Stella Bagwell – The Little Maverick Matchmaker (страница 7)

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.”