“I’ll call you.”
She nodded once and made for the door.
Dear Can’t Help Myself,
You need to stay far, far away from Too Tempting. Don’t call, don’t visit, and whatever you do, don’t end up in his arms again.
20
Dylan set the bucket of water by the dirty rims of his truck.
He’d replaced the belt yesterday, but the muddy drive home had left it a filthy mess.
He wondered if Annie would come. She hadn’t responded to his voice mail. Did she need his help badly enough to see him again? Apparently he was a pain in the backside. And if she’d faced half the barbs he had yesterday, she wasn’t going to be any happier to see him today.
The innuendos had worn fast, even on him. Had only reminded him of how little Annie thought of him. He’d done his best to put out the fires, for her sake, but sometimes people preferred to believe the worst.
He hooked up the hose to the barn spigot and was unwinding it when a car rumbled down the drive. His heart did a Western shuffle as Annie’s truck came into view. He dropped the hose, turned off the flow of water, and met her as she pulled to a stop.
“You made it,” he said, careful to keep his tone friendly. Regardless of his hurt feelings, there was no need to scare her away. Braveheart still needed her, after all.
Annie stepped from the car, looking fresh as a daisy in her grass-green T-shirt and worn jeans. “Now a good time?”
“Good as any. Have a seat on the porch and I’ll put on some coffee.” He knew better than to invite her in, and frankly, he was seeing the need for caution.
He returned a few minutes later and handed her the mug, careful that their fingers didn’t touch. He settled onto the swing with his own coffee and took a sip.
“Your sister all settled down?”
Annie nodded once. “She is; thanks for asking.”
“I guess John told you he called.” The man had made all kinds of accusations, no doubt sore about the rumors.
Annie’s mouth went slack, then pressed into a tight line. “When?”
Whoops. “Thought he told you. Everything’s fine now, I’m sure.” He lightened the mood with a smile. “So what’ve you got for me today?”
After a moment she reached into her bag for a letter.
He leaned back and read.
Dear Annie,
There’s a man I work with who has a certain reputation with the ladies. I recently found out that his reputation is unwarranted, but not before putting my foot in my mouth and making a nasty accusation.
I tried to apologize, but the words got stuck in my throat, and now I have this awful ache in my gut every time I remember what I said.
What can I do or say to make it up to him?
Signed,
Remorseful in Moose Creek
Dylan bit back a smile. He read the note again, relishing the part where she admitted his reputation was unwarranted. That said something, especially coming on the heels of all the gossip. The ache he’d felt since Thursday night vanished.
He looked up from the letter, smiling. “Cute.”
“So. . .” Annie’s hands trembled in her lap, and she pressed them together. “What do you think she should do?”
“Remorseful in Moose Creek?”
She nodded.
He wanted to say all was forgiven, especially when she bit her lower lip. Her full lower lip, just the right shade of pink, and as ripe as a huckleberry in late August.
“They should probably kiss and make up,” he said.
Annie snorted. But a smile lifted her lips. “How about a handshake.”
“Take what I can get.” He closed his hand around hers, squeezing gently, and thought a touch had never felt so good.
Since Annie’s job was riding on Dylan’s answers, she confided in him about the negative feedback. He suggested she use letters that had a more obvious solution. Maybe that was the key to gaining reader support. After their talk she felt more hopeful about the future of the column.
When they finished discussing a letter about a noncommittal boyfriend, Annie packed her bag. It was getting hot as the sun hit its pinnacle in the blue sky, even under the shade of the porch. A magpie called from a nearby tree, and a hot breeze rustled through the long grass in the pasture.
She was relieved to have her apology over with and glad he didn’t carry a grudge. If he’d been subjected to innuendos and speculations, he hadn’t said so.
Dylan set the swing in motion. “Any job prospects for your sister?”
“Not yet. I don’t know, school starts in a month—might be hopeless. How’s Braveheart doing?”
“Wanna see him? If you don’t have plans with Spreadshee—I mean Oakley.”
She tossed him a look. “Sure.”
The barn was dim and pleasantly cool. The smell of horseflesh and fresh hay assaulted her senses.
“Hey, buddy,” Dylan said as he approached the horse. “Got a visitor.”
“Hi, Braveheart.”
The horse tossed his head and neighed, looking for them.
He wasn’t so bronc-y today. His ears flicked and his nose worked. “His other senses are kicking in.”
“I noticed.” Dylan stretched out his hand, letting Braveheart smell his fist, then he rubbed the horse’s neck. “You’ll be all right, fellow.”
Braveheart’s eyelids drooped, even as Dylan rubbed him down.
“How’s he sleeping?”
Dylan shrugged. “I catch him snoozing on his feet sometimes, but I was wondering the same thing. Think he needs a sedative?”
“Why don’t you stable a couple of horses near him—horses he trusts. He’ll be more relaxed with them standing guard.”
“I’ll try that tonight.” His shoulder brushed hers as he leaned on the stable door.
She knew she should move, but she checked her instinct. His solidness was reassuring, the smell of him familiar and pleasant.
“Can we let him out?”
“I’d rather wait till next week. You should fill any new holes in the pasture—you’ll need to do that regularly because of gophers and such. And put a ring of gravel or sand around the trees.”
“I’ll do that Monday.” His voice, so deep and close, sent a shiver up her spine.
“I’ll work with him next week on navigating with his other senses.” She gave Braveheart a final pat. “I should go.”
“Wait. Stay for lunch. You must be hungry.”
She was sorely tempted, and that alone was grounds for refusal. “I already ate. Besides, you were getting ready to wash your truck— for your date du jour, no doubt.”
He followed her out of the barn. “You should probably help me with that, you know.”
“Your date du jour?”
“Sugar, you can be my date du jour.”
“Oh, lucky day.”
He laughed. “Fine. I was talking about the truck anyway.”
“Now why should I help with that?”
“Well, it did get dirty on the way to your grandpa’s cabin.” The sunlight sparkled in his dark eyes, and a shadow pooled in his dimple. He tugged his hat lower.
“Are you saying I owe you or something?”
He shrugged dramatically. “Well, I wouldn’t put it like that, but . . .”
She laughed, drawn in despite herself. He had forgiven her so nicely. The real kind of forgiveness, without a side of sulking like she sometimes got from Sierra. Besides, it wasn’t as if she had anywhere to be. Sierra had taken Ryder to a nearby fair, and John was helping his mother move to an apartment in Bozeman.
“All right,” she said. “But only because I feel sorry for your date. Bad enough she has to be stuck with you.”
“Ouch,” he said, but his eyes danced.
She put her things in her truck, then rolled up her sleeves while he turned on the spigot. When Dylan returned, he sprayed down the vehicle and fetched another sponge from the barn. They set to work on opposite sides of the truck, and he be
gan whistling “I’ll Fly Away.”
“So the truck runs fine now that you replaced the doohickey?” she asked a few minutes later.
He tossed her a smile over the hood. “Yeah, the new doohickey did the trick.”
She rubbed in circles, covertly watching his movements. Dark hairs glistened on his tanned arms, and the corded muscles shifted with his motions. She studied his hands, long fingers, tapering down to squared fingertips.
“You tell your sister to call me about her car?”
“Not yet.” She hadn’t been sure his offer was still good. “But I will. We’re grateful.” She dipped the sponge into the soapy water and wrung it out. “This thing’s a mess,” she said. “Who am I rescuing from a dirty carriage anyway?”
Now why’d she go and ask about his date?
He winked over the hood. “I’m saving the seat for you, sugar.”
She felt a shiver run down her arm and make her fingers tingle. “You can turn it off, Romeo. I’m taken, remember?”
“So you keep saying.”
She shook her head and he chuckled. He had a nice laugh. Deep and mellow, the kind that warmed you straight through like a mug of cocoa on a cold winter’s night.
“Actually, my little brother’s coming for a week. He’d rake me over the coals if he saw my truck like this.”
“He’s a neat freak?”
“Not really. But I may have nagged him about keeping his own truck neat and clean.”
“May have?”
“Don’t forget, I’ve seen you with your little sister.”
“Touché.”
She moved to the side, glad when the cab blocked him from her sight. She just needed to finish her penance and be gone. Surprisingly, she was enjoying his company. Once she realized how meaningless his flirtation was, it was easy to write him off. As long as she didn’t think about the way she’d felt in his arms when they’d danced. Or the way he’d looked with a baby in his arms.
Besides, there was John. She’d tried not to think too much about him since their date had ended so badly. He’d called this morning, but conversation had been stilted. She got the feeling he was punishing her for defending Dylan. Still, she hadn’t liked the way he’d behaved, and she really didn’t like that he’d called Dylan after she’d insisted nothing had happened. It reeked of distrust, regardless of what he’d said.
A splatter of water hit the top of her head. “Hey . . . watch it.”
“Sorry ’bout that.”
She heard the smile in his voice. “I’ll bet you are.”
The sun beat down overhead, and the cool water had actually felt good, though she wasn’t about to say so.
Dylan’s phone rang, and he answered. “Hey there, sweetie.”
Oh brother. Probably his date. Maybe the woman had come to her senses and was calling to cancel.
“How’s my Maddy?”
Nope, not his date after all. Just a little girl.
“Yeah?” He laughed, then went into listening mode, punctuating the silences with uh-huhs and reallys, his sponge making squeaky circles on the other side of the truck.
Annie returned to the bucket. She dumped the mucky water and refilled it, squeezing in some soap from a container lying in the grass.
“Who is it? . . . Well, why not?” He laughed. “I would not. Well, maybe I would.”
Annie wet her sponge and wrung it out. She finished the side, leaving the wheels for last. She paused, wiping the sweat from the back of her neck. She wished she’d worn a hat, but she hadn’t expected to be outdoors. Her cheeks were probably already pink.
“He definitely likes you . . . Well, that’s what boys do.”
Annie squatted down, smiling, and washed the rims.
“Yeah, you could do that . . . Well, sure, that too, but you don’t want to be too obvious, you know. Boys like a challenge.”
She rolled her eyes and scrubbed hard at the wheel well. The sun ducked behind a huge cloud, offering a reprieve.
“All right. You’re welcome, sweetie. See ya at church.”
He hung up the phone and appeared at the bucket the same time she did.
He smiled. “Girls.”
She wrung out her sponge, leaving the bucket to him, and went to finish the wheels. “She call often?”
“Now and then.”
“Sounds like she’s got a boyfriend.”
“Boy better treat her right, or he’ll have me to reckon with.”
“Between you and Wade, the kid’ll be lucky to get within a mile of her.”
“So long as he knows that.”
Annie finished the second rim and went to scrub a spot she’d missed by the door handle. “Poor girl won’t have a boyfriend till she’s twenty.”
“All the better.”
She shook her head. “Oh brother. No double standards there, Mr. Date du Jour.”
On the other side of the cab his squeaky circles stopped. “You saying I have double standards?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“What I thought.”
A quick spray of water hit the top of her head.
“Hey!” She looked through the windows at Dylan’s smirk.
He hiked a brow as another spray arced over the cab.
“You better watch yourself, buster.”
His smile widened. “Or else . . . ?”
“I have a bucket over here, and I’m not afraid to use it.”
Another spray of water hit the top of her head. She sucked in a breath at his nerve, wiping the drizzle from her face.
“You asked for it, buddy.” Tossing the sponge, she raced for the bucket. It was heavy and awkward. Water sloshed with each step.
Dylan waited on the other side, leaning casually against the truck. He was pointing the nozzle at her, all John Wayne.
She froze, panting, the bucket at the ready.
“Mine reaches farther . . . ,” he said.
“Mine’s dirty.”
“Take my chances.” He let loose a spray of water that caught her on the stomach.
She released a squeal.
Just as quickly, the spray ended. Her shirt stuck to her stomach. She stood stock still, dripping.
She fixed her eyes on him, then she sprang forward, heaving the bucket.
Time slowed. His eyes widened, his mouth went slack. He closed his eyes as the wall of water hit him with a satisfying slosh, knocking his hat from his head.
Laughter bubbled up inside her, but before it found release, he bounded toward her, extending the nozzle. She turned and yelped as a burst of water hit her square in the back.
Rounding the truck, she sought shelter from the assault, but he followed, spraying. “No fair! I’m defenseless—”
“Shoulda thought about that before you dumped that bucket on me, woman.” He caught her around the waist.
The water off, she didn’t fight him. She turned, stepping away, wiping her face with her wet sleeve. Dylan’s hair was plastered to his head, his hat replaced by a cap of suds.
The laugh that had bubbled in her belly moments earlier found release.
He smoothed his hair back, removing the bubbles as his eyes narrowed. “Something funny, missy?”
Prince Charming, soaked and sudsed. Hilarious. A stick of grass was plastered to his cheek, and rivulets of water trickled down his temples.
He calmly cocked his head and raised the spray gun.
“Don’t.” She took a step back, sobering, except for a tiny gurgle that slipped out.
He stepped forward, mischief in his eyes.
She stepped back, one step, two. Then she hit the truck. “Dylan. . .”
He continued advancing until the nozzle was inches from her belly. His eyes danced. “Say uncle, Annie.”
She bit back her laughter. “Uncle Annie.”
“Come on now . . . no escaping me this time.” His gaze skimmed over her face. His eyes danced over her cheeks, her nose, her lips.
His appraisal was like a touch. Go
oseflesh rippled down her arm. Suddenly aware of his nearness, she couldn’t seem to draw breath into her frozen lungs.
By the time his eyes returned to hers, the twinkle had dismounted, the easy laughter now galloping into the sunset. The corners of his lips gave in to gravity, erasing his dimple.
Oxygen-deprived, she sucked in a deep breath, filling her lungs with air, her nostrils with his musky scent. The heat of his body, so close, made her tremble.
His eyes. She couldn’t look away from them. Brown pools of melting chocolate. Warm. Serious. Fastened on her.
He framed her face with his strong hands and lowered his mouth to hers.
She stretched toward him like a flower toward the sun and was rewarded with a surge of something pleasant and exhilarating. His lips moved over hers with unbearable tenderness. His ministrations were unhurried, as if savoring the taste of her. Inside, a quake started in the vicinity of her heart, spreading through her limbs and turning her legs to jelly.
He jerked back suddenly, emptying the space between them. His eyes widened. His hands lifted slowly in surrender. “Annie . . . I’m sorry.”
She couldn’t think past the pleasant chemicals surging through her, past his intoxicating touch. She wanted it back. Now.
She latched onto his shirt, tugging, and pressed her mouth to his.
His groan sent a tremor of pleasure through her. His arms came around her, and he deepened the kiss, taking her someplace far away, a place from which she never wanted to return.
He forked his fingers through her wet hair, and she heard a low, throaty moan. Hers?
What kind of man was this whose touch made her feel so much? No one, ever, had turned her upside down, inside out, and made her desperate for more. Certainly not John and his tepid kisses.
The fuzzy thought took shape, growing slowly into focus.
John.
Her boyfriend.
He wasn’t the man kissing her now. The man she had brazenly pulled into her arms.
She let loose of the material wadded in her fists and pushed. Dylan’s lips left hers, and she swallowed the whimper that rose in her throat.
“I’m sorry.” Her words sounded rushed and breathless.
She jerked her hands from his chest. No more touching. None whatsoever. She smoothed her hair, turning her back to him, afraid of what he’d see in her eyes. Afraid even more of what she’d see in his. Like humor or teasing.
Big Sky Romance Collection Page 59
