by Brenda Novak
His sensitivity and protection nearly brought tears to her eyes again. What was wrong with her? Had that much time passed since she’d had a friend? Rita Campbell, who’d been like a sister to her all through high school, had married and moved away nearly four years ago, and Dakota hadn’t been close to anyone since. She’d been too busy dealing with her father and making ends meet.
Today those four years felt like forty. “That was sweet,” she said.
He tossed her a grin. “I have my moments.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“Who?”
“The doctor.”
“That I had a cut on my arm.” He parked next to two handicapped spaces. It was getting late for breakfast, so the lot was mostly empty. The ranchers in Dundee hit the diner early, then headed off to work. “I didn’t want him to prescribe the wrong antibiotic.”
The sack crackled as Dakota read the instructions: Take two pills each day, one in the morning, and one at night. “What about the dosage? Is this geared for someone of your weight?”
He turned off the engine. “No.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“I told him I’d lost about a hundred pounds.”
One hundred? Surprise and relief flashed through Dakota. Did that mean he somehow hadn’t noticed the extra pounds she was battling? “How much do you weigh?” she asked.
He started to answer as he got out, then laughed and shook his head. “So you can figure out how much I think you weigh? Sorry, I’m not starting that.”
She got out, too, and took Braden from his car seat. “I’m only trying to see if you think I’m sort of fat or really fat.”
“Nope, not getting me that way, either,” he said resolutely. “I won’t be drawn into any conversation regarding a woman’s weight.”
“Why? It’s a simple question. I haven’t dated in a while, and I’m just now starting to…you know, think about it.” She carried Braden as they crossed the blacktop to the sidewalk. “I’m planning on losing some weight, but I haven’t decided exactly how much. Should I shoot for ten pounds? Fifteen?”
“I didn’t say you needed to lose any.”
“No, but that’s obvious…er…isn’t it?”
“Do whatever you want to do.”
“But you think I need to do something, right?”
As they drew closer to the entrance, the scent of pancakes and bacon seemed to radiate from the entire building. “That question has no good answer,” he said.
“No’s a good answer.”
“But you wouldn’t believe me even if I said it.”
She shot him a glance. “Not unless you were sincere.”
“Stop it,” he said in mock irritation.
Braden buried his face in her neck, and she kissed his fuzzy head. “If you’re not trying to hide your true opinion, why don’t you want to talk about it?”
He groaned in exasperation. “What is it with women? I think you’re…” his eyes slid over her but did little to reveal his true opinion “…curvy, okay? Curvy’s good, right?”
“Unless ‘curvy’ is another name for fat,” she mumbled.
“See?” He threw out his hands. “I can’t win!”
“I was just asking your opinion.”
They reached the front door, but he didn’t open it. “You want my opinion?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”
“You have a great pair of legs, okay? Is that good enough?”
She checked out the part of her legs that could be seen beneath her blue jean skirt, which hit at midthigh. It was the high heels. No matter how poor she got she always managed to buy at least one pair of attractive, strappy sandals to herald the advent of spring. This pair had only cost eighteen bucks, but she liked the shape they gave to her legs. “I guess they’re not bad,” she admitted. “And I have nice skin and teeth. And a few other things.”
Her offhand comment seemed to render him momentarily incapable of movement.
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t help picturing what those other things might be.”
She smiled and reached for the door handle—then paused. She was already this far into it…. “One more question.”
“I can hardly wait,” he said dryly, but she could tell he was preoccupied with fighting the urge to let his gaze wander lower, to see if she’d been talking about her breasts.
“Do you think what I’ve got is enough to…you know…revive my love life?” His eyes widened but she didn’t give him a chance to respond before she corrected herself. “Well, not revive so much. More like get a love life?”
He focused on her mouth—but the change did little to slow her galloping heart rate. “Uh—”
“I mean, supposing you were an average guy from around here, a cowboy or something,” she quickly added. “Do you think you’d ever be interested?” Dakota knew the question put him on the spot, but she really wanted to know, and she figured Tyson was the perfect man to ask. She couldn’t imagine anyone had met more women than he had. And he was only staying for eight weeks. He’d be here and then gone. She’d probably never see him again.
“Do you have a particular cowboy in mind?” he asked.
She nibbled on her bottom lip. This was an odd conversation to be having with her employer, but until the past few days, she hadn’t realized how terribly lonely she’d become. “I don’t know. Eddie Garwin’s always nice when he visits the pharmacy. He brought me a specialty coffee two weeks ago and had them add whipped cream because he knows I like it that way. But there’s a bit of an age gap.” She imagined kissing Eddie, with his wet, slack lips and shuddered. “I don’t think I could touch him in a romantic sense.”
“How old is he?”
“He’s got to be thirty-five.”
“That’s too old for you.” Tyson’s answer sounded like a final, irrevocable edict. “Anyone else?”
She sorted through the short list of possibilities. “Not yet. When you live in such a small town, you don’t have a lot of options.”
“I think I would’ve figured out a way to solve that problem by now.”
“You’re a guy. You’re used to being the aggressor. And I’ve had other priorities.”
“What’s changed?”
She was fairly certain that jittery feeling that had coursed through her last night had something to do with her awakening. “I’m not getting any younger.”
He rubbed his chin. “We’ll have to see what’s available, assess all potential candidates.”
She peered more closely at him. “Are you serious or—” Spotting the devilment in his eye, she felt her hopes plummet. “You think this is funny.”
“A little,” he admitted with a lopsided grin.
“Thanks a lot,” she said in disgust. But she couldn’t blame him. Her lack of a social life wasn’t his problem.
Shifting Braden to her other arm, she tried to enter the diner, but he held the door closed. When she looked up to see why, she found him wearing a more serious expression. “Don’t sell yourself short, Dakota. You have a lot more going for you than a pair of nice legs,” he said. Then a blast of air-conditioning hit her as he swung the door wide.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Grandpa Garnier: Never miss a good chance to shut up.
AS THEY ATE BREAKFAST, Tyson couldn’t help viewing his nanny in a completely different light. When he’d first met her, he’d thought he could never be romantically attracted to her. But that wasn’t proving entirely true. She had…something. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it was definitely appealing.
Maybe it was innocence. He hadn’t encountered that very often. He and the men he associated with were pretty jaded when it came to relationships. Most of the women were just as bad. But Dakota was different. She deserved more than this backwoods town was giving her.
“What?” she asked, a forkful of pancake midway to her mouth. “Why are you staring at me?”
Besides the avid curiosity some of
her comments had engendered? “I’m thinking,” he said.
It had to be that the situation with her father scared men away, because there was nothing wrong with Dakota’s personality—or her appearance. Maybe, through the eyes of a man who’d nearly been blinded by all the glitz and glamour Tyson had seen, she could come off kind of plain. At first. But a woman could do worse than having all that golden brown skin. Just looking at it made Tyson long to touch it. He was afraid he was quickly becoming fascinated with the idea.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked, watching him skeptically.
“Helping you.”
Her fork slowly lowered. “You’ve already helped me. I just took some of the antibiotics you got me.”
“I’m not talking about that kind of help.”
“Then what?”
“You want to meet guys, right? I could introduce you to a few friends.” Why not? He didn’t have anything to lose. It’d give him something to focus on while he performed the therapy necessary to recover full use of his knee and waited for the media roar over Rachelle to die down—as much as it would ever die down while he was still playing football.
“How are you going to arrange that?” From the flatness in her voice, she wasn’t too thrilled with the idea.
“I could get Gabe’s permission to throw a party, you know, a big barbecue. I’m sure he wouldn’t care. He knows I’m good for it if anything gets damaged.” He pushed his coffee cup to the edge of the table so the waitress would refill it when she made her rounds. “What kind of man do you like?”
“Do you have any friends who aren’t professional athletes?”
“None who could afford to fly here just for a barbecue. Besides, what’s wrong with professional athletes?” he asked, slightly offended. “You told me you wanted to spice up your love life, didn’t you? They can definitely do that.”
She glanced around to be sure he hadn’t drawn any attention with that statement. “But I’m not interested in a quick lay,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t be what they’d want, anyway.”
“How do you know?”
“I just wouldn’t be, okay?”
He couldn’t see why not. He wanted her, didn’t he? “Give me one reason.”
“I’m not the kind of woman who hangs around that type of man. As we’ve already discussed, I’m a little overweight right now.”
He swallowed the egg he’d put in his mouth. “So? Some of these players are a lot overweight. They pride themselves on their size.” He grinned. “And I’m talking about their whole body. Anyway, not everyone wants a woman who looks like a toothpick.”
“I was envisioning a Barbie doll.”
He saluted her with his orange juice. “The fact that you’re not plastic is a good thing, trust me.”
“But—”
“What?” he prompted when she stopped abruptly.
“At my age, they’d expect me to…you know…have a bit more experience.”
Perplexed by her hesitancy, he put his orange juice back on the table. “You don’t have to let it get physical if you don’t want to.”
“But isn’t sex part of the fun of having a love life?”
“I think so, but I was making an allowance in case you’re a prude.” He smiled to let her know he was teasing her again, but she remained serious.
“I’m not a prude. I’m—” her face beamed bright red “—sort of new at that kind of thing.”
Where was she going with this? “How new?”
“More than sort of,” she admitted.
He suddenly lost interest in his food. “As in…complete virginity?”
She leaned closer. “Is there any other kind?”
“Actually, there are probably degrees. But for our intents and purposes, you’re saying you’ve never made love, right?”
“If you have to spell it out,” she said flatly.
“Wow.” He shook his head.
She frowned as she poured more syrup on her pancakes. “That expression suggests you’ve just discovered the last great wonder of the world, which is making me feel like a total loser. I hope you know that.”
“My thoughts were running more toward your being deprived.” He scooped up another bite of egg but didn’t bring it to his mouth. “To be honest, I was also thinking that if you’re not looking to get laid, you should be.”
“Boy, aren’t I glad I told you.”
He finished his eggs, then added Tabasco sauce and ketchup to what was left of his hash browns. “Sorry if I’m a little surprised, okay? But you’ve got to be twenty-five years old.”
“Twenty-six.”
“I don’t think there are many eighteen-year-old virgins in America these days.”
She shoved the extra butter on her plate farther to one side. “I sincerely hope you’re wrong about that.”
“Why?”
“Eighteen? That’s so young. Sex is supposed to mean something.”
He took another drink of his orange juice while considering the sizable libido of most of the men he knew—the men he’d been considering for Dakota just a few minutes earlier. “Your attitude might prove to be a problem, after all.”
“My attitude?”
“Some people think sex between mutually consenting adults doesn’t have to work like a permanent tether.”
She arched her eyebrows at him. “People like you and your friends?”
He gave her a sheepish grin, and they both waited as the waitress filled his coffee cup.
“At least now you see my point,” she went on when the waitress was gone. “I wouldn’t blend in so well with a crowd of professional football players. I’d be way out of my league.”
He added cream to his coffee. “Can I ask you a question?”
She hesitated but finally relented. “I guess.”
“How do you get to be your age without ever having sex?”
“Enough already,” she said, waving him off.
Braden squealed and slammed his hands on the top of his tray. Tyson gave him a cracker, too interested in the conversation to allow Dakota to be distracted. “I’m serious.”
“You live with an overprotective father who has special needs, that’s how. It keeps you cloistered more surely than a convent.”
No kidding. Tyson was quite certain he’d never met a twenty-six-year-old virgin—at least not one as attractive as Dakota. “Isn’t it about time you do something about the situation?”
“What? I’d like to let go and experience life, meet someone I want to sleep with so badly I’m ready to tear his clothes off…”
Tyson shifted in his seat, wondering if he could volunteer for that position—until she continued.
“…but I don’t want to have sex with just anyone. I want to fall in love, make babies and grow old with the father of my children.”
“Right.” In other words, she wanted the whole package—love, marriage and the baby carriage, just like in the song.
He wasn’t even open to that. But then he thought of Quentin Worrack. He was a really good guy, and he was ready to settle down. Last fall, Quentin had freely admitted finding his current life too empty, had said he wanted a family. “I think I know someone who might be perfect for you.”
She seemed to perk up. “Who?”
“He’s on my team, but he’s tired of livin’ la vida loca.”
“Okay, but how can we have a relationship if I live here and he lives somewhere else?”
Tyson cradled his coffee cup. The diner didn’t serve the best coffee he’d ever tasted, but he was enjoying it. Or maybe it was the company. “Long-distance relationships spring up all the time. We have the Internet now, remember? Besides, Quentin can afford to fly up here whenever he wants. He’s one of the best tailbacks in the league.”
“How will we get to know each other?”
“I’ll introduce you, then we’ll see where it goes.” His cup clinked as he returned it to its saucer so he could add yet another spoonful of sugar. “Maybe it’ll w
ork, maybe it won’t. But it’s worth a shot, right? You’re not going to meet anyone working at an isolated cabin. We have to take aggressive action or you could go another decade without—”
“Shh!” She angled her head toward a man in the far corner who sat with his own breakfast but was watching them intently.
“That’s the guy who asked for my autograph when we first walked in. He’s not listening to us,” Tyson assured her. “So…” he lowered his voice anyway “…are you interested?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“Don’t think about it. Do it. You’re too conservative. You need to take a chance. Meet new people.”
“Da-da-da!” Braden cooed, pulling at the crackers he’d smashed in his hair. He was a damn cute kid, Tyson realized, but he refused to forgive the chubby little tyke that easily. Braden was only being good because Tyson had reinforcements.
Dakota dipped her napkin in her ice water to clean up the cracker mess. “Okay. I guess. But give me a couple weeks to lose some more weight.”
“You’re fine the way you are,” he argued.
“No, I need to feel confident, and I won’t be confident unless I’m where I should be on the scale.”
“If that’s what it’s going to take,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe I can even help you.”
“How?” She pushed her plate away, which was the signal he’d been waiting for so he could finish her pancakes.
“I’ll put together a workout regimen for you. I may not have much experience with diets—” the fact that he was eating her breakfast as well as his own served as proof “—but I’ve made a career out of exercise.”
“That’d be great.” She smiled and nudged the syrup closer to him.
The waitress slipped the check onto the table as Tyson took his last bite. “Time to visit your dad,” he said, taking his credit card from his wallet.
Her enthusiasm visibly dimmed, but she nodded. “If you have something you could do in town for half an hour or so, I could run over there myself. I can’t imagine you have any interest in returning to my house.”
She was wrong. “I don’t mind.”
