The Second Time by Janet Dailey Read Free Book Online Page B

when I’m older,” the boy said in a voice that held a poignant ring of longing.
    Bothered by something he couldn’t identify, Slater narrowed his study of the boy. Before hecould reply, he was hailed by a voice coming from up the street.
    “Hey, MacBride!”
    He turned to observe the approach of his longtime friend and local fishing guide, Jeeter Jones. With the spry, rolling step of a seaman, Jeeter closed the distance between them. His leathered face was cracked by a greeting smile.
    “How are you doing, Jeeter?” Slater felt a surge of impatience at this second delay and wished he had not stopped to speak to this boy. It wasn’t company he wanted. It was privacy to deal with the emotions meeting Dawn again had aroused.
    “Thought I’d come by and see if I couldn’t talk you into buying me a cup of coffee,” Jeeter explained and glanced curiously at the boy, who was taking advantage of Slater’s distraction to stare raptly at him. “Who’s your young friend?” Something about the boy struck a familiar chord and Jeeter darted a quick look at Slater and found it repeated.
    With the arrival of Jeeter Jones, Slater had forgotten about that earlier moment when something about the boy had bothered him. His mildly indifferent glance slid to the youth.
    “He was admiring my car,” Slater explained, then addressed the boy, remembering his previous comment about owning a car like it someday. “Maybe your father will buy you one when you’re older.” Judging from the way the boy was dressed, his parents could afford it.
    There was a sudden flood of red into the boy’s cheeks. “Yeah,” he mumbled the answer andturned quickly to his bike, hiding the betraying surge of embarrassment. Kicking the stand back, he hopped onto the seat and pedaled away.
    The abruptness of his departure pulled Slater’s gaze after him. The boy didn’t travel far, stopping at the first street vendor he reached. As he looked over the assortment of cookies and cold drinks, the boy stole a glance over his shoulder at Slater and quickly averted his gaze when he saw Slater watching him.
    A snorting sound, like a contained laugh, came from Jeeter Jones. “I knew you’d sown some wild seeds in your time, MacBride, but I didn’t expect to see the crop maturing so close to home.”
    Slater swung his gaze around to subject Jeeter to his piercing scrutiny. “What are you talking about?”
    “That boy,” Jeeter said. “He’s darn near the spittin’ image of you right down to the cowlicks in his hair. What is he? Some cousin of yours?”
    Too stunned to reply, Slater stared at his friend for a blank second. Then his head jerked around to stare at the boy still hovering about the vendor’s cart. It wasn’t possible! Dawn had been lying. He would have bet his life on it. But—he had to find out. Whipping off his dark glasses, he jammed them into his shirt pocket so they wouldn’t shade something from his sight and prevent him from seeing something he should.
    Turning away from Jeeter, he broke into a jog. “Hey! What about the coffee?” Jeeter protested in a startled voice.
    “Another time.” The answer was thrown over his shoulder, his gaze not straying from the boy, who noticed his approach and appeared to tense up. Slater lengthened his stride and weaved through the few pedestrians in his path.
    There was a pallor beneath the boy’s tanned face as he hurriedly dug into the pocket of his jeans to pay for the limeade he’d ordered. He was still trying to count out the money when Slater arrived at the cart.
    Taking two dollar bills from his pocket, Slater laid them atop the cart. “I’ll buy his, Rufus,” he told the man. “Give me a limeade, too.”
    After an interested glance that took in both Slater and the boy, the vendor gave a small shrug and turned to fill a plastic glass with the chilled, fresh-squeezed juice.
    “I’ve got the money to pay for my own, sir,” the boy declared, suddenly very stiff and warily nervous