A Weaver Beginning Page 10

  “Nah. I was thirsty.”

  “Gotta love kids,” a voice said beside her. Abby looked over to the petite brunette who was standing at the counter paying her bill. “They say the darndest things, don’t they?” The woman stuck out her hand. “Tara Clay,” she introduced herself. “And you’re Abby.”

  Abby managed a weak smile and shook her hand. “Yes. Abby Marcum. Nice to meet you.”

  Tara had eyes as dark as chocolate, which crinkled slightly at the corners as her smile widened even more. “I’m Sloan’s sister,” she said meaningfully.

  “Oh!” Abby’s stomach dropped. “I...suppose you heard my brother.”

  Tara laughed softly. “Honey, everyone in here heard your brother. Don’t look so upset, though. We’ve all survived people in this town talking about us.” She looked past Abby to Dillon. “Your dog’s doing a good job greeting everyone who comes in here. What’s his name?”

  Dillon stared shyly at Sloan’s sister. “Rex,” he whispered.

  Abby sorely wished he’d have whispered earlier.

  “Good name.” Tara tucked her change into her purse as the waitress settled Abby’s and Dillon’s lunches on the counter. “I told Sloan earlier that he should bring you two along for dinner tomorrow,” she said after the waitress had gone again.

  “Oh, but—”

  “We’re getting together for pizza. Nothing fancy. Pizolli’s. They’re new but good.”

  “Pizolli’s is good, but—”

  “That’s settled, then.” Tara smiled brightly. “I’d stay to chat longer, but I’ve got to get back to the shop.” And just like that, she hurried out the door.

  “Sloan’s sister looks like Snow White,” Dillon commented, catching a melting string of cheese from his sandwich with the tip of his tongue.

  Her shoulders sagged. “I guess she does.” Dillon didn’t know how embarrassing his question had been. But she didn’t want a repeat of it, either. Not in the crowded diner. So she hurried him through his lunch and had his cinnamon roll wrapped to take with them. When he started to protest, she reminded him of poor Rex, tied up and waiting outside in the cold.

  He needed no further prompting and barely waited long enough for her to pay the check before going outside. He stopped short, though, at the sight of the woman and boy crossing the street toward them.

  Abby recognized Calvin and assumed that the thin, tense-looking woman with him was his mother.

  There was no point in pretending they hadn’t all seen one another. Not right there on the sidewalk outside of Ruby’s.

  She put her hand on Dillon’s shoulder. Even through the puffy coat, she could feel the way he’d gone tense. Rex, leash twisted around the light post, thumped his tail, whining excitedly as he waited for Dillon’s attention. “Untangle Rex,” she suggested softly.

  Calvin—with a bruise on his eye nearly identical to Dillon’s—was glaring at her brother, and Calvin’s mother looked as if she wanted to be anywhere other than where they were.

  When faced with an uncomfortable situation, Abby’s grandmother had always suggested heading straight on into it. Better to meet it with some control, Minerva used to say.

  And this was a distinctly uncomfortable situation.

  Abby stuck out her gloved hand, walking toward Calvin’s mother. “Mrs. Pierce,” she greeted calmly. “I’m Abby Marcum. Dillon’s sister. It’s nice to meet you.”

  The other woman looked a little confused. A little fearful. As if she didn’t quite know what to do about Abby’s extended hand. But after a brief hesitation, she extended her own hand, awkwardly shaking the tips of Abby’s fingers before quickly pulling back. “You, too,” she said half under her breath.

  “I’m sorry about the trouble between the boys at school,” Abby forged on despite the wholesale lack of encouragement coming from Calvin’s mother. “I just want to assure you that nothing like that will happen again.” She looked at her brother. “Will it, Dillon,” she prompted.

  He was crouched down hugging Rex as though the dog was his last friend in the world. His gaze flicked to Calvin. Then his face turned mutinous. “Will if he calls me a liar again.”

  “Dillon!”

  He didn’t look at her; he just ducked his head against Rex.

  Her grandmother hadn’t given her any words of wisdom to prepare for situations like this, and Abby wished she’d have just followed Sloan’s advice to keep her distance from the Pierce family.

  She gave Calvin’s mother an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into—”

  “Figures you’d have the ugliest dog in the world,” Calvin sneered, interrupting.

  “Hush your mouth.” His mother swatted his shoulder. “Don’t mind him,” she told Abby. “He’s wanted a dog forever.”

  “If I did have a dog, it wouldn’t be no dinky excuse like that.”

  “Rex isn’t dinky,” Dillon defended, hopping to his feet. Rex, still tied to the post, bared his teeth and growled.

  “Rex, be quiet.” Abby casually sidestepped so she was standing between the dog and the Pierces. “There’s a rescue group with all sorts of dogs out at Shop-World today,” she shared. “The only fee we had to pay for Rex was for the dog license. Which was a good thing, because that’s about all I could afford,” she added lightly, just in case Mrs. Pierce took offense.

  “Calvin’s daddy doesn’t much care for dogs.”

  Abby managed not to wince. She felt as if she were digging herself in deeper. Despite her effort to be a barrier between Rex and Calvin, the little boy was still managing to antagonize the young dog, kicking bits of gravel-ridden snow toward him. “Well.” She smiled warmly. “I didn’t mean to keep you out here in the cold.” Calvin’s mother’s coat looked threadbare, and while Dillon’s coat was too big for him, Calvin’s was definitely too small. “I just wanted to say how sorry I was for everything.” She reached down and unfastened the leash from the light post and kept a tight grip on it when Rex took a little lunge, growling again.

  She couldn’t really blame the dog when Calvin was deliberately taunting him. She took Dillon’s hand. “Hope you enjoy the rest of your weekend,” she told Mrs. Pierce as she tugged boy and dog with her away from the diner.

  She waited until they were well out of earshot before she looked down at Dillon. “What were you thinking, telling Calvin that you’d fight him again?”

  Dillon didn’t answer. He was focused on something else. Someone else, she realized quickly when Sloan stepped into their path.

  “What were you thinking, talking to Lorraine Pierce in the first place,” he asked.

  She felt frazzled. First his sister in Ruby’s, then the Pierces. And now him? “What are you doing here?”

  He glanced over his shoulder at the building next to him, and she realized she’d walked Dillon right past the sheriff’s office. “Lying in wait for you,” he said blandly.

  Her lips tightened. “We ran into Calvin and his mother outside of Ruby’s. I wasn’t going to be rude and just ignore her. We ran into your sister inside Ruby’s, too,” she added before he could get on his soapbox about the Pierces.

  His eyes narrowed. “Tara.”

  “Do you have another sister?” Her spurt of smart-i-tude fizzled. “Yes. Tara. She’s very nice.”

  “She is,” he agreed.

  She’d considered warning him about Dillon being overheard inside the diner. But heading straight on to that particular awkwardness was a lot more difficult than facing Calvin and his mother.

  So she focused on the least explosive thing she could. “She must be the official welcoming committee for Weaver. She invited us out for pizza tomorrow afternoon.”

  He didn’t show any sort of reaction, but Abby still sensed his sudden unease.

  “We can’t,” she added as if she hadn’t noticed his reaction. A girl had her pride, after all. “We’re going to Braden to visit my grandmother.”

  That got Dillon’s attention in a hurry. “We are?”

/>   She squeezed his hand, hoping he’d get the message.

  “Not that your sister gave me a chance to tell her that.”

  “Sounds like Tara.”

  She moistened her lips, searching her mind vainly for some safe topic. But it turned out she didn’t need one because Sloan’s brown eyes mercifully focused on Dillon as he hunkered down to pet Rex. While her brother chattered on about how they’d adopted him that morning, Abby surreptitiously studied Sloan.

  She knew his hair was thick and felt as slippery as satin through her fingers. Knew the shadow on his jaw felt sexily abrasive against her palms.

  What she didn’t know was what made him tick. What he believed and cared about.

  What caused his restlessness.

  Even though she knew it was better to remain uninvolved, she couldn’t help wanting to understand him. It was a desire that came dangerously close to need.

  Which would get her nowhere. Inexperienced or not, she wasn’t a fool. She wasn’t looking to get hurt. Even though she couldn’t imagine ever forgetting how it had felt to be in his arms.

  “You could come, you know,” he said abruptly. “After you visit your grandmother.”

  All her sensible thoughts screeched to a halt, and she stared at him.

  “Tomorrow afternoon,” he added, as if she needed clarification. “Unless you were planning to spend the entire day in Braden. Dillon would have a few kids to chase around with, too.”

  Dillon tugged at her arm. “Can we? I wanna chase around.”

  She let out half a laugh that sounded as helpless as she felt. Just when she started to think she had a course set, had her path laid out clearly before her where I’m-No-Hero Sloan was concerned, he tossed a wrench in the works.

  “I do like Pizolli’s,” she finally said. It was a small family restaurant, and Sloan was right: there were usually a few kids for Dillon to play with. “Your, uh, your sister told me that’s what the plan was. I suppose we could be back from Braden in time.” Plenty of time. It would take only a few hours coming and going. And Minerva didn’t tolerate visitors well for any length of time. It distressed her when she knew she ought to recognize them but didn’t.

  “Good.” Sloan straightened and his eyes roved over her, which had the usual result of making her knees feel wobbly. “It’s settled, then.”

  The comment was exactly like his sister’s. As if whatever concerns or questions Abby might still have were moot.

  “Will you give me a ride on your motorcycle?”

  Abby closed her hand over Dillon’s shoulder. “Honey, you can’t just ask people things like that.”

  Sloan’s lips twitched. “It’s okay.” He lifted the helmet he was holding. “You can wear this. It’ll be too big for you, but we’re not going much farther than around the corner to your house. Long as Abby says it’s okay.”

  Dillon looked as if Christmas had just come all over again. He looked up at Abby. “Puhleeze?”

  She pointed her finger toward Sloan. “Straight back to the house.”

  He lifted his palm. “Swear it.”

  She was such a sucker, swayed by the amusement lighting his expression. “You’ll have to mind him for a few minutes until I catch up with you.”

  He looked even more amused. “Think we can manage not to burn down anything. Take your time.”

  Dillon eagerly handed her Rex’s leash and latched his hand around Sloan’s as if he were afraid the man might change his mind.

  Abby caught the flicker of emotion on Sloan’s face and ached inside. It seemed so obvious to her that he was a man who cared. Who wanted to care. So why wouldn’t he let himself?

  She stifled a sigh and eyed her brother. “Hold on and do everything that Sloan tells you to do.”

  Dillon nodded so hard the hood on his coat bounced.

  “It’s just a motorcycle ride,” Sloan murmured. “We’re not going skydiving.”

  She made a face. “Might as well be.”

  “Never been on a bike?”

  “Sure. The two-wheeled kind that depends on pedaling for power.” Feeling oddly bereft now that Dillon was holding Sloan’s hand and not hers, she scooped Rex off his feet and cuddled him against her chest. The dog trembled with delight and tried to lick her face. She lifted her chin out of range, and he transferred his adoration to her wrist.

  “Deputy McCray would give you a ride, too,” Dillon said. “Wouldn’tcha?” His young voice was filled with utter faith.

  She focused on Rex, rubbing his head. It was safer than looking at Sloan, since she was afraid her face probably showed the same bare emotion as her seven-year-old brother’s. “I don’t have any desire to ride on the back of that thing, so it doesn’t matter anyway.”

  “Think your sister’s afraid,” Sloan told Dillon, sounding very man to man.

  “You don’t have to be afraid, Abby,” Dillon assured her earnestly. “You won’t fall or nothing.”

  “Or anything,” she corrected faintly. But she was afraid. Not of falling off but of falling, period.

  And a few minutes later, as she watched Sloan ride slowly down the street on his big black monster with Dillon attached to his back like a little limpet, she was afraid it might already be too late.

  Chapter Nine

  Sloan was still kicking himself the next afternoon as he checked out his usual cruiser and drove over to pick up Abby and Dillon.

  He could have left things as they were. Abby and Dillon would have spent the day in Braden visiting their grandmother, just as she’d planned. No harm. No foul.

  He’d told her he needed to keep his distance.

  How was asking her to his sister’s—for their weekly family dinner, for God’s sake—keeping his distance?

  He’d thought that taking the bike out would clear his head. And it had. It had cleared his head of every bit of sense he’d ever possessed.

  The second he pulled into Abby’s driveway, her front door flew open and Dillon raced out. Abby, coatless, followed hard on his heels but only to catch Rex, who’d darted out, as well.

  In a competition between Abby and the homely little pup, she was outmatched. Whenever she zigged, the dog zagged, bounding over the snow as though he had springs in his short legs.

  Sloan got out of the SUV to join the chase. It helped him stop thinking about his insanity, at least. He pointed at the corner of the yard. “Dillon, keep Rex from getting past you over there.”

  Dillon ran toward the area, snow kicking up under his heels. Then he turned, bracing his feet wide apart and crouching a little.

  He looked like a miniature linebacker. A very thin, very short linebacker, maybe, but if the determination on Dillon’s face was any indication, he was going to stop Rex, come hell or high water.

  Sloan didn’t know where the urge to laugh came from. It was just there. Same way his head went clear when he rode. He stifled the sound with a cough, though, and gestured for Abby to take the opposite corner, between the back of his SUV and the street. Sloan took a third corner, between her yard and his. Rex, caught in the middle, bounced toward Dillon, yipping with excitement at this latest game.

  “Don’t let him get past you,” Abby called out. “He’ll head for Sloan’s backyard like he did yesterday.” Her eyes were bright and shining as she looked at Sloan. “He climbed behind your woodpile, and I would’ve never gotten him out if he hadn’t chosen to chase after Mr. Gilcrest’s cat instead.”

  “That grumpy old man’s got a cat? Since when?”

  “He told me he’s had Marigold for years. And what do you mean by grumpy? As long as you don’t make the mistake of bringing up the federal government, he’s perfectly friendly.” She danced around a little when it seemed as if Rex was going to turn her way. But the wily dog tore around in a circle, heading off to the center of the yard, where he lifted his leg and did his business at the base of Deputy Frosty.

  Sloan had lived in the neighborhood for half a year. He’d never seen Gilcrest’s cat, much less heard of her.
/>
  Abby had been there less than a month and she found the old coot friendly.

  He wanted to blame it on her youth—on naïveté. But he suspected it was simply her. Something about her that brought out the best in people.

  “Oh, Dill—he’s heading for you again!”

  Dillon launched himself at the dog and landed face first. He got an armful of snow and not much else. Rex pounced on Dillon’s back and ran up the slice of ground between their houses.

  “Nuts,” she muttered as she ran past Sloan, grabbed Dillon and set him on his feet and followed the dog toward the backyard. “Just call his name and see if he’ll come back to you,” she yelled.

  Sloan walked over to Dillon and finished dusting the snow off his back. “You ever have a dog before?”

  Dillon shook his head. “You?”

  Sloan shook his head. “Nope.”

  “But you’re old!”

  Sloan winced. “Sometimes it seems that way,” he allowed dryly.

  Dillon’s forehead crinkled. “How come?”

  He figured the boy was still on the topic of dogs and not Sloan’s state of decrepitude. “Because we never lived anywhere we could have one.”

  “How come?”

  “Because we moved around a lot.”

  Dillon still looked curious. “How come?”

  “You give persistence a new name, sport.”

  “Huh?”

  He roughed up the boy’s hair. It was as dark a brown as his sister’s and just as soft. “Nothing. Run inside your house and get a handful of dog food or something.”

  “He’s got treats!” Dillon darted over to the house and up the porch steps.

  Rex wasn’t going to go unloved, obviously. “A treat sounds good,” he said, even though Dillon wasn’t there to hear him.

  The dog wouldn’t be able to resist temptation.

  He heard Abby’s boots crunching on the snow as she returned. Her cheeks were as pink as the sweater she was wearing and her shiny hair was tousled.

  It would look the same way if he ran his fingers through it.

  Homely dogs weren’t the only ones swayed by temptation.