Читать книгу The Little Maverick Matchmaker - Stella Bagwell - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Monday afternoon, thirty minutes before it was time to pick up Dillon from school, Drew was kindly escorted to the library by a teacher’s aide.

“No need to knock,” the dark-haired woman told him. “Miss Weaver is still here. She never leaves until long after the last bell rings.”

“Thanks.”

The woman went on her way and, taking a deep breath, Drew opened the door and stepped inside the world where his son had been spending an inordinate amount of time. Or so Miss Weaver had said.

Throughout the weekend, he’d thought about her call. The words she’d said and the way she’d said them had stuck in him like thorns of a briar branch. His son wasn’t getting the attention he needed at home. At least, not the right kind. She’d not uttered those exact words, but the tone in her voice had been clear, and that bothered Drew. Bothered the hell right out of him.

At first glance, he spotted a large oak desk situated close to a window. At the moment it was empty, and as he walked slowly toward it, he glanced between the tall shelves jammed with books. The aide had said Miss Weaver was still here, but the long room was as silent as a tomb.

And then he heard faint footsteps moving across the hardwood floor. Pausing, he turned toward the sound and waited for her to appear from the maze of bookshelves. When he did finally catch sight of her, his breath caught in his throat.

Miss Weaver had looked fresh and young and pretty at the picnic. Today she appeared totally different. From the bright red skirt that hugged her hips to the white blouse tucked in at her slender waist, she looked all-woman.

“Oh,” she said, as she looked up to see him standing at the end of the aisle. “I thought I’d heard footsteps. I expected to find one of the students.”

Drew waited for her to walk to him. All the while his gaze was taking in all sorts of little things about her. Like the fuchsia color on her lips, the black high heels on her feet and the way her blond hair curled against her shoulders. No wonder his son was spending so much time in here, Drew thought. Dillon probably saw this woman as some sort of enchanting princess.

“One of the aides escorted me here to the library,” he told her. “I...uh, hope I’m not here at a bad time. I thought I might talk to you for a few minutes before school lets out and I have to pick up Dillon.”

He could tell by the way she was sizing him up that she was surprised to see him. He could’ve told her he was just as surprised to find himself here.

“Of course,” she said. “Would you like to have a seat?”

“I would. Thanks.”

He followed her over to the front of the desk and eased onto one of two heavy wooden chairs angled to one side. He was expecting her to take a seat in the executive chair behind the desk, but instead she sat directly across from him.

Drew tried not to notice as she crossed her long legs and adjusted the hem of her skirt. But he did notice, and the fact irritated him. His job required him to look at the female anatomy all day long. He saw all shapes and sizes of women, ranging in age from the very young to the very old. The only thing that ever caught his attention was when he spotted a health problem. Otherwise, he was totally indifferent. So why was the sight of Josselyn Weaver’s legs making him think about things he thought he’d forgotten years ago?

Clearing his throat, he said, “I’ve been thinking about our phone conversation, and I realize I wasn’t exactly helpful. I’d had a rough morning at the clinic and my mind was, well, a bit distracted.”

“That’s understandable. We all get like that from time to time.”

Not like him, Drew thought. For the past six years, he’d tried to function as a normal person while half of his mind was thinking about Evelyn, missing her and cursing the accident that had taken her away. It hadn’t been easy. It still wasn’t.

“You’re being kind and I don’t deserve that.”

She studied him with an odd look and Drew was glad she didn’t ask him to explain the comment that had slipped out of him as though it had a will of its own.

“Dr. Strickland, I’m sorry if my call alarmed you. That wasn’t my intention. All in all, I’d say Dillon is a bright, intelligent, well-rounded boy. And I enjoy having him in the library immensely. It’s just that he’s going a bit overboard with the books and the time he spends here. Some days he ignores his lunch recess and spends the break time in here with me. He really ought to be out running and playing with the other children. I’ve tried to encourage him to do just that, but he seems to want to talk.”