“Dylan was just telling us about the big St. Patrick’s Day festival this weekend,” Adrienne said brightly. “It sounds like a lot of fun.”
He shrugged. “I’ve never been.”
“Never?” She looked surprised. “Dylan made it sound as if the whole town turns out for this.”
“I’ve always thought it was ridiculous that a bunch of non-Irish folks from southern Mississippi get together every year to wear green and act like morons.”
“Gideon’s never been known as a fun sort of guy,” Dylan remarked with a smirk that went straight to Gideon’s temper.
“Gideon is too fun,” Isabelle protested. “He, um, he writes good stories.”
Isabelle had never read his stories, of course. She didn’t even know what they were about. Though he hadn’t done a thing all week to entertain her, she was defending him, anyway, seizing on the first evidence that popped into her mind that he possessed a sense of fun.
Her defiant little gesture touched him, and because it did, he didn’t know what to say except, “Thanks, kiddo.”
“I stand corrected,” Dylan murmured with a smile for Isabelle.
As much as he disliked Dylan for the history between them, Gideon was confident that the other man would take no more chances of upsetting the child.
A neighbor of his mother’s, Lucille Mayo, entered the ice cream parlor with two grandchildren in tow. Looking both surprised and avidly curious, she paused by their table.
“Hello, Gideon. And Officer Smith. Nice to see you both.” She left unspoken her surprise at seeing them together. Few longtime residents of this town were unaware of the old acrimony between Dylan and the McCloud siblings.
Dylan responded first. “’Afternoon, Mrs. Mayo. You’re looking well.”
The guy had a real talent for instantly transforming into the smooth-talking charmer, Gideon mused. He had so many faces that it was impossible to know which one was real. These days Dylan was the consummate peace officer—polite, hardworking and by all accounts completely above reproach. But Gideon remembered the angry rebel Dylan had once been. The teenager with a flash-point temper and ready fists.
Gideon clearly recalled the feel of those fists against his own face. Just as he knew how it felt to bruise his knuckles against Dylan’s rock-hard jaw.
Lucille turned to him then. “I haven’t seen you in a while, Gideon. Are you still writing?”
It was invariably one of the first things people asked him. Because he had quickly grown tired of hearing it, he was often tempted to answer facetiously, something along the line of, “No, I became too successful, so I quit.”
Instead, he answered as he always did, with a simple, “Yes.”
“How many books have you written now?”
“I’m working on my fifth,” he replied somewhat woodenly, dreading the next question. Maybe she wouldn’t ask it….
But she did. “Where do you get all your ideas?”
Another frequently asked question that seemed to have no sensible reply. Did people think there was a retail store that specialized in story ideas? He pictured a sign printed with the words “This Week’s Special: Science Fiction Premises.”
He tried to keep his thoughts hidden when he replied, “That’s just what I do, Lucille.”
“You know I teach ninth-grade English. I wish you would agree to speak to my classes sometime. I know my students would be fascinated by the book-publishing process.”
“I doubt they would be fascinated by any talk I would give. As I’ve told you before, I’m not much of a speaker.” And he would rather jab sharp sticks under his fingernails than face a roomful of ninth-graders, he added silently.
She must have anticipated his response, because she looked more resigned than disappointed. She glanced at Adrienne. “I heard your agent is visiting you. Is this…?”
Gideon nodded, wishing the woman would take her increasingly restless grandchildren and move on. For Adrienne and Isabelle’s sake, he tried to sound reasonably polite when he said, “Adrienne Corley, this is my mother’s friend, Lucille Mayo. And, Lucille, you know my sister, Isabelle.”
The words still sounded a bit strange to him, since he’d only introduced Isabelle as his sister a couple of times, but, oddly e
nough, they were beginning to feel more natural.
“Yes, of course. It’s good to see you again, Isabelle. And it’s very nice to meet you, Ms. Corley. You’re, um, staying with Gideon this week?”