The Little Maverick Matchmaker. Stella Bagwell

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.

       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.”