donât need to bring me coffee,â he reminded her. He was perfectly capable of getting his own. âBut thank you.â
She smiled. âYouâre welcome. Youâre going to have to get used to it. Iâm too old to retrain myself. Sheriff Beuker always had to have his coffee. âCourse the caffeine was probably the only thing keeping him awake.â
âLucky guy,â Chance murmured as he took a sip of the hot, strong drink and nodded in appreciation. He had so many things that kept him awake: memories of the past, worries for the future, and now that damn promise heâd made to Tommy Phillips to find his father. Tommyâs mother was right; it wasnât a promise heâd had any business making.
âSheriff Beuker slept like an infant,â Eleanor remarked with a smile, âwith all the nodding off he did throughout the day.â
âItâs been a while, but I donât remember infants sleeping all that much.â Matthew hadnât. Even as a baby, heâd had boundless energy. His son needed more room to runaround and play than the cramped apartment in Chicago and the crowded city street outside it. âWell, he slept without a care in the world,â she amended with a chuckle.
The last time Chance had had no cares, he must have been a child. A weary sigh slipped from his lips, and he leaned back in his chair.
âI thought I heard you talking to yourself a little while ago,â Eleanor said, settling into the low-backed leather chair in front of his desk. It wasnât that she had to stay at hers; the phone hardly ever rang. And the only recent visitor had been Tommy. âBeuker always rambled away to himself, but that was because he was getting senile. What has you talking to yourself, Sheriff Drayton?â
âChance,â he reminded her.
She smiled again but shook her head. âSheriff.â
Two months heâd worked with the woman, and she still refused to use his first name. He pushed his hand through his hair.
âYou have a lot to talk about,â she prodded him, âwith everything you have going on.â
While he hadnât specifically shared his personal problems with her, she must have taken enough calls from his lawyer that sheâd figured out exactly what was going on in his life.
âItâs actually Tommy Phillips whoâs weighing on my mind,â he admitted, disgusted with himself for making that promise to the boy. Had he done it because he really wanted to find Tommyâs dad for him or because he couldnât be a dad to his own son?
He suspected it was the latter. But just because he hadnât had the most altruistic motive behind his promisedidnât mean he didnât intend to keep it. He had even gone so far as to pull up the boyâs birth certificate from county records. But Tommyâs father was listed as unknown. Gauging from her reaction when Chance had passed on her sonâs request, Jessie Phillips seemed to have every intention of keeping it that way. Hopefully she had a damn good reason. Better than Robynâsâ¦
And if she did, heâd have to break his promise to Tommy. Hell, even if she didnât, Jessie Phillips was still the boyâs mother. What she told her son about his father was her decision. Not Chanceâs.
âThat little guy really got to you,â Eleanor mused, staring thoughtfully at him. She had definitely figured out exactly why the boy had gotten to him. But then in addition to the calls, she had to have noticed Matthewâs picture on his desk. In the photo, a class portrait from a couple of years ago, he looked around Tommyâs age. And with his dark hair and navy blue eyes, he looked like Chance.
âTommy Phillips wants a relationship with his dad,â he said, hoping his son wanted the same thing with him. âAnd heâs too young to understand we canât always get what we want.â He grimaced as the
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley