by Beth Andrews
She stiffened. “You know, you’re being a real ass.” He detected a very real hint of anger threading her words.
Good. Why should he be the only one who was pissed? “Just doing what’s expected of me.”
“I know all about meeting expectations,” she said after a significant pause. “And so far, I’ve done everything but what’s expected, starting with hiring you. So do you think you could cut me some slack when I mess up?”
He pressed his lips together. She hadn’t messed up. He had. By expecting her to be different.
“You’re making too much of this.” He rested his weight on his left hand and dragged the knife through the carpet with his right. “After all, you have to do what you think is right. Especially when it comes to your kids.”
Before she could respond, Hayley screamed, a piercing sound that made the hair on his arms stand on end. He jerked to his feet but Nina was already racing toward her kids. A wet feeling spread across his left hand. He went to wipe it down the side of his jeans when he noticed the blood. At the sight of the deep gash between his thumb and forefinger, he bit back a curse. He hadn’t even felt the sharp blade slice his hand. But when the pain caught up with him, it was going to hurt like a son of a bitch.
“Mommy, Marcus took the game from me and I wasn’t done!”
Nina straightened and put her hands on her hips. “Hayley Ann Carlson! What have I told you about screaming like that?”
Hayley sniffled. “I’m not s’posed to yell unless there’s a ’mergency.”
“That’s right. And because you yelled like that, you’re restricted from the video game for the rest of the day. And,” she turned to Marcus, who stood off the side in an attempt, Dillon figured, to either become invisible or at least go unnoticed for a few more moments, “that goes for you, as well.”
“What? But why?” Marcus asked as Nina snatched the game from him.
“For taking it away from your sister. And the next time I hear a scream like that,” she snapped, “there’d better be broken bones or blood involved.”
“No need to wait,” Dillon said as he held his injured hand in the air. “There’s plenty of blood involved now.”
NINA FROWNED. “What?”
She inhaled sharply. Dillon stood between the tables and the kitchen door, trying—and failing—to capture with his right hand the blood that dripped from a nasty cut on his left hand.
She rushed over to him, Marcus and Hayley on her heels. “What happened?”
“Knife slipped,” Dillon said. He wiped his hand on the front of his jeans and pressed the hem of his dusty T-shirt against the cut.
“Sweet.” Kyle’s eyes were bright as he stood on tiptoe to peer over Dillon’s shoulder. “You sliced it good. Look at how deep that sucker is. Do you think we can see bone? Or at least some muscle?” he asked excitedly as he pressed against Dillon’s back trying to get a better view.
“Get out of here,” Dillon said, pushing his head gently away from him. “What are you, a vampire or something?”
Blood seeped through Dillon’s shirt. Nina glanced around for something to stop the bleeding.
“Hey,” Kyle said when she pulled the bandana off his head.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” she promised. She swatted Dillon’s uninjured hand away when he tried to stop her and wrapped the bandana around the cut. “Come into the bathroom off the kitchen so I can clean and bandage this properly,” she said, pulling on his elbow.
He didn’t budge. “It’s fine—”
“It’s not fine,” she said in her sternest mother voice. “Now quit being so stubborn and get your ass in the bathroom.” When he hesitated, she narrowed her eyes. “Now. Marcus, you and Hayley help Kyle until I get back. For God’s sake,” she said as she led Dillon through the kitchen, “don’t bleed on anything. I still have to finish those cinnamon rolls and I have five dozen cup-cakes, a carrot cake and a Yule log to make. All before lunch.”
“I’m touched by your concern.”
She flicked the light on in the small bathroom and tugged him inside.
He held his hand up by his head. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“I’ve given birth—twice—and doctored more bruises, scrapes and cuts than you can imagine. All I want to do here is clean and bandage your hand, not perform surgery.”
He lowered his hand and she took a hold of his wrist. His skin was warm and his pulse jumped under her fingers. She placed his wrist on the edge of the sink and unwound the bandana. And wished she could’ve used the bathroom off the dining room—the one currently filled from floor to ceiling with supplies.
This bathroom was too small. Too crowded. With the backs of her knees pressed against the toilet, her thighs brushing his and her head inches from his chest, it was way too intimate.
No wonder she was having a hard time just breathing.
She tossed the blood-soaked bandana in the sink and tried to hide her grimace at the sight of the deep gash.
“It’s still bleeding, but it’s not as deep as I first thought.” She turned on the water and grabbed a handful of paper towels from the wall dispenser. Soaking them, she wiped the blood off his hand so she could see the wound. She bit her lower lip. “I’m no expert, but I don’t think you’ll need stitches.”
“Great,” he muttered. “But it still hurts like hell.”
“I’m sure it does,” she said briskly, even as she locked her knees so she wouldn’t slide to the floor in a heap.
Comforting him the way she would one of her kids, she patted his chest. “You’ll be fine once we get it cleaned up and bandaged.”
He made a noncommittal sound and she looked up. Which was yet another mistake. Because they were too close, their bodies touching, her hand holding his. And he was way too sexy with that dark hair across his forehead and the sulky expression on his face.
“What’s going on here?”
Dillon stiffened. Nina glanced past Dillon’s shoulder to see Luke glowering at her from the doorway. “Dillon cut his hand.” She shoved Dillon’s injured hand in her brother’s face. “What do you think? Is this deep enough for stitches?”
Luke turned an interesting shade of gray and then stumbled back out of the bathroom and slammed the door shut.
“Okay,” she said, “now that he’s gone, let’s get you bandaged up.”
“Well done,” Dillon said.
She smiled. “Worked like a charm, didn’t it?” She bent down and opened the cabinet below the sink, took out the first-aid kit. “My entire family is squeamish when it comes to blood.”
“I can still hear you,” Luke called through the closed door.
“So no one in your family can stand the sight of blood?” Dillon asked. “Including you?”
She opened the kit and set the hydrogen peroxide and a tube of antibiotic cream on the sink. “I can stomach it long enough to get the job done.”
“And after that?”
Her face heated. “I usually throw up.”
He chuckled, a low sound that she could’ve sworn she felt rumbling through his chest.
She leaned back, and the sink dug into her lower back. “You might want to hang on to your amusement,” she said, holding his hand over the sink, “because I have to clean this and it’s going to hurt.”
Before he could respond, she poured the peroxide. He flinched, hissed out a breath and tried to pull away, but she held on firm. “Holy shit! Are you trying to kill me?”
“Don’t be a baby.” But since she could only imagine how much it stung, she raised his hand and blew on the cut. She lifted her head and caught him staring at her in surprise—and she realized she must look like a complete dufus. She quickly lowered their hands. “Better?”
He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Thankful for the diversion, she dug a packet of gauze out of the kit and ripped it open. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s no big deal. It doesn’t hurt much anymore.”
“
No. Not about the cut.” She raised her head. “I mean about before. About Marcus and what happened in the kitchen.”
“Forget it.”
“I don’t want to forget it.” She carefully smoothed antibiotic cream over the cut. “I was wrong. And if you still want the kids to help, to give them something to do, it’s fine with me.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything to him without talking to you first.”
“No, you shouldn’t have. But I realize it seemed like I didn’t trust you around my kids, which isn’t it at all. It’s just that I have some…people around me who aren’t too thrilled with my choices of late.”
“You knew they wouldn’t be.”
She placed gauze on the cut. “And that was part of it, wasn’t it? You told me I’d be proving I could stand on my own two feet, thumb my nose at people by hiring you, by allowing Kyle to work here. Guess I wasn’t quite prepared for what that would really mean.”
“You knew what you were getting into.”
Did she? Although she and her father were still on speaking terms, he hadn’t come back to the bakery since the day they’d argued. The rest of her family acted as if she’d lost her mind, and once Trey found out the kids were around Dillon all day—and she had no doubt he would find out—she’d have even more problems.
Luke knocked on the door. “Are you done?”
“Almost,” Nina said, wrapping tape around the gauze. “Want to come in and hold the edges of skin together for me to cut back on the scarring?”
Luke made a gagging sound and Dillon and Nina shared a smile.
She finished wrapping his hand, cut the tape and smoothed it over the bandage. “That should do it. If you were one of my kids, I’d offer to kiss it to make it better,” she joked.
She raised her head and her grin slid off her face. She froze as he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingertips grazing her cheek. “Not a good idea,” he warned huskily, “because if I took you up on that offer, we’d both end up getting more than we bargained for.” His gaze dropped to her lips and his hand fell back to his side. “More than either of us need.”
She shivered. Tried to work some moisture back into her dry mouth. He was right. She knew he was right but that didn’t stop her from wanting to kiss him. To experience that rush of desire again, to forget about her financial and business problems and just feel. To stop being Nina Carlson, Trey’s ex-wife, Serenity Springs’ most upstanding resident and just be Nina. Even if only for a few moments.
But she was afraid those few moments could cost her everything she held dear.
CHAPTER EIGHT
DESPITE THE PROMINENT Closed sign, someone knocked—or rather, pounded—on the temporary door to Sweet Suggestions. Damn it. Can’t a man work ten freaking minutes without any interruptions?
The pounding continued.
Obviously not in this town.
Dillon tossed down the razor knife, got to his feet and yanked open the door. Whatever he’d been about to say—something pretty close to a snarled “Get lost!”—died when he came face-to-face with Kelsey. He frowned. Seeing her always brought back too many memories. Reminded him of his many failures.
And hit him with too many emotions. Emotions he didn’t want to name or acknowledge.
“Hey,” he said, stepping back to let her in. He went back to where he’d left his tools.
Kelsey closed the door and stomped her feet on the heavy cardboard he’d set down. She shook her head and snow flew across the rough-hewn subflooring.
“What happened to you?” she asked.
He glanced at the bandage covering most of his left hand. Dr. Cupcake had been mistaken. When his cut hadn’t stopped bleeding, he’d had to go the E.R. Now he had five stitches in his hand to remind him how dangerous distractions can be to a man’s health.
Something he wouldn’t forget ever again.
“Work-related injury,” he said.
“Ahh…is that why you’re not further along here?” She unwound her scarf and took off her green knit hat. Static left her short, red hair sticking up in sharp spikes. Of course, with Kelsey, that was probably a fashion statement instead of hat hair. “You worked a lot faster at The Summit.”
“I had fewer distractions there.”
She scanned the empty room. “Yeah, I can see where all this quiet would really take its toll on you.”
He stood and used his good hand to pull the strip of carpet he’d cut loose. “This is just a lull in the action.” He stepped forward, shifted his grip and pulled again. “Between customers traipsing through constantly, wanting to buy a box of homemade fudge or a loaf of seven-grain bread, and Nina’s kids here before and after school wanting to help, I’m not getting as much done as I’d planned.”
“I’d have thought you’d be ahead of the game, what with that kid helping you and all.”
“Kyle spends most of his time sneaking off to smoke.” He rolled the strip of carpet and set it aside.
“Well, you should be used to dealing with a rebellious teenager with a shitty attitude, right?”
Dillon studied his sister. Something was…off with Kelsey. Nothing he could put his finger on, but her smart-ass comment lacked her usual bite and humor. Her smile was strained, not cocky. And he wasn’t even going to guess why she’d lost the sparkle in her eyes. A sparkle that’d been all but permanent ever since Jack slid that rock on her left ring finger.
“I’d forgotten what a thankless job it is to be responsible for someone else.”
She winced and dropped her gaze. What the hell was that about? One thing about Kelsey, she looked you in the eye no matter what.
“I’ve got to talk to Nina,” she said, her voice cracking.
She brushed past him and fled into the kitchen. Just got the hell out of there without any kind of overture for them to get together, to bond over their past and shared DNA. She hadn’t invited him to join her new little family for dinner or made him extremely uncomfortable by bringing up how grateful she was to him for saving her life all those years ago.
How she owed him.
Which was good. He didn’t want to be reminded of what happened that night. Kelsey’s gratitude—though sincere—always left him cold.
Being around her just reminded him of his mistakes. Of what he’d lost.
When all he wanted was to forget both.
With one last look at the closed kitchen door, he went back to his work. He’d been stacking the carpet strips to the side to give Kyle something to do when he came in after school. The kid still had to finish taking the remaining baseboard off since he’d spent most of Saturday afternoon begging Dillon to let him see his cut. And when blood had soaked through Dillon’s bandage, Kyle had even offered to stitch him up. He’d claimed he needed a needle and some fishing line and Dillon would be as good as new.
Honest to God, what did these kids watch on TV nowadays?
Kyle had been so clearly disappointed when Dillon had told him there was no way he’d let him within ten feet with a needle, Dillon had taken Kyle to the E.R. to watch him get stitched up by a professional.
No doubt about it, Kyle was some sort of freak.
So now he was even further behind than he’d been Saturday. He didn’t need to waste more time worrying about his sister.
But when five minutes became ten and Kelsey still hadn’t come back out, he glanced at the kitchen door. Maybe he should take a few rolls out to the Dumpster…just to get them out of his way.
He grabbed the carpet, set it on his shoulder and pushed through the kitchen door.
“And I m not sure about the appetizers,” Kelsey was saying as she paced the length of the room. “Maybe we should have more choices? What about those tarts with the grilled vegetables in them?”
“Sure, we can add those,” Nina said. She sat at the table, a pen in her hand, a thick binder opened in front of her. “Do you want them in place of the fresh vegetable platter?”
Kelsey nibbled on h
er lower lip. “Uh…we could do both, right? Oh, and maybe we should add a few more choices to the dessert tray?”
Nina tapped her pen against the table. “I think you need to be careful about offering too many choices. Or people might not eat dinner. Or have room for cake.”
“I just want everything to be perfect.”
Dillon raised an eyebrow at Kelsey’s bitchy tone as he walked out the back door. He never would’ve pictured Kelsey as a Bridezilla. Weddings must turn even the most level-headed women into lunatics.
He tossed the carpet into the Dumpster and went back inside in time to hear Nina demand, “What do you mean, you want to change your wedding cake?”
Kelsey waved a hand in the air, not concerned in the least that Nina now stood with her hands on her hips, a crazed, do-not-even-think-of-messing-with-me look on her face. “I still want a white cake with raspberry filling. I just want to…tweak the design.”
Nina made a sound—sort of like a teakettle whistling—and shut her eyes. Her lips moved as she silently counted to ten. Or twenty. He poured himself a cup of coffee and snatched a sugar cookie off a tray. And waited for the fireworks to start.
He bit into the cookie. Damned if he could figure women out. Nina was about to blow a gasket but was fighting it for all she was worth. He already knew she hated confrontations—which was why she got pushed around so much. And Kelsey…well…suffice it say his sister didn’t mind confrontations. Some would even say she relished them.
But he had a feeling more was going on in Kelsey’s head than a sudden urge to yank Nina’s chain.
Nina exhaled heavily. “The wedding is in five days. It’s a little late notice to be changing—”
“If you can’t handle a few minor changes,” Kelsey snapped, “then we’ll just go somewhere else.”
As Nina stood there with her mouth working, Kelsey spun on her heel. Dillon stopped her impressive display of pissiness by taking a hold of her arm when she attempted to storm past him.
