Father Figure

by Rebecca Daniels

  “Yeah,” Josh murmured, following in line behind her. “Chili, you bet.”

  “Will you stop worrying?” Jill said, giving Marissa’s arm a pat. “It’s just two nights. What can happen in two nights?”

  Marissa gave her a deliberate look. “I really wish you hadn’t asked that.”

  Jill laughed, putting one hand to the small of her back and patting her round tummy with the other.

  “Besides, with me having to stop every twenty minutes to go to the bathroom, we’ll be spending most of our time on the road this weekend.”

  Marissa laughed. She had to admit she was happy that Josh and Jill’s oldest son, Nico, were becoming friends. When he’d called earlier in the week and invited Josh to spend the Fourth of July weekend with their family at their beach house in Santa Cruz, she’d happily agreed—even though it meant spending the three-day holiday weekend without him. Nico was a good kid and certainly a better influence on Josh than Skip Carver. She was anxious to do what she could to encourage their friendship.

  Still, watching as Josh tossed his sleeping bag and packed sports bag in the back of the Scalettis’ oversize minivan wasn’t easy. Maybe it was just going to be for a few days, but she was going to miss him.

  She turned to Jill. “You know, this is really sweet of you to include Josh. I really appreciate it.”

  “Listen, I should be the one thanking you,” Jill insisted. “Normally Nico likes to use these little family trips to do what he can to make his brother’s and sisters’ lives miserable. Josh will keep him occupied and out of everyone’s hair. Hallelujah.”

  “No, I mean it,” Marissa said seriously. “Josh has had some…problems in the past. Not many parents would be as understanding about that as you and Dom have been.”

  Jill’s face grew serious, too. “Look, Marissa. Josh has had some tough breaks, and he’s made a few mistakes. But what kid hasn’t?”

  “I know, but I still appreciate it. I really do.”

  Jill took both Marissa’s hands in hers. “Hey, maybe all the kid really needed was someone to believe in him, and now he’s got that—he’s got you.” Reaching out over her protruding belly, she gave Marissa a hug. “He’s crazy about you, by the way. Anyone can see that.”

  Marissa watched with stinging eyes as Dom Scaletti herded all the kids into the minivan, and helped his pregnant wife up into the passenger’s seat. Josh came running up, his dark eyes shining.

  “Have you got your spending money?” Marissa asked quickly, busying herself with trivial matters so that she wouldn’t burst into tears. “And your extra pair of swimming trunks and your beach towel?”

  “I’ve got it, I’ve got it,” he assured her, wrapping his arms around her for a big hug. “Thanks, Auntie Mar,” he whispered against her ear. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, baby,” Marissa whispered back.

  She stood on the curb and waved until the minivan turned the corner and disappeared. It was only Friday, and the long weekend stretched out before her empty and endless. What she really felt like doing was running back into the condo and crying her eyes out. But instead she squared her shoulders and headed for the car. With school out, her office would be quiet and she could get some real work done.

  She pulled out of the driveway, heading down the quiet street toward school. It wasn’t even ten yet, and already the sun was hot. The Fourth of July promised to be a typical one in the Mother Lode—sweltering.

  She glanced down at the thick folder on the seat beside her, thinking about the proposal inside. It had been nearly a week since Dylan and Josh went fishing together, nearly a week since he’d told her he’d call to discuss the program they were supposed to be working on together.

  He’d called all right, she thought darkly. One brief telephone conversation. He’d been abrupt and noncommittal with her, ambiguous in his comments and ideas for the program, and vague about when they could schedule a time to get together. It had been a frustrating and completely unproductive conversation as far as she was concerned— hardly worth the effort. Why had he even bothered? But while the call had upset her, finding out from Josh that Dylan had stopped by the construction site one afternoon last week and hadn’t even bothered coming by to see her had really made her mad.

  Her grip on the steering wheel tightened. Well, that was just fine with her, she thought as she pulled into her parking space in the school lot. She didn’t need his help, and certainly didn’t want it. She would put a program together, and she would present it to the committee on her own—let him make what explanations he wanted to Judge Kent.

  “Hi, Karen,” she said, feeling the cold blast of the air-conditioning against her face. “I told you it wasn’t necessary for you to come in today.”

  “I know what you told me,” Karen said, lifting a heavy stack of files from her desk and onto the file cabinets behind her. “And I also know just how good I’m going to feel when I walk in here Monday morning and be caught up on my filing and have a clean desk.” She turned around, dusting her hands off. “Besides, the boys are with Larry for the day, and the thought of rattling around alone in that empty house isn’t exactly appealing, if you know what I mean.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” Marissa said with a sad smile. She’d seen how painful the recent breakup of Karen’s marriage had been for her and understood her desire to want to keep busy. “Josh left this morning for the weekend.” She jostled the folder in her arms. “So guess what I’ll be doing for the next three days.”

  “I thought Sheriff James was supposed to be helping you with that?” Karen said, putting her hands on her hips.

  Marissa laughed. “Yeah, well, if I waited around for him, I don’t think it would ever get done.”

  Karen shook her head, turning back for the file cabinet. “Men,” she muttered, pulling out a drawer. “Can’t live with them, can’t shoot ‘em—although God knows they give us reason.”

  Marissa laughed again as she passed Karen’s desk and headed into her office. She tossed the folder holding all her ideas and thoughts for the juvenile program onto her desk and sat down. She stared at the thick file, trying hard to ignore the anger gnawing at her stomach. It had taken her hours of research to compile all the information inside that folder, and Dylan couldn’t seem to find the time to even meet with her. Just who did he think he was, anyway?

  With a heavy sigh, she reached for the folder, opening it wide. She’d just begun sorting out its contents across her desk when her phone buzzed.

  “Yeah, Karen,” she said, depressing the intercom button. “What is it?”

  “I think someone’s ears were burning,” Karen said drolly over the line. “Dylan James is on line one.”

  Chapter 10

  Dylan stared at the door, wondering exactly how he’d gotten himself into such a mess. He didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to be anywhere near Marissa. In fact, he’d spent a good part of the last week doing what he could to avoid her. But time had run out.

  The fact was, when he’d left her condo last Saturday after spending the day fishing with Josh, he simply didn’t know if he had the strength or the energy that another encounter with her would require. He knew he was good at keeping up a front, knew he could joke and kid and make a good show of pretending that everything was just fine. But even he had his limits, and like it or not, he had feelings for the woman. Maybe they were real, or maybe they were just remnants from the past; it really didn’t matter. They were there, and he wasn’t made of stone. He couldn’t just ignore what he felt—even though at this particular moment, he wished very much that he could.

  He shifted the large, flat pizza box and wicker-wrapped bottle of Chianti from one hand to the other, balancing them carefully. He wasn’t sure why he’d brought a pizza and wine with him—as a peace offering, maybe, or maybe just as a shield. Her icy tone over the phone this morning had been anything but inviting. She’d agreed to this meeting, but not willingly. He’d had to explain to her that Judge Kent had
cornered him at the courthouse and asked for an update on their progress. She hadn’t been happy with him, with the judge, or with the situation, and she hadn’t minded letting him know.

  And of course, it didn’t help that they’d had to shift the meeting from her office to her house. The drug bust that had thrown his entire department into chaos had made it necessary for him to stay late at the station. He’d offered to meet at her house instead of her office in an effort not to inconvenience her any more than he already had—even though the quiet atmosphere of her house was the last place he really wanted to be.

  Except that now he was running late for this “late” meeting, too, and that wasn’t going to make this any easier. At least Josh would be there. Maybe Marissa wouldn’t light into him too badly with the kid around.

  He reached for the doorbell and depressed the small round button. Through the heavy wooden door, he heard the soft chimes and felt a knot of apprehension start to form in his stomach. He heard the distant sound of her footsteps, and took a deep breath.

  “I know I’m late,” he said quickly, making an effort and giving her a bright smile. He held up the pizza box and the bottle of wine. “But I came bearing gifts.”

  Marissa slowly crossed her arms over her chest. He looked entirely too handsome in jeans and a polo shirt, and it only added to her annoyance with him. “I’m tempted to slam this door right in your face.”

  “I know, I know,” he said sympathetically. “And I wouldn’t blame you. But you know it takes time to make the streets safe for all you good citizens.” He gave her a pathetic look. “And it’s such a thankless job.”

  Marissa rolled her eyes, feeling her anger ebb even though she tried very hard to hang on to it. “You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

  “I’m here now, and I’m ready to work,” he said simply. He sensed a softening in her voice, and decided to go with it, pushing past her. “And the pizza’s getting cold. Let’s eat.”

  Marissa watched as he walked through the house as if he owned it, depositing the pizza box onto the kitchen counter and opening the cupboard and bringing out two wineglasses.

  “Make yourself at home,” she muttered as she followed him into the kitchen.

  “Thanks, I will,” he said good-naturedly, giving her another smile and ignoring the sarcasm in her voice. Setting two wineglasses on the counter beside the pizza box, he reached for the bottle of Chianti and uncorked it. He poured them each a glass, picking them both up and offering one to her. “Bottoms up.”

  Marissa stared down at the glass he offered, debating on whether to take it from him or toss it in his face. She elected for the former, bringing the glass to her lips, but, watching the smile on his face turn into a full grin, she decided to keep her options open.

  Dylan took a gulp of wine, then reached across the counter and flipped open the top of the pizza box. “Call Josh. Let’s eat.”

  “Josh isn’t here.”

  Dylan’s hand hesitated as he reached for a slice of pizza. “He’s not?”

  “No,” Marissa said, walking over to the kitchen cabinets and pulling out two plates and two forks. “He went to Santa Cruz for the weekend with the Scalettis.”

  “Oh, yeah? The whole weekend?” he asked, picking up his glass of wine and taking another gulp. So much for relying on the kid to keep him out of trouble.

  “Yes,” she said, walking back across the kitchen and offering him a plate.

  “You aren’t supposed to put pizza on a plate, and you sure don’t eat it with a fork,” he told her.

  “You don’t?”

  “No, you don’t.”

  She sighed, and gave him a tolerant look. “So, exactly how are you supposed to eat it, then?”

  “With your hands,” he said reasonably, taking another drink of wine. “While you lean over the box.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No,” she said again.

  “You…put pizza on a plate?” he asked warily.

  “I do,” she said pointedly, shoving a plate into his flat belly. “And tonight you do, too.”

  “Yes,” Dylan said dubiously, wincing as he took the plate from her. “You’re right, I do.”

  “Actually, getting back to Josh,” she said as she reached into the box and picked out a slice. She lifted it onto her plate, plucking a bit of pepperoni off the top with her fingertips and popping it into her mouth as she walked to the table and sat down. “I have to admit, as much as I’m going to miss Josh this weekend, I was pleased he wanted to go. I’d like to see him make more friends like Nico Scaletti.”

  Dylan plopped a big wedge of pizza onto his plate, picked up his wineglass and joined her at the table. “As opposed to Skip Carver?”

  She lifted her wineglass toward her lips and peered at him from over the top. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to,” he said, determinedly lifting the pizza up with his hands and taking a bite. He offered her the fork as he chewed. “I’ll use a plate,” he said, swallowing in a gulp. “But I’ll be damned if I’ll use this.”

  “I don’t doubt that you will,” she muttered, trying very hard not to smile. “Be damned, that is.”

  She didn’t want to like him, didn’t want to find anything about him amusing or charming. But there was something there just the same, a certain quality, a certain way he had of endearing himself that really got to her, despite the fact that she had every right to be angry. He’d put off meeting with her for almost two weeks now, and then when he finally had agreed to a meeting, he’d shown up late. She should be furious.

  So why was she sitting there smiling across the small table at him?

  “Frankly, Sheriff, at this point I don’t care how you get it in your mouth,” she told him, forcing the smile off her face. “Just eat it. We’ve got work to do, and you’re going to need all the strength you can get.”

  Marissa walked to the sliding glass doors that led to the small patio just off the living room. She pushed the door open, feeling the cool night air against her face.

  “I think it’s finally cool enough to turn off the air conditioner,” she said, turning back to Dylan, who sat hunched over the coffee table. “I’m going to run upstairs and open the bedroom windows.”

  Dylan nodded, scribbling a few additional things on the legal-size tablet in front of him, then tossed the pen down. He straightened up, closing his eyes and stretching back into the soft cushions of the sofa. His neck was stiff, and his leg muscles felt tight and cramped. It was late, after midnight, and they’d been working almost nonstop for the last few hours.

  He opened his eyes and leaned forward to reach for his coffee cup, then decided against it. He must have drunk a couple dozen cups in the last two hours, but it just wasn’t helping. The fatigue of an eighteen-plus-hour day was simply too much for even caffeine. Exhaustion had gotten a toehold and wasn’t going to let go.

  He sank back into the cushions and looked around the cluttered living room. Papers and reports were scattered everywhere—stacked on the hearth and strewn over the plush carpet. The screen of Marissa’s laptop computer glowed amid the chaos, the lengthy blueprint for the alternative juvenile sentencing program safely stored in its hard drive—and backup disks had been made for each of them.

  His eyes felt scratchy, and he rubbed at them. He was exhausted, but it was a good kind of weariness. Marissa was a taskmaster and had all but demanded blood from him. But they’d gotten a lot done, and he had to admit she’d pretty much made him a believer. The program they’d out-lined was not only sound and sensible, but it just might work.

  “Join me?”

  He opened his eyes to find Marissa standing over him holding a fresh bottle of wine and two glasses.

  “I don’t know,” he said cautiously, sitting up. She’d surprised him with the offer. “Are we going to be doing much more tonight?”

  She shrugged, pouring the wine into one of the glasses and placing it into his outstretched hand. “I
don’t know how much more I’m good for. Do you realize it’s after midnight?”

  He rubbed at a kink in his neck. “It feels like it.”

  “Maybe we should think about unwinding a little,” she said, pouring herself a glass of wine. Cradling the glass in her hand, she sat the bottle down on the cluttered coffee table and walked back to the sliding glass door, looking out into the night.

  “It’s nice out now,” she said, letting the breeze filter through her hair. “I like it when I can open all the windows and let the breeze in.”

  The sight of her in front of the open door, her tall, slender body silhouetted against the moonlight, was almost more than he could take. Pouring over reports and compiling information had been exhausting work, but it had also kept his mind occupied, kept him from thinking about being here, having her so close. But now…

  He put the glass to his lips and emptied it, welcoming the wine’s numbing warmth as it spread through his system. Reaching for the bottle, he filled his glass again. It wasn’t that he had it in mind to get drunk, he just wanted to dull his senses a little, just take the edge off the images in his mind and the desire stirring in his body.

  “I’d be careful about leaving windows open at night if I were you,” he warned, rising to his feet. He reached down and grabbed the bottle of wine and slowly crossed the living room toward her. “In most residential robberies the perpetrator enters through an open door or window.”

  She turned around and gave him a dirty look. “Do you think you could stop being the sheriff just for a little while?”

  He took another drink of wine, and gave her an innocent look. “Just stating a fact.”

  “Cops,” she muttered, rolling her eyes and slowly shaking her head. She slid the screen open and stepped out onto the dark patio. “You really have a way of taking the joy out of things, don’t you?”

  “What?” he persisted, following her out and feeling the beginning signs of the alcohol that coursed through his bloodstream. “What did I say?”