The Little Maverick Matchmaker. Stella Bagwell
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didn’t like the idea of interrupting his work. But it was nearing the lunch hour. Hopefully he’d already dealt with most of the morning patients.
Drawing in a bracing breath, Josselyn punched in the numbers, and as the ring sounded in her ear, she wondered why her heart was beating a mile a minute. This was nothing but a school-parent call and Drew Strickland was little more than a stranger.
“Dr. Strickland here.”
As soon as the rich, male voice came back at her, Josselyn’s pent-up breath rushed out of her.
“Hello, Doctor. This is Josselyn Weaver, the librarian at Rust Creek Falls Elementary. We met at the school picnic.”
After a short pause, he said, “Yes, I remember. How are you, Miss Weaver?”
A physician would be asking about her well-being, she thought. “I’m good, thank you. I—uh—apologize for calling you at work. Do you have a minute or two? I promise this won’t take long.”
“You’ve called at the right time. My nurse is having lunch, so I have a short break. Is there something I can do for you?”
Her mouth suddenly turned as dry as Death Valley in mid-July. “Actually, I’m calling about your son, Dillon. I’ve been seeing quite a bit of him in the library.”
“That’s encouraging. Maybe he’ll develop a love of reading.”
For no sensible reason at all, she was suddenly picturing the shape of Drew Strickland’s strong lips and the deep dimples carved into his cheeks. Just the thought of kissing him was enough to make her breath catch in her throat.
“Yes. I’m hoping that happens, too.”
He must have heard something amiss in her voice because he suddenly asked, “Are you calling because Dillon has been acting unruly? If so, I’m not surprised. I’m fairly sure he’s not yet learned that a library is a place for silence.”
In other words, Dr. Strickland hadn’t visited a library with his son before, she concluded. But that wasn’t all that unusual. Some men’s reading habits never went beyond the newspaper or an occasional magazine.
She said, “Students are taught the rules of etiquette by their teachers before they visit the library. Besides, Dillon hasn’t been unruly. He’s—well, he’s coming in every day and checking out an unreasonable amount of books. When I questioned him, he says he’s reading all of them. Is that what you’re seeing at home?”
This time there was a long pause before he answered.
“I’m not exactly sure. I’m in and out of the boardinghouse so much answering emergency calls. Dillon could be reading when I’m not around.”
Which could be most of the time. She was beginning to get the picture now. Apparently Dillon needed more than a mother. He needed his father’s undivided time and attention. But she wasn’t about to point that out to the man. His idea of proper parenting was his business. Not hers.
“Oh. I see.”
Silent seconds passed before he spoke again. “Tell me, Miss Weaver, do you think my son has a problem?”
She wasn’t certain about Dillon’s problem, but she realized she had one of her own. He was tall, dark haired and sexy enough to curl a woman’s toes. Just the sound of his deep male voice was making her skin prickle with awareness.
“I’m not sure. I just know he’s spending an inordinate amount of time in the library.”
“This deduction is coming from a librarian?”
Josselyn bristled. No matter if the man was a walking dream, she didn’t deserve or appreciate his sarcasm. “Yes. And you can do what you like with the information. As a part of the school staff, I thought you should be alerted to your son’s behavior. Thank you for your time, Dr. Strickland. Goodbye.”
She hung up the phone, then, realizing she was shaking, rose and walked over to a window that overlooked the school playground. Except for a few yellow cottonwood leaves rolling across the dormant lawn, the area was quiet. But as soon as lunch was over, the area would be full of children, most of them laughing and playing. Would Dillon be among them? Or would he choose, as he had yesterday, to come into the library and talk to her, rather than play with his friends?
Josselyn hadn’t bothered telling Dr. Drew Strickland that bit of information. Not when he’d seemed to be dismissing her concern about Dillon as much ado about nothing.
Maybe she doesn’t have a mother. Like me.
The boy’s remark was still haunting Josselyn. Almost as much as the sad shadows she’d spotted in Drew Strickland’s gorgeous brown eyes.
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