He’d obviously given up. Maybe she should too. She pulled her phone out and checked for a signal, holding it skyward, turning every which way.
Nothing.
The realization pressed down on her shoulders. She was stuck here with him, all night, like it or not.
She walked into the copse of trees and began gathering wood.
“Get inside before you’re soaked through.”
“I can help.”
He turned and glared, the beam of light making his eyes glitter. “You can help by staying dry. Take this and go.” He held out the flashlight.
He wanted to do all the work himself . . . fine. She snatched the light from him and started for the cabin. She crossed her arms against the chill in the air, against the cold droplets falling on her.
She stopped inside the door, using the tail of her shirt to dry her face. She shone the flashlight around the room. It had seemed so much more inviting before. Before the sun had set. Before she’d been trapped.
She wondered if Sierra were home yet and if she’d begun to worry. Doubtful. She might even spend the night with a friend, Ryder and all. Annie would probably make it home before she did.
Annie approached the bed and shone the flashlight on the mattress. Foam peeked from the edges where the seam had ripped. Stains of all shades colored the blue-and-white striped covering. She tried not to think about what they were or about the news segment she’d seen on dust mites and bedbugs.
The floor was starting to seem more appealing. She thought of the animal that had scurried away when they entered and shivered. Maybe not. Besides, she’d probably have to flip a coin for the bed.
The door flew open and Dylan came through, dumping a large load of firewood on the hearth. He went back out and came in again a few minutes later with another load.
She shone the light into the grate as he set two large logs parallel, then stacked more on top, the opposite direction. Next went smaller logs, then the twigs and a pile of dry pine needles he must’ve dug for.
His shirt clung to his torso and his arms as he worked. A rivulet of water dripped down his nape and beneath the collar of his shirt.
When he finished, he opened the damper. It croaked as debris fell onto the logs.
“What if it’s blocked?”
He pulled a lighter from his pocket. “Take our chances.”
The room seemed colder since his arrival. Okay, so she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion . . . possibly about more than the truck. She knew she should apologize, but the words stuck in her throat. As uncomfortable as this stony silence was, it was safer than the alternative. His anger was the only barrier between them tonight, and she wasn’t about to remove it.
He blew on the wavering flame and the pine needles hissed as the fire spread. The smoke seemed to be going up at least. He blew some more and a twig caught fire.
“You’re a regular boy scout,” she said, hoping to break the tension. But he said nothing, just lit the other side and tended the flame.
A few minutes later her stomach rumbled loudly. She remembered the pasta she’d so hastily rejected. She wished for a big plateful right now, steaming hot. Her stomach echoed the thought.
The fire began crackling in earnest and the room brightened a bit.
She turned off the flashlight and set it on the hearth. “Wish I’d brought my purse. I had a granola bar in there.”
He crossed the room, retrieving a blanket she hadn’t seen him carry in. She stepped aside as he pulled the cot closer to the fireplace and spread the woolly blanket over the mattress. “Best get some sleep. We’ll want an early start.”
She warmed her hands by the fire as he made his way into the corner and lowered himself onto the dirty floor facing the wall. He tucked his arm under his head and went still.
He was going to freeze over there in the shadows, soaked to the skin. She looked at the blanket covering the cot and started to offer it to him. But the memory of his stony silence stopped her.
Dylan turned for the millionth time, propping his head with his arm. He had no way of telling the time, but it had to be one or two. His shirt was dry now, but the cold seeped through his damp jeans, chilling him to the bone.
Across the room the fire snapped and popped. He’d banked it twice, adding more logs. Annie had slept through it, her breaths slow and steady. He’d watched her lying there, her face relaxed in sleep, her dark lashes fanning across her cheeks. Her cheeks had been flushed, with heat, he’d hoped.
He tucked his hand under his torso, looking for heat even as his insides twisted. He’d been excited about showing her this place, knowing how close she’d been with her grandfather. And yeah, he had wanted to spend time with her, so sue him. He wasn’t trying to get her alone so he could seduce her or something. Was that the kind of man she took him for?
She’d hinted at it, little barbs here and there, and, true, he’d had every chance to correct her. But he preferred his actions to speak louder than his words—and louder than the embellished rumors that flew around.
He’d thought she might see the real him given time, but it had been—what?—going on two months now, and she still saw him as some playboy. What really rankled, though, was that her low opinion bothered him so much. That he’d been lying here awake for at least three hours, turning it over and over in his head until he felt crazy with it. Why did he care so much? He wasn’t even dating her. She was someone else’s girlfriend, for crying out loud.
He hated to admit it, but sometime between the broken belt and the cold, hard floor it had become evident he’d developed feelings for the woman. Her negative opinion of him wouldn’t needle him so much otherwise.
Only a handful of women had come close since Merilee had taken his heart and stomped all over it. And now he’d reached that point with Annie.
That critical point in the relationship where he broke it off before the feelings sank in too deeply. Before his heart was in danger. Only problem was, he couldn’t break it off with Annie because he hadn’t so much as taken her on a first date.
And he couldn’t stop seeing her—Braveheart still needed her. Who was this woman who had the power to make him fall so effortlessly? And how did he stop the feelings from getting out of control when he couldn’t cut her from his life?
Dear Miserable in Missoula,
The tension between you and your boyfriend means there’s an issue that needs working through. Get it out on the table before it grows into something more.
18
A sound pulled Annie from a deep sleep. She became aware of an ache in her arm.
She stirred, stretching, opening her eyes. The cot, the cabin. She sat up and looked around. Daylight seeped through the dirty windowpanes. The space in the corner where Dylan had slept was empty and the fire was low but warm.
“Dylan?”
She wondered what time it was, then grabbed her phone off the floor and checked: 6:47.
Where could he be?
A rumble outside drew her attention, and she recognized the sound that had pulled her from slumber. An engine!
A moment later a car door slammed, then the cabin door creaked open. Dylan’s silhouette filled the space.
“Mornin’.” The curve of his lips fell short of a smile. He wore last night’s clothes with the addition of a jacket.
She swung her legs over the cot and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Someone’s here?”
“I walked back and fetched my work truck. Ready to go?” Using a log, he spread out the crumbling wood, then emptied a water bottle over it. The fire sizzled out.
She stood, pulling the blanket from the cot and smoothing her hair. She must be a sight. “You should’ve woken me.”
“You were sound asleep.”
She followed him out the door, pulling the blanket closer against the cool morning air. “Well, thanks.”
When they were both seated, he put the truck in gear and pulled away from the cabin.
“What about your truck?”
“I’ll fix it later.”
She hated the lingering tension between them. It would be a good time for that apology she owed him. Despite his detached demeanor, he’d been nothing but gracious since she’d made that accusation. Given her the cot, given up the blanket, and he must’ve kept the fire banked because she hadn’t so much as shivered all night.
Time to eat crow. She opened her mouth.
“Have some bad news,” he said before she could produce a word. “Your sister left some frantic voice mails on my phone.”
“Oh no. I was hoping she went to bed early.”
“No such luck. I called and explained what happened.”
At least Sierra knew now. “Thanks.”
“That’s not all. She got worried around midnight and called Oakley. He drove over and found your truck in my drive, then left a voice mail that sounded less than happy. Thought I’d better let you handle that one.”
Oh no. “He must be worried.” She pulled out her phone, but she still had no reception. They hit a rut and she braced herself against the door.
“Try mine.” He pulled out his cell and handed it to her as they crossed Moose Creek. “You should know that your boyfriend also called the sheriff. There was a message from him on my voice mail too.”
Annie ran her hand over her face. “Oh, man.”
“I canceled the all-points bulletin.”
She punched in John’s number, ignoring Dylan’s jibe. She hoped word hadn’t spread around town, but it was seven o’clock, and the rumor mill opened at sunrise.
“What’s going on, Taylor?” John said in a tone she’d never heard from him. “Where’s Annie?”
“It’s me. I’m so sorry for the worry.”
“Annie! Where have you been?” She was taken aback by the anger in his voice. He’d been worried though. She should cut him some slack.
“I went to see my grandfather’s cabin last evening and the truck broke down. I was stuck there all night.”
“With Taylor?”
“Right. There was no cell reception and it was dark, so we had no choice but to stay the night.”
“What did he do? Did he lay a hand on you, Annie? Because if he did, I’ll sue his sorry rear end!”
“No.” She glanced at Dylan. “No, he was—nothing happened. Really. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
A shadow moved across Dylan’s face as he clenched his jaw.
“Where are you now?”
“On my way back.” She purposely left Dylan out of the mix.
“Well, thank heavens for that. I was very worried about you, Annie. I called the sheriff when I couldn’t reach you. I’d better let him know you’re safe.”
“Already done. And thank you for your concern.” She nailed Dylan with a look. Regardless of his sarcasm, it was nice to have someone who cared.
“Are you sure you’re okay? There was no trouble with Taylor? Because he has a reputation, Annie, and it would be just like him to take advantage.”
“No, not at all. I’m right as rain, just a bit hungry.” They hit a rut and Annie grabbed for the handle.
“Well, I’ll bring you something from the café then.”
She desperately needed a reprieve from human company. “No, no, you must be exhausted. Besides, I have a full schedule today. I’ll just grab something from the cupboard. But thank you. It’s sweet of you to offer.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I am, but I’ll see you tonight. Have a good day, John.”
They said good-bye, and she pushed End just as Dylan turned onto the main drive.
She held out the phone. “Thanks.”
“I see Oakley also has a high opinion of me.”
She felt the barb down to her heart. “Dylan, I’m really—”
Her phone rang, apparently in range now. It was Sierra, probably needing to hear her voice. The apology would have to wait a few minutes. She answered the phone.
“Annie! I’m so glad you’re all right!”
“I’m sorry for worrying you.”
“It’s not your fault. Dylan explained everything, and I’m so sorry for everything I said last night—I didn’t mean it.” Her sister’s voice wobbled.
“I’m sorry too. I love you and Ryder so much. I just want you both to have the best opportunities.”
“I know you do. I know.”
Dylan pulled up to the barn and shut off the engine. He motioned toward the barn. “Gotta run,” he said quietly.
Annie covered the mouthpiece. “Thanks, Dylan.”
He nodded once and offered a smile that didn’t reach his eyes or call on his dimple.
She wanted to say so much more, but he was leaving the truck and heading into the barn. Annie walked to her truck, still comforting Sierra. She wanted to stick around and finish the apology she’d barely started. But it was after seven and she had to grab a shower and a bite to eat and be at the mayor’s ranch by eight. As she pulled down the drive, she realized they’d never even discussed the letters for this week’s column.
Dear Uncertain,
Trust is the bedrock of a relationship. If it’s absent, the whole foundation will be shaky.
19
Annie checked her watch for the dozenth time, then glanced toward the stage where the Silver Spurs blasted their most popular country-and-western tune. John was late, but he’d texted to let her know.
Brenda Peterson appeared tableside, pink lips tipped sideways, eyes sparkling under her long bangs. “So, you and Dylan, all night at the old Mahoney cabin, huh?”
Annie sighed. Fending off rumors had been a full-time job today. “His truck broke down, that’s all. I’m dating John Oakley, you know.”
Brenda Peterson winked. “Yeah, but come on . . . Dylan Taylor . . . Don’t tell me there weren’t sparks, and I’m not talking about that fire he built you.”
“Good grief, did somebody bug the place?”
Brenda’s smile widened. “I knew it!”
“No. There were no sparks.” Oh, for pity’s sake. She was wasting her breath. “I’d like a Diet Coke, and John will have iced tea with extra lemon.”
Brenda shrugged, hopes apparently dashed, then sashayed away.
Annie’s gaze fanned the room and caught Marla Jenkins’s eyes. The woman quickly looked away. There were others darting glances her way too. Bridgett Garvin, Wade Ryan, even Mrs. Wadell. Good grief. She was never going to live this down.
She slumped in her chair and propped the menu high on the table, wishing they’d turn up the air-conditioning. No, what she really wanted was to go home and curl up in bed with her book. But that wasn’t fair to John.
At least Dylan wasn’t here tonight. Maybe he’d thought it best to lie low. No doubt he’d heard the rumors too, though they probably didn’t bother him one bit.
When he’d called that morning, she’d let it go to voice mail. He’d invited her over the next day to work on the column. He hadn’t sounded as friendly as usual. But could she blame him?
“Sorry I’m late, Annie.”
She lowered the menu and smiled as John sat across from her. He wore his work clothes and a stilted smile.
She was relieved to see a friendly face. “Hi, there. I ordered you an iced tea.”
“After the day I’ve had, something stronger may be in order.”
She gave him a sympathetic grin. “I’m sorry. Rough day at work?”
He nailed her with a look. “It wasn’t work, Annie.”
So he’d heard the rumors. Of course he had. John’s job as moneylender made him less than popular. She imagined he’d probably taken a few barbs.
Guilt wedged between the walls of her ribs. “I’m sorry. It’ll pass, I’m sure. . .”
John leaned forward, folding his hands on the white paper place mat. “Annie, you know I trust you implicitly, but I need to know what happened.”
Annie squeezed the napkin in her lap. “Nothing happened, John. I already told you that.”
He
looked down, then back at her, a glare flashing off his glasses. “I believe you. What I meant was . . . what did he do? You can’t tell me he got you out there all alone, a pretty girl like you, and didn’t . . . try and take advantage of the situation.”
“Well, he didn’t.”
“In fact, the more I’ve thought about this, the more sure I am that he lured you there on purpose.”
His unwarranted judgment hit her in the gut, mostly because it echoed her own accusation. “That’s not true.”
“It’s just the sort of thing he’d do, and you’re naïve to think—”
“I’m not naïve, and he didn’t do anything, John.” She tossed her napkin on the table. “I think I’d know if someone came on to me.”
His eyes widened, whether at her action or her words, she didn’t know. “He’s got you defending him.”
“He hasn’t ‘got me’ doing anything. He’s innocent. Look, I know he has a reputation, but you don’t even know him. I told you nothing happened, and it’s a little disconcerting that you can’t seem to believe me.”
Brenda appeared and set the drinks down. She glanced between them and seemed to realize she’d interrupted something. “Need a few more minutes?”
“Yes, please,” John said.
Annie took a deep breath as Brenda retreated. Her heart pummeled her ribs. She was bone tired and sick of being on the defense. Defending Dylan Taylor—now there was a spot she’d never expected to be in.
The Spurs belted out the chorus, the music too loud and boisterous. She didn’t want to be here anymore. In public or with John. Annie gathered her purse and pulled out a few dollars. “I think we’d better call it a night.”
John set his hand on her wrist. “No, Annie. I’m sorry. I had a bad day, and I’m taking it out on you. Stay.”
She paused, took a breath. “I appreciate that. But I really am tired, and I just want to go home.” She stood.
John popped up. “Let me come with you.”
“I won’t be good company tonight, John. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“For lunch?”
She was working with Dylan on the column then. “I have to work. Maybe dinner.”
Big Sky Romance Collection Page 58
