Father Figure

by Rebecca Daniels

  Josh took a deep breath. “I can relate to that.”

  “I guess you could,” she said, reaching across the kitchen counter and patting his arm affectionately. But she saw him mask his sad eyes with a teasing sparkle.

  “She also told me something else,” he said with a cryptic smile.

  “Oh?” she said warily. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

  “She said she always got the idea that you had a secret crush on Sheriff James.”

  “What?” Marissa gasped, a loud ringing sounding in her ears.

  “Yeah,” he said, laughing. “That you used to talk about him a lot and watch him all the time.”

  Marissa groaned, feeling heat pour into her cheeks. She’d hoped to broach the subject of Dylan, but this wasn’t exactly the lead-in she’d been looking for. “She said that?”

  Josh’s smile widened. “Yes, she did.”

  Marissa quickly picked up their empty glasses and carried them to the sink. “Well, you’ll have to remind me to thank Jill next time I see her.”

  Josh leaned across the counter toward her, his eyes dancing. “Auntie Mar, I think you’re blushing.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Did you get all hot and bothered by Sheriff James back in high school?”

  “I’m not talking about this,” she said sternly. He only laughed that much harder. She busily placed the glasses on a rack in the dishwasher and carefully wiped her hand on a towel.

  “I’ll bet he got all hot and bothered over you.”

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned back against the sink and regarded him for a moment. “Gee, it would be a real shame if I had to discuss with the teachers on my staff the idea of assigning additional homework to certain students in their classes.”

  The smile on Josh’s face abruptly stiffened, and the laughter choked in his throat. “Okay, okay,” he said, his hands coming up in a gesture of surrender. “You win. I get the message. The subject is closed.”

  A slow smile spread across her face. “I thought you might see things my way.”

  “You never told me what you did this weekend,” Josh said after a while. “Did you go over to Gram and Gramps for the Fourth?”

  She thought of lying in Dylan’s arms and how they’d made their own fireworks on the Fourth, and her cheeks went warm. “Uh—no, actually, I didn’t.”

  “No?” Josh’s brow furrowed. “You spent the weekend alone?”

  “For the most part,” she said, hedging. It wasn’t really a lie, she told herself. She was alone with Dylan. Didn’t that count? “I worked a little, but mostly I just stayed around the house.”

  Josh’s frown deepened. “I hope you weren’t lonely.”

  “No, no, I wasn’t,” she insisted, shaking her head. Her palms were moist and sticky, and she wiped them along the smooth cotton of her shorts. It wasn’t that the opportunity hadn’t presented itself, because it had—it had practically fallen into her lap. He’d asked her about her weekend, and this was the perfect time to tell him. And she’d been practicing all afternoon various ways she could go about telling him what had happened while he was away…

  Well, not exactly what had happened while he was away, but how she and Dylan were…that they were…

  Were what? Boyfriend and girlfriend? That sounded ridiculous. Were they an item? Seeing each other? What did she say? What was the tactful way to tell your fifteen-yearold son you’d just taken a lover?

  She closed her eyes tight. She felt confused and embarrassed. None of those well-rehearsed speeches were right; she had no idea what to say.

  “Actually, Josh,” she started again, taking a deep breath. “Actually there’s something—”

  But the telephone rang and threw her thoughts into chaos. She wasn’t sure she was angry or relieved, but she reached quickly for the phone before it had a chance to ring again.

  “Have you told him yet?” Dylan’s voice over the line sounded anxious.

  “Hello,” she said in a false voice. “How are you?”

  “I take it that means no?” he surmised dryly.

  “Right.” She nodded, smiling at Josh. “That’s right.”

  “Maybe I should come over?”

  “No!” Marissa gasped. She made a dismissive gesture with her hand when Josh looked up, surprised. “No, that’s okay. I can take care of it.”

  “You sure?” Dylan asked.

  “Yes,” she said, nodding her head again. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Okay,” Dylan conceded, sounding disappointed.

  “But call me afterward, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I miss you,” he said in a low voice.

  “Yes, well,” Marissa said in a businesslike tone. “That certainly goes for me, too.”

  “And, Marissa?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you.”

  Marissa closed her eyes tight, feeling a soothing warmth spread through her body. “Me, too.”

  “Who was that?” Josh asked as she hung up the phone.

  “Oh, just someone from the district,” she lied, feeling guilty. “Business stuff. But there is something I’d like to talk to you about.”

  “Okay,” he said, giving her a half smile. “But first, you said something about a sandwich?”

  “Marissa said she talked to you.”

  Josh finished driving the nail into the two-by-four, pounding it flat, and slipped the wooden handle of the hammer through a leather ring on his carpenter’s belt. Turning around, he looked up at Dylan, his frown deepening. “Yeah, she did.”

  Dylan waited a moment. It made him furious to think he was nervous—and yet he was. A year ago if anyone would have told him he would be asking Josh Wakefield’s approval on anything, he’d have laughed in their face. But here he was—practically with hat in hand—waiting with bated breath for what the kid would say next, and feeling a little like he had on that summer night sixteen years ago when he’d shown up at the Wakefield’s house on the hill for his first date with Marissa.

  He looked into Josh’s eyes, trying to decipher an emotion in them, but it was impossible. His dark gaze revealed nothing, and Dylan felt his anxiety level increase a degree.

  “Well?” he prompted after a moment, biting back his impatience. “You have a reaction?”

  “Yeah,” Josh said pointedly, his hands resting at his sides a little like a gunfighter squaring off against an opponent. “Yeah, I have a reaction.”

  Dylan worked his jaw restlessly. “You want to talk about it?”

  “What’s to talk about?” Josh asked abruptly, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t want her hurt.”

  “Good,” Dylan said, picking up a screwdriver from the ledge of the window frame and handing it to him. Josh loved Marissa, and it was only natural he would be protective of her. But Dylan felt protective, too. “Then we’re agreed.”

  “Are we?” Josh took the screwdriver and slipped it into his belt alongside the hammer.

  Dylan heard the hostility in his adolescent voice, and the suspicion. But he also heard the concern, and something in Josh’s face flashed vulnerable and open. For an instant it stirred something in Dylan’s memory—something familiar and vague, something he recognized and could relate to, but it was there for just an instant—and then it was gone.

  “Look, Josh,” he said, pushing the thought aside. “I care about your aunt very much. The last thing I’d want to do is hurt her. I hope you believe that.”

  Josh drew a deep breath, and dropped his gaze to the ground. Letting out the breath in one long sigh, he took a step back. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

  “I plan to see her as much as she’ll let me,” Dylan said, laying out his intentions. “I hope you’re not going to have a problem with that.”

  Josh looked up at him and snorted humorlessly. “Would it make a difference if I did?”

  Dylan smiled just a little. “Probably not,” he said honestly, his voice losing some of its sternness. “But I know it
would mean a lot to Marissa if she thought she had…”

  “My approval?” Josh said, filling in the blanks after Dylan’s words drifted.

  Dylan’s smile grew wider. “Something like that, I guess.”

  “And what about you, Sheriff?” Josh asked, kneeling down and picking up a handful of nails from the box on the floor.

  There was more wit in his voice than worry, so Dylan didn’t take offense. “What about me?”

  Josh looked up at him. “You looking for my approval, too?”

  Dylan gave him a deliberate look. “Are you offering it?”

  Josh stood up, tossing the handful of nails into the pocket of his belt. “I’ve got nothing against you—except maybe that you hauled my butt into jail a few times too many.” He bent down, wedging a small piece of two-byfour into the frame, bracing it. “Aunt Marissa is the best person I’ve ever met in my life. She’s done nothing but good—taking care of everyone else’s lives—the kids she teaches, Gram and Gramp, Aunt Mallory, my mom and dad. And now me.” He slipped the hammer from his belt and pounded the brace into place. Finishing it, he straightened up again and turned to face Dylan. “She deserves to be happy. If you can do that, you’ll have no problem with me.”

  Dylan looked at Josh, feeling a little as though he were looking at him for the first time. He barely looked like the same young punk who’d created a minor reign of terror in the community for the last two years. Dylan didn’t pretend to know anything about kids, but he came across his fair share of troubled ones in his line of work, and there hadn’t been one any more troubled than Josh Wakefield. But this wasn’t that same smart-talking, cocky youthful offender he’d arrested three months ago. Was that because of Marissa?

  He felt a warmth spread through him—a warmth that had nothing to do with the hot afternoon sun. If anyone knew the power of her healing love, it was him. She’d come back to him and breathed life into him again—revived and rejuvenated him in a way he would have thought was impossible.

  He looked at Josh again. Marissa had performed this miracle. Her love and understanding had transformed that raw, angry juvenile delinquent into this down-to-earth, caring young man.

  Dylan had that feeling again—that curious flash of memory, that peculiar feeling of awareness and recognition. But just as before, it was there for only an instant and then it disappeared.

  “Sounds fair,” Dylan said with a nod. He really didn’t want to think about how relieved he felt, didn’t want to think about how maybe this kid was beginning to mean something to him. “And look at it this way, Josh—” he stopped, jerking his thumb in the direction behind him “—it could be worse. She could be seeing Goofus Bug over there.”

  Josh glanced across the construction site to where Rick Mathers stood instructing Randy with a power saw, and grinned wide. “Be thankful for small favors, I guess.”

  “Oh, hey, speaking of goofus bugs,” Dylan said, searching through his pocket. He pulled out a plastic bag, which held a small fishing fly. “Take a look at this.”

  Josh took the bag from him and opened it. “What is it?” he asked, holding up the small clump of colorful feathers and string.

  “It’s a Mother Lode mudder,” Dylan announced proudly. “Something I came up with myself.”

  “I suppose you were sent in here to butter me up.”

  Dylan stepped up close from behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Marissa did her best to finish rinsing the dishes with him nuzzling her neck. It had been the most wonderful two weeks of her life. She was so happy, it almost frightened her. How much more could she ask from life? She had the man she loved, and she had the son they shared. Her life had become very, very good.

  Their lives seemed to have meshed remarkably, almost as though they were meant to be together. They were a family, and together they seemed to be thriving. Summer school was drawing to a close, construction of the shed was progressing well, and Dylan had become a permanent fixture around their house in the evenings. They’d gone to movies together, on picnics and bicycle rides—she’d even let them talk her into going fishing with them once. And even with all of that, she and Dylan had managed to find time to work on the juvenile work-study proposal, and had presented it, to rave reviews, to their committee. It had been sent to the board of supervisors for consideration, but they’d all agreed it would pass with no resistance at all.

  Of course, finding time to be alone hadn’t always been easy. She didn’t want to do anything that would make Josh feel awkward or uncomfortable. But there had been occasional evenings alone, and they’d been wonderful.

  “I know exactly what you’re trying to do,” she said, trying her best to sound stern and disapproving. “But it’s not going to work.”

  “Isn’t it?” he murmured, tightening his hold. He pulled her close and brushed her bottom against him, making her aware it was working for him.

  “Dylan,” she gasped in horror, feeling the indisputable evidence of his arousal against her. She quickly pulled away, holding him at arm’s length. “Josh is right in the next room. He’ll see us.”

  Dylan had to smile at the deep color filling her cheeks, and he took a step closer despite her feeble attempts to stop him. “You mean you don’t think he knows that we’ve—”

  “Will you stop it? He’ll hear you,” she said in a low voice, sending a nervous glance in the direction of the living room.

  His smile grew wider. “Marissa, you’re blushing.”

  “No, I’m not,” she insisted, but embarrassedly felt her cheeks glow hot. “Not really.”

  “Yes, you are,” he said, backing her up against the counter. “Relax, will you? Why are you so uptight? Josh isn’t a baby. He knows the score.” He bent down, plucking a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Or he’s got a pretty good idea. He’s not bothered—why should you be?”

  “I know,” Marissa admitted with a long sigh, relaxing a little. “You’re right. It’s just, I need a little time, you know, to get comfortable.” She slid her hands up the front of his shirt. “I guess I’m a little rusty at having a boyfriend.”

  “Boyfriend, huh?” Dylan made a face and pulled her close. “I like the term lover better.” He gave her hips a little twist. “And it’s certainly a more appropriate description, wouldn’t you say?”

  Marissa gave him a stern look. “When it comes to Josh, it’s boyfriend—got it?”

  “I got it,” Dylan said with a laugh. He brushed a light kiss along her lips. “And as your boyfriend I’m curious to know when we can get together for another…” He purposely let his words drift, giving his eyebrows a wicked wiggle. “A date.” He brushed more kisses against her mouth. “Because I’ve really liked dating the last couple of weeks.” He kissed lightly along her chin, her cheek, her ear. “And look forward to dating again soon.” He kissed her full on the mouth this time. “And dating many more times in the future.”

  “I look forward to it, too,” Marissa whispered, feeling her cheeks grow warm again. But when she looked up into his dark eyes, the warmth suddenly spread throughout her body.

  Dylan groaned and kissed her again. But there was nothing playful or teasing about it this time—his desire was simply too strong. He felt the need building within him—that desperate, urgent need that was always just below the surface whenever he was with her, whenever he touched her, whenever he so much as thought of her. The hold on her hips tensed, and he pressed her to him tight.

  “I’ve missed you,” he whispered against her ear. “Missed feeling you, being with you, waking up with you.”

  “I’ve missed it, too,” she murmured, desire feeling thick and breathless in her throat.

  A shudder rumbled through him, and he drew in a shaky breath. He looked down into her eyes, resting their foreheads together. His chest heaved, and he could feel the throb of his heart pulsating at his temples, and inside his brain. Tension arced between them—strong and potent. “Maybe we sh
ould…uh…”

  “Yes,” Marissa agreed, clearing her throat. “Maybe we should.”

  After several more deep breaths, he set her purposefully away from him. “I don’t know about this boyfriend thing,” he said, taking a step back and putting distance between them. “I’m not sure I have the temperament or the patience.”

  He joked, but Marissa recognized the vulnerable look in his eyes—the need—and her heart swelled with love.

  “Well, you know what they say,” she said, pushing away from the counter. “All things come to those who wait.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek as she passed, pausing just long enough to whisper in his ear. “And Josh goes to bed around ten-thirty.”

  Instantly Dylan’s gaze shifted to the clock on the wall. Seven-fifteen. It would be hours before he could touch her, hours before he could taste her lips, or feel her soft skin against him.

  He watched her as she began clearing up the counter again—loading the dishwasher and straightening up. He might be able to wait, but he could never be patient.

  “So what about Josh going with me on Friday?” he asked after a moment, desperate to move his thoughts to something else and away from the sight of her beautiful breasts shifting just slightly beneath her cotton shirt every time that she moved.

  “See? I knew you were just buttering me up,” Marissa teased, slipping the dinner plates into the dishwasher.

  “Okay, okay, I admit it. I’m buttering you up.” He reached for two glasses from the counter and handed them to her to stack in the dishwasher. “Can he come?”

  Marissa slid the glasses into the top rack. “Finals start on Monday. The whole idea of not having classes Thursday and Friday is to give the kids extra time to study. Besides, he still has to report to the construction site by one o’clock.”

  “But it’s just a few hours on one morning. And I promise we’d be back in time for him to report to work.”

  Marissa reached for a few more dishes and loaded them onto the racks. “I don’t know. He really needs the time to study.”

  Dylan reached across the dishwasher, and ran a finger along the line of her cheek. “We really want to test out this new fly. I even taught Josh how to tie it himself.” He gave her a helpless look. “Come on, it’s summer vacation. It’s just a few hours of fishing. A kid’s got to have some fun.”