and back into school—providing them with not only an education and practical skills so they could compete in the workplace, but also with hope.
She’d worked with a lot of troubled kids in her ten years in the education system, and she firmly believed all kids deserved a chance at a better life—no matter what kind of mistakes had been made. A program that worked to give these troubled kids self-respect and encouraged them to become useful members of society would be good for everyone. In addition it would help keep a lot of kids off the street and out of trouble.
Marissa had written up an outline for a program, knowing it sounded hopelessly idealistic—but when it came to kids, she believed in being idealistic. She’d submitted the proposal to Judge Kent in the faint hope that some small effort would be made to start the ball rolling. But this…this was more than she’d ever hoped.
“That sounds wonderful,” she said, her excitement starting to build.
“Well, of course, I think we should be careful about starting out too ambitious. It would be wise to take it slow. Perhaps start out with a test program.” He searched through a stack of files on his desk, pulling one out. “This first report on your nephew by Sheriff James is very encouraging, very encouraging.” He slipped the folder down on top of the written report. “This just might serve as our pilot program.”
They were interrupted as Maureen Porter rapped at the door. Judge Kent had just finished introducing Marissa to Amador County’s only female supervisor when Tom Dyer arrived. Marissa shook his hand, excited and happy. She was thrilled to see their enthusiasm for her idea, and eagerly looked forward to discussing it in detail with them. After a few moments of idle talk, the judge invited them all to take a seat around his desk.
“I also thought it would be good to bring the sheriff in on this. His department could be instrumental in targeting those juveniles who would benefit the most from a program like this. I called over to his office this morning and asked him to join us as well.”
Marissa felt her entire system react. “Sheriff James will be here?”
“Yes,” Kent said, checking the time on the watch at his wrist. “He should be coming any time—” A loud rap on the door interrupted him, and he reached up and pulled his glasses from his nose. “That should be him now.”
Chapter 8
The last thing Dylan had expected when he arrived at Judge Kent’s chambers was a roomful of people—no, actually, the last thing he’d expected was to find Marissa there with a roomful of people. And then suddenly they were a committee—including him—formed to explore ideas for a juvenile offenders alternative work-study program Marissa had proposed. He’d been assigned by the committee to work with Marissa to come up with a formal proposal to submit to the board of supervisors.
“You look a little confused.”
Dylan followed Marissa out through the side door of the small courthouse and into the hot afternoon sun. “Do I?”
She stopped, shifting the satchel she carried from one arm to the other. “Yeah, you do. You going to be okay with this?”
He smiled down at her. “You mean us working together?”
Marissa felt her cheeks warm, and it had nothing to do with the brilliant sunlight. “Actually, I was referring to the program we’re suppose to be developing.”
“Ah, yes, the program,” Dylan said, his smile fading. He held the copy of her proposal Judge Kent had given him, leafing through the pages. There hadn’t been time to study it yet, but he’d given it a brief skim. “You think this could really work?”
“Sounds like you think it won’t.”
He shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s just…” He shrugged, giving his head a shake. “I’ve seen programs that look good on paper, but when you get down to dealing with real people with real problems…I don’t know. I just think it might be a little optimistic.”
She bristled just a little, remembering how they’d gone head to head over the situation with Josh. “What’s wrong with being optimistic?”
“Nothing,” he said, flipping the pages closed. He really. didn’t want to talk about reports and programs. He wanted to talk about time, and if he’d given her enough. “But I’ve worked with a lot of these kids, these ‘juvenile offenders’ you call them in your proposal.”
“And?” she added testily when he hesitated.
“And some of them are just bad news.”
“I’m not saying it’s an option for every kid in trouble, and I certainly don’t claim it’s a cure for juvenile crime or anything like that, but I think there are some kids who could really benefit from a program like this.”
“Maybe,” Dylan said, considering this. “But not every kid can be saved.”
“Of course not, but does that mean we’re not supposed to try and save an
y?”
He looked down into her bright blue eyes, seeing the fire and the passion in them. He took a step forward. “Do we have to talk about this now?”
“What’s wrong with now?” she asked. “Judge Kent has scheduled another meeting in a month. I’d like something concrete to show them then—that’s not much time.”
“That’s four long weeks away,” he said, running a hand along her arm and cupping her elbow. “Besides, there’s something else I think we should be talking about.”
Marissa felt every muscle in her body go rigid. She knew what he meant and dreaded it. But if they were going to work together, it was probably a good idea to set the ground rules right away. “Look, Dylan, if this is about the other night.”
“Six nights,” he corrected her. The hand on her elbow tightened. He’d warned himself not to push, but there was something in her eyes that caused a hard knot to form in his stomach. “You said you wanted time.”
“Yes, I know,” she murmured, dropping her gaze, wanting to look anywhere but his eyes. “And maybe you’re right. Maybe it would be a good idea if we cleared the air.”
The hand on her elbow fell away. “Cleared the air?”
She glanced back up at him, hearing the change in his voice. “I’m afraid I might have given you the wrong impression.”
The knot in his stomach tightened, then doubled in size. “When was that? When I was kissing you, or when you were kissing me?”
She felt the color in her cheeks deepen. “I admit that things did get rather heavy—I think maybe we both got a little carried away.”
Dylan’s clenched his fists tight, seeing the writing on the wall. What an idiot he’d been, an idiot and an egotistical fool. He’d been walking around for the last six days as though he were in some kind of a trance—hardly able to function, hardly able to think. When she’d said she wanted time, he’d just assumed it was to get used to the idea of the two of them together—again. It never occurred to him she would use the time to change her mind.
Father Figure Page 10
