by Brenda Novak
“Of course.” She quickly put the paper away. Tyson was her employer. Thanks to him, she’d be able to make the back payments on her mortgage and catch up on most of her other bills. Besides, Braden was so sweet and loveable she couldn’t imagine him coming from anyone as twisted as that article implied.
In any case, she had no complaints against Tyson personally. Everything he’d said and done where she was concerned had been normal enough. He’d called to check on Braden every night since he’d been gone, and had been polite, if slightly aloof. Before he’d left, he hired Terrance Bennett to look after her dad, just as he’d promised, which seemed to be working out okay despite her father’s displeasure at having “a babysitter.” Tyson had told her to go ahead and enjoy any food she found in the house, and when she’d expressed an interest in gardening, he’d gotten permission from Gabe for her to plant what she wanted.
Then again, she wasn’t the type of woman to inspire obsession, especially from someone as handsome and famous as Tyson. Her only boyfriend had broken up with her when he realized she wouldn’t leave her father and go with him to the oil fields of Colorado.
“Where’s Hannah?” she asked.
“At the studio. She has a couple shoots today.”
“I should have her take Braden’s picture.”
“Sounds like the job’s working out.”
“I love it.”
“You’re not getting lonely up there all by yourself?”
“No. Not yet, anyway.” She’d never been to an expensive resort, but she couldn’t imagine it being any more enjoyable than Gabe’s cabin. She’d been able to work out and lift weights, use the Jacuzzi tub, build a fire in the fireplace when the air grew brisk at night, take Braden on hikes through the forest by putting him in the baby carrier she’d bought with the money Tyson had left for her to use. She’d put in an entire spring garden, as well, complete with tomatoes, zucchini, squash, corn, carrots, peas and string beans. And she’d been driving Tyson’s Ferrari. Hannah had watched Braden while Dakota went to the airport with Tyson so she could bring the car home. For the first time, she’d been glad that her own car had a manual transmission. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have known how to drive the Ferrari.
The only blight on the whole week was the way her father behaved whenever she went home to check on him. He treated her as if it was a personal betrayal that she’d involved Terrance in their lives. “They feedin’ya enough caviar over there?” he’d taunted her yesterday.
“I think I’m getting spoiled,” she told Gabe with a laugh. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that you don’t have to hire the housekeeper that came on Wednesday. I’d be happy to keep the place clean while I’m there.”
“I appreciate it, but I can’t do that to Rosalee. I think she really counts on the income.”
“See that? I don’t have to clean. And now I don’t even have to feel guilty about it. It’s like staying at Club Med.”
“You deserve the break, Dakota.” Gabe was a little too serious, serious enough to make her uncomfortable. She didn’t want him to pity her. She hated that.
“Tyson will probably be back soon,” she said, trying to keep the conversation on the light side.
“He never should’ve left.”
There were several gawkers gathering a few feet away. Like Tyson, Gabe attracted stares. It was inspiring just to see him get around so capably. But he was also a local hero. Everyone was eager to get some face time with him, so they could talk about next year’s high school football season, if nothing else. High school football was The Town Event.
“Why did he?” she asked, lowering her voice so she wouldn’t be overheard. It was none of her business and she knew it, but she was hoping to hear something that would bolster her faith in Braden’s father.
She glanced at the photo of Tyson scaling Rachelle Rochester’s fence. With that glint in his eye, most men would scramble to get out of his way.
“He keeps his personal business to himself. But if I had to venture a guess, I’d say Braden’s mother is causing some trouble.”
Was it him—or her? “That’s too bad.”
Gabe looked her over. “You losing weight?”
She smiled, suddenly shy. “A little. I’ve got a lot more to go.”
“Not a lot. You look fantastic.”
She felt herself flush. “Thanks.”
“Are you enjoying the baby?”
Dakota took Braden, who was starting to cry, from the cart. “Very much!”
The babe quieted immediately. “Ba…ba…ba…ba,” he cooed and nearly broke her nose with his eagerness to give her another wet kiss.
Gabe laughed at the collision. “That kid keeps growing, he’ll be a lineman someday.”
Dakota hugged Braden close. She loved his chubby body, especially the soft rolls at his thighs and the place where he would one day grow a wrist. “He’s in the ninety-ninth percentile for height and the eighty-seventh percentile for weight. I looked it up on the Internet.”
“Sounds like Paul Bunyan’s kid to me.”
She brushed her lips across Braden’s temple, enjoying the scent of his shampoo. “It’s not as if his father is small. Tyson’s at least six-four, isn’t he?”
“Around there.”
“And Braden’s going to be every bit as handsome.”
An odd expression flitted across Gabe’s face. Or maybe it was her imagination.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
He seemed slightly hesitant, as though he was unsure whether or not to speak his mind.
She shifted the baby, so her hip could help support his weight. “What is it?”
“I hope I did the right thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” He smiled again, but it wasn’t quite as genuine as before. Now it was tempered with a hint of worry.
“Gabe?”
A furrow formed between his eyebrows. “I don’t want to see you get hurt, Dakota. I envisioned this as a great opportunity for you, but—”
She waved her free hand in an unconcerned motion. “I’m not going to get hurt.”
“I hope not. Lord knows you deserve a lot better than what you’ve had. I’d like to see you get it. But…”
“Tyson would never go for a plain girl like me?” Dakota’s chest constricted. It was one thing to know the truth in her heart and another to have someone she admired as much as Gabe point it out to her. But she added a scoffing laugh so he wouldn’t know he’d hurt her. “Come on, Gabe. I know he’s way out of my league.”
Gabe’s eyes fell to Braden. “I wasn’t talking about Tyson.”
CHAPTER SIX
Grandpa Garnier: Don’t let so much reality into your life
that there’s no room for dreamin’.
IT WAS LATE, yet most of the lights were on in the cabin. Was Braden back on the rampage and keeping Dakota up?
Tyson sort of hoped so. She’d stepped in and taken over as if caring for a baby was the easiest thing in the world. Which made him feel like an absolute idiot.
He thought of their phone conversations over the past week: He’s such a good baby…Slept all night, even though I’m pretty sure he’s cutting another tooth…He’s napping right now…
From the sounds of it, Braden had been nothing but sheer joy.
“Anything else I can do for you, Mr. Garnier?”
Tyson realized he was still sitting in the back of the cab, staring at the house. “No, thanks.”
He paid the man, then waited as the cabby pulled his suitcase out of the trunk. The plane ride from Los Angeles to Boise hadn’t been that long, but Tyson still felt cramped, rumpled and exhausted. Probably because the days he’d spent in California had been a nightmare. When he appeared in court after being served, Rachelle had presented the picture of him scaling her fence and claimed he’d been calling her night and day and had nearly broken down her door in an attempt to “get to her.” With her bodyguard there to give witness, the judge had
granted the restraining order. Tyson had requested a meeting so they could come to some sort of agreement, but Rachelle refused to talk to him unless he was willing to hand over the baby.
What really upset him was that she wasn’t acting out of regret for having given up her child. Regret he could understand, maybe even forgive. Regret was what a normal mother would be feeling. But Rachelle still cared more about the money than Braden. She hadn’t offered Tyson a dime of his money back. Instead, she’d been spotted all over Beverly Hills, laughing and shopping with her best friend.
“It’ll be a cold day in hell when I give in to her,” he muttered.
“Excuse me?” the cabby said. The squat, fifty-something-year-old had a hold of his luggage and was prepared to bring it to the house.
“I’ve got this.” Tyson gave him a hefty tip and took the suitcase.
“All right, then. Have a good night, Mr. Garnier. It was a pleasure driving you. You call me any time you need a cab, you hear? I’ll come from Boise if you want. Just like tonight. No problem.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Okay. You be careful with that knee now,” the cabby called after him. “I can’t wait till next season. I’m a big Stingrays fan. Purple and silver. Those are my colors, too. To me, those are as American as red, white and blue. But you’ve got some work yet to do. Jerry Rice still holds a few of those receiving records.”
“That he does.” Tyson threw the words over his shoulder, but he knew, unless his knee healed up better than it was, he wasn’t going to be a threat to Jerry Rice or anyone else.
Finally the driver got back in the cab and drove off in a cloud of exhaust, a last remnant of the big city Tyson had left behind. The pollution smelled completely foreign among the fresh air and pine trees and, for a moment, he felt just as out of place. There was a woman inside the cabin who was caring for his baby. He didn’t know her or the baby, not really. He’d never even imagined finding himself in such a situation.
“A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do,” he mumbled, repeating what his grandfather would’ve said. He had to face the consequences of his actions, shoulder the responsibility for his mistakes and move on, right? What other choice did he have? None that would allow him to hold up his head.
Taking a deep breath, he went inside.
The music that greeted him came as a surprise. It wasn’t western, which was what most folks around here listened to. It was classical, and it was loud.
“Dakota?” he called.
She didn’t answer but she was obviously around. A single glass of wine sat on the counter and a fire crackled in the fireplace. The scent of oregano and garlic permeated an immaculate kitchen that seemed far homier than when he’d left it. Fresh fruits and vegetables filled a basket on the countertop; a loaf of bread—homemade from the looks of it—was wrapped in plastic next to the fruit.
Taking his bag upstairs with him, he poked his head into the baby’s room. The light was on, but the crib was empty. He noticed the subtle scent of baby powder, reluctantly recognized the life Braden and Dakota were breathing into this cabin, which had felt so vacant when he arrived, and moved on to Dakota’s bedroom. It was empty, too. Only it didn’t smell like baby powder. Dakota’s room smelled like spaghetti sauce and homemade bread, and a light kind of fragrance that could come only from a woman.
It certainly wasn’t the expensive “business” scent he associated with his mother. It wasn’t reminiscent of anything he’d experienced on Grandpa Garnier’s ranch. And it wasn’t even close to the musky perfumes used by the women he’d dated in the past. Yet he liked it. Enough to linger for a moment.
The low hum of a television finally drew him around the bend in the hall, where he encountered a light peeking through a partially closed door—the door to his bedroom.
Swinging it open, Tyson saw that his bed was still made. Dakota held the baby in a rocking chair she must’ve dragged in from the nursery so she could watch TV. She didn’t stir as he came in. She and Braden were both asleep.
Tyson put his bag on the bed before walking around to wake her. But what he saw stopped him cold. She was wearing an old football sweatshirt of his, along with his briefs. The drawers she’d taken them from were still hanging open.
His eyebrows shot up. What was this all about? “So you’re a cross-dresser?” he said.
She jumped at the sound of his voice, and he took the baby, who stirred but didn’t wake, before she could accidentally dump him onto the carpet.
“Tyson!” Blinking rapidly, she glanced around the room. When she recognized that it wasn’t her own, she flushed deeply. “I’m sorry. This…this isn’t as strange as it might seem.”
He was more than a little curious to hear her explanation. “Because…”
“I don’t usually come in here or get into your stuff. After I put Braden to bed, I wanted to shower, but—” she rubbed a hand over her face, still struggling to rid her mind of the cobwebs “—the pipes in the hall squeak so badly I was afraid it’d wake him. So I used yours.”
“And the clothes?”
“Braden started crying as I was getting out of the shower. Since I’d already shoved what I’d been wearing down the laundry chute, I had to grab something else—fast.”
“And that was my briefs.”
“Your pants would never have stayed up.” She bit her lip self-consciously. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said with a shrug. “I’d steal your underwear if I was in a hurry.”
She eyed him as if she wasn’t sure he was joking, and he grinned to let her know he was. Now that he was fairly confident she wasn’t acting like some obsessed fan, he didn’t care that she was wearing his clothes. He was distracted by the mental image her explanation had created, and wondering what it might’ve been like to come home and find her naked in his room.
His body reacted immediately. She was soft and curvy, with damn pretty legs, and for some reason, she suddenly seemed far more enticing than a woman who was model thin.
Only because she was different, he told himself. It was the “I would never take advantage of you” sentiment she’d expressed the day he’d hired her that tempted him. Or maybe it was even more basic than that. Maybe it was the scent of baby powder, spaghetti sauce and flowers that clung to her. None of it screamed sex kitten. She seemed…safe.
He had the sudden impulse to bury his nose in her neck and feel the solace her soft skin could provide—the solace that had been missing in his life for eighteen months. Until she stood. Then her breasts swayed against the cotton fabric of his sweatshirt and his desires centered on touching other parts of her body. He’d spoken to her on the phone every night for ten days, but she was still largely a stranger, naked inside his clothes. He found that incredibly erotic.
Okay, maybe he did want sex. Eighteen months of celibacy was beginning to wear on him. But not hot sex. Not porn movie kind of sex. He wanted comfort sex. And that scared him more than anything because it suggested that he was getting old and tired, losing his edge. He was in the NFL, for crying out loud. He was supposed to be interested in Playboy Bunnies, not average, everyday women who were a little on the plump side.
Scowling so she’d never guess his thoughts, he tore his focus away from her breasts. But when he met her eyes, he knew she’d noticed exactly what had caught his attention.
“I’ll put Braden to bed,” she muttered, almost breathlessly. Then she took the baby and left the room.
* * *
AFTER DAKOTA SETTLED Braden in his bed, she went straight to her room and changed out of Tyson’s clothes. She brought them downstairs to the laundry, where she dropped the sweatshirt on top of a pile of colors and put his underwear into the washing machine with the whites. The whole time, she tried not to think about the hunger she’d seen in his face a few minutes earlier. She hadn’t witnessed that kind of expression very often, but she knew she hadn’t mistaken the appreciation in his eyes.
Or maybe she had mistaken i
t. Why would he look at her that way? He could have any woman. It wasn’t as though she was all that pretty.
But she was convenient, and professional athletes weren’t known for discriminating. Because of Rachelle, Tyson had a worse reputation than most. So why was she so flattered—and excited? She’d be stupid to get mixed up with him. It would be a blatant use on his part. And, other than limited groping with her high school boyfriend, she didn’t have the experience to handle it. Her father had watched her far too closely when she was young, and after graduation all viable candidates either married or moved on. She hadn’t even dated in over a year. The last time she’d gone out it was on a blind date set up by her employers at the pharmacy. The guy made funny sounds when he ate and couldn’t get over the fact that she wasn’t willing to put her father in a facility, even though she’d tried to explain how miserable he would be in such a place.
Tyson’s eyes flashed in her mind—and again she felt that strange tingle that had coursed through her in his bedroom. Evidently those latent sexual urges were building. When she’d been standing before him, every nerve had quivered with the desire to be touched.
“Don’t be stupid,” she muttered.
“Excuse me?”
Whirling around, Dakota spotted Tyson in the doorway. “Sorry, just thinking aloud.”
“You don’t have to wash those.” He indicated the clothes she’d borrowed. “You couldn’t have been wearing them for more than an hour.”
“It’s no problem. I’ll have them back in your room by morning. I feel so silly. I didn’t expect you home tonight. But I should’ve considered the possibility, since you didn’t call.” She had postponed her nightly workout, waiting to talk to him. She’d grown accustomed to his calls, had started anticipating those brief few minutes when she told him about Braden and all she’d done in the day.
“Go ahead and go to bed. We can worry about laundry tomorrow.”
“I’m just getting a load started.”
When he came into the room, the dimensions seemed to magically shrink to Lilliputian proportions. Probably because she was still so embarrassed and would rather avoid him.
