That Wintry Feeling (Debbie Macomber Classics) Read Free Page A

Jones,” she said with a trace of contempt. “I’m Cathy Thompson, Angela’s basic skills instructor.”
    Grady accepted her hand, capturing it between two massive ones and holding it longer than she liked. Their eyes dueled, hers cool and distrusting, his deepening as they narrowed.
    He dropped her hand, and it fell limply at her side. “Yes, I’ve heard quite a lot about you, Miss Thompson.”
    “You’ve heard quite a lot
from
me, too,” she emphasized. “However, you’ve chosen to ignore my messages and phone calls.”
    “Listen, Miss Thompson, I’m a busy man. I’ve got a business to run. I can’t—”
    “Let me assure you, I’m just as busy,” she interrupted curtly. “But I believe Angela is important enough for us both to spare a few minutes.”
    “All right, I’ll admit Angela’s got problems.”
    Cathy had to restrain herself from saying that she thought most of the girl’s difficulties stemmed from an uncaring father. “Angela’s a sweet, sensitive six-year-old child with social and academic deficiencies,” Cathy began. “But it’s my guess that most of her academic difficulties are a result of dyslexia. I’d like your permission to have her tested.”
    “Dyslexia?” Concern furrowed the tanned brow.
    “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Cathy was quick to assure him. “It’s a neurological disorderthat affects one’s ability to read, spell, and sometimes speak correctly. It’s not uncommon for a girl to be dyslexic, but almost three times as many boys are as girls.”
    “Dyslexic.” He repeated the word and slumped into a large rollback chair.
    “Angela’s in the first grade and has problems reading at the first-grade level, or printing her letters correctly.”
    “She’s a lot like I was at her age,” Grady murmured. “Only back then they called it
word blindness.
”
    “They have a name for it now,” she said softly.
    Grady looked up, and for the first time seemed to notice that he was sitting, while she was standing. “Sit down, Miss Thompson, please.”
    Cathy obliged. “Dyslexia affects three areas of learning. Audio, visual, and kinetic, which is the sense of touch or feel. Angela is affected in each area, but to what extent won’t be known until she’s been tested.”
    He drew in a deep breath. “You say there’s a name for it now. Is there a cure?”
    “No,” she explained bluntly. “But there is help. Once my suspicions have been confirmed. Angela is going to need a tutor.”
    “It’s done. Send me a bill.”
    Anger gripped Cathy. This man seemed to think everything could be solved with a signature at the bottom of a check.
    “It’s not quite that simple, Mr. Jones,” she said, keeping a tight rein on her feelings. “It’s not my responsibility to find a tutor for your daughter. I’ll be happy to give you a list of those recommended by the school district. But finding the one who would work best with Angela is up to you.” She spoke in a stiff, professional manner. “I’m also of the opinion that your lack of interest may be the cause of the emotional problems Angela has …” She stopped, clenching her hands tightly. Stating her feelings on the way Grady Jones chose to raise his daughter wasn’t part of her job.
    “That may be.” The blue eyes became chips of glacial ice. “But I’m only interested in your academic impressions. I could care less if you think I rate a Father’s Day card or not.”
    “I’m sure.” Abruptly, she rose to her feet. “I won’t take up any more of your time.” She couldn’t prevent the waspish tone. “After all, time is money.”
    “That’s right, and you’ve taken up fifteen minutes already.”
    Fists balled at her sides with building outrage, she stalked from the office. He followed her out, opening the front door as if he couldn’t be rid of her fast enough.
    “I’ll mail you the list of tutors,” she said, in a way that conveyed the message she would rather have communicated with him by