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.”
Dillon’s face was a picture of surprise. “It was? I never seen you go fishing before.”
“Well, it has been a while,” Drew conceded. About eight years, he thought ruefully. “I used to take your mother fishing back in Thunder Canyon. There was a big stream on the family ranch with lots of trout. And after we caught a bunch, we took them home and had a fish dinner.”
“Golly, that sounds like fun. Why don’t you do that now, Dad?”
Yes, why didn’t he?
Because Evelyn is gone. Because going without her wouldn’t be the same. You’ve used that excuse for the past six years of your life, Drew. When are you going to throw it away and start enjoying these precious years with your son, instead of clinging to a memory?
Torn by the reproachful voice in his head, Drew stared at the window on the opposite side of the room. Oh how he wished he could open the paned glass and let all the painful memories in his heart fly away. Never to torment him again.
“Dad? Why don’t you go fishing now?”
Dillon’s repeated question pulled Drew out of his wistful reverie and as he looked down at his son, he did his best to ignore the guilt pressing down on his shoulders.
“I’ll tell you what, Dillon, if you’ll finish reading your book to me, I’ll promise to take you fishing.”
Dillon eyed him skeptically. “You really will take me? You’re not going to say you have to work?”
Dear God, he had a long ways to go to prove himself as a father, Drew thought. “I’m not just saying it.” To underscore his words, Drew made an x across his heart. “I really promise.”
“Okay, Dad! We got a deal!”
Dillon raised his hand for a high five and as Drew gently slapped his palm against his son’s, a small sense of triumph rushed through him.
* * *
By the time Friday arrived, Josselyn decided that where little Dillon Strickland was concerned, something was amiss. So far the boy had visited the library every day this week, at times during periods when he should have been on the playground running and playing with his friends.
Not wanting to get the boy in trouble, Josselyn hadn’t spoken to his teachers about his unusual behavior. After all, fretting over a child’s visits to the library sounded ridiculous. Even to Josselyn. But Dillon was checking out more books than a normal child his age could read in a month. And each time she questioned him about the books, he evaded answering by steering the conversation back to the fishing story.
Clearly he’d read that book. He even talked about how he was going to be like the hero and catch the biggest fish in Rust Creek Falls. But she’d make a bet that the other books had never been opened.
Josselyn stared at the small sticky note lying on her desk. The telephone number scratched across it was the contact number
