Fanning her face, Gloria pulled herself away from the mirror and followed the stairs down to the main level. There was so much work to do still—she had to control her rambling thoughts.
She caught sight of her handbag sitting at the front door and realized she hadn’t checked up on her father since she’d arrived. Tucked into the front pocket was her phone, which was nearly dead. She tried calling home but only got a couple of beeps, telling her there was no service.
I’m sure he’s fine.
After plugging in her phone to charge, Gloria made her way to the kitchen, doing an impromptu dance step as she went, enjoying the soft cotton swirling around her legs. Passing through the kitchen, she returned to the larder, at least that was what Max Ozark had called it. It was a big room with lots of shelves full of preserves and canned goods that were labeled with dates—over a decade old. There was a metal canister marked “Flour” and all of the necessities for baking: salt, sugar, baking powder, yeast.
Looking around at the large space, she imagined how it could look, very country kitchen with labeled mason jars, ceramic crockery and brass pots hanging from the rafters. She made a mental note of all the work that needed to be done and then found herself playing with the soft cotton of the skirt she wore.
Maybe it was the dress that was giving Gloria peculiar ideas, because the ingredients in the larder and a basket that sat high on the shelf prompted a plan that had nothing to do with remodeling the room. And everything to do with Dillon.
* * *
THE SMELL OF freshly baked something-or-other greeted Dillon as he walked into the ranch house. “Something smells good in here,” he called. “What have you been up to...whoa.” Dillon took one look at Gloria and removed his hat, an automatic response when in the presence of a lady, something his mother had drilled into him since he was a kid.
“You look...nice.” He walked around her, slowly, taking in the yellow sundress, the Western ruffles at the top, the full skirt, the low cut that was flattering to her form and tempting to his fingers. Add to that the spaghetti straps that let him know she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath and Dillon was reduced to thinking with only one part of his body. “Where did you get the dress?”
“There was a bunch of women’s clothes boxed up in the master bedroom.” She held it out by the skirt. “I hope it’s okay that I’m wearing it. My stuff is pretty dirty.”
Dillon frowned. The dress had belonged to Char. Why the hell had Kenny held on to her stuff after all this time?
“Who did it belong to?”
“Kenny’s ex-wife.”
“Kenny was married?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And she didn’t take her clothes?” Gloria indicated her dress.
“She left all of a sudden.”
“What about the ranch? Isn’t she entitled?” She indicated the house with a sweep of her hand.
“No. It ended a while back. Signed and sealed.”
“Ah.” Gloria fingered the skirt. “Maybe I should change.”
Dillon came closer. “No. Leave it on.” His fingers trailed along the bare skin of her shoulders and beneath her hair. “It suits you.”
“Thanks,” she said, turning her face up as if she was hoping for a kiss, which was exactly what he wanted to do...once he’d cleaned some of the mud and grime off himself.
Instead of a kiss, he asked, “So, what’s all this about? You looking so...good.” He sniffed. “And is that fresh baking I smell?”
“Yes.”
He leaned low and placed a soft kiss on her shoulder, unable to keep away when Gloria’s bare skin was within kissing distance. She smelled like shampoo. Clean and sweet.
“I found some ingredients in the larder,” she whispered. “I made some buns, at least, they were supposed to be buns.”
“For dinner?” For some reason the idea of this woman cooking for him was incredibly intimate and Dillon cupped her jaw in order to tilt her head back and give him access to her tasty neck.
“I thought maybe we could go for a ride.”
“A ride?” Was it wrong to feel a surge of testosterone when Gloria willingly gave up her throat to him? He ran his thumb beneath her jaw and gently down the length of her long neck. He stopped kissing when he realized he was leaving dirty streaks on her pristine skin.
She opened her eyes, startled as if she hadn’t realized what he’d been doing. Or, what she’d been doing. She cleared her throat. “Yeah. I thought we could go for a—”
“Picnic?”
“Is that okay?”
“Nothing better. Let me go shower first. I’m filthy.”
He was downstairs in ten and they were saddled and ready to ride fifteen minutes later. Dillon didn’t think about where he was taking her until he was nearly there, the house peeking through the trees up ahead.
“Who lives there?” Gloria asked, pointing at the house that was visible between the trees. When he didn’t answer she urged her horse right up beside his. “Dillon?”
Was it the house in the distance or the woman beside him that was distracting him? Probably both. But he couldn’t help being distracted. Gloria looked like something out of some damn fairy tale, riding astride, wearing that sexy yellow dress, the sun making her hair look like flames blowing in the soft breeze. She was so relaxed on the back of a horse, and in his estimation, there was nothing sexier than a woman who was comfortable on the back of an animal. Well, maybe he could think of a few things that might be sexier, like said woman lying flat on her back, fiery hair streaming out on the wool blanket beneath her.
“Are you going to answer me or just stare at me?”
“Sorry, Red. Flashbacks.”
A switch somewhere beneath her skin flipped and she went pink all over. Sweet as hell.
By the time he paid attention to his surroundings again, they were approaching the abandoned house.
“Are we trespassing?”
“Yes.” He adjusted his hat. “But don’t worry. No one lives there anymore.”
She threw him a questioning glance but he rode past, not willing to explain just yet. Once they got right up to the house, he dismounted, tied his horse to a fence post and stood waiting for Gloria to do the same. Did the fact that he was hoping to catch a glimpse beneath her skirt as she lifted her leg over the horse make him a dirty-minded jackass? Maybe, but he didn’t care.
Red dismounted gracefully, however, keeping her good bits hidden. Making him lust for her even more than if he’d caught sight of those lacy panties that didn’t seem practical enough to be called underwear.
Once she was standing beside him, he took her hand and led her up the steps to the wraparound porch. The whole thing was looking worn and needed to be refinished, but no one was going to do that because no one cared about this place anymore. Because the people who’d bought the placed cared so little, the key that had always been stashed in the hollow at the top of the door frame was still there.
“Um, isn’t this breaking and entering?” Gloria asked, tugging Dillon back before he could open the door.
He glanced down at her. “Nope. Not when you use a key.” He held it for her to see.
She stood her ground, frowning.
“Don’t worry. No one lives here.”
“And who used to live here?”
He smiled. “Me.”
11
SHE LET DILLON lead her through the main floor of the large country house. It was one of those places that seemed to have been added to with each generation so that just when she thought she’d seen it all, there was another little addition somewhere.
“Why doesn’t anyone live here?” Her designer’s eye filled the space with rugs and furniture, changing out the lighting, sweeping out the cobwebs and removing the peeling wallpaper, freshening everyth
ing up with a new coat of paint. It could be a great house. Lots of character.
“It wasn’t bought by a family but by Technofarm. It’s a ranching conglomerate. They set up a camp closer to the road. There’s a big stockyard there now.”
Dillon released her hand to go stand by a picture window that overlooked a forest with mountains in the background. The view was stunning.
“Such a shame.”
“Yep.”
With his hat pulled low on his brow, Gloria was left to guess what his expression was, but by the way he gazed out the window, his fists clenched at his sides, his back ramrod straight as if all his muscles were strained, she had a pretty good idea. He was seeing his family here. Could probably still feel their presence because Gloria could, too.
“Why’d you sell?”
Still gazing out the window, Dillon said, “Long story.”
She wanted to ask about it but something told her that Dillon would tell her in his own time, when he was ready. So, she went to stand beside him and she imagined what life would have been like growing up here. Land that belonged to you as far as the eye could see. Wildlife, the fresh scent of the outdoors combined with the aromas of home-cooked meals. Gloria knew what that smelled like, her best friend owned a bakery and there was nothing like the warm scent of fresh baking to make a place smell like home, which was why Realtors baked cookies when they showed a house. People walked in and already felt like they were at home.
As she gazed out the window, she heard the ghost of kids’ voices. Yelling and playing. Running around. No junk to impede their movement, no sound of nearby traffic. Fresh air instead of the stench of rotting garbage.
“Do you have any brothers and sisters?” she asked, casting a sideways glance up at the man by her side.
“Two brothers. One older, one younger.”
“What are their names?”
“Colton’s the baby. Five years younger than me.”
“And the older one?”
“His name was Carson.” That was it. No other explanation. But his use of the past tense did not go unnoticed.
Eventually he turned to her. “You want to see upstairs?”
She nodded.
Dillon led the way up the narrow stairs to the second floor, and Gloria asked, “How old is this house?”
“The original was built in the twenties. It’s expanded over the years.”
“It’s a shame to just leave it empty.”
“Yep. They should probably bulldoze it but it costs too much. It’ll just stay here until it eventually falls down.” He spoke without any inflection, as if he wasn’t talking about his family home. She understood that.
He stopped inside the doorway of a small bedroom, and stood motionless for a moment. When he turned and flashed a smile, Gloria wondered how genuine it was. “You are about to see something very few women have ever seen.”
“Your bedroom?”
“Uh-huh.”
While he stayed at the door, she entered the room and went to stand at the window. Much like downstairs, the view was spectacular.
“When I was a teenager, I’d climb out that window nearly every night.”
She turned, picturing a young Dillon. “What would you do? Where would you go?”
“Sometimes Kenny and I would meet up to sneak smokes and whiskey. God. We thought we were so grown up.” He rubbed his chin with the heel of his hand. “Sometimes we’d spy on the poker games over at the Doghouse. When we were sixteen, the men caught us, but instead of sending us home, they let us join. That was a rite of passage, I tell you.”
“What about your older brother? Did he play, too?”
“Nah. Carson was ten years older than me. He was a man when I was just a kid.” He chuckled. “I used to think my parents were nuts for having us so far apart, though I doubt it was on purpose. We just showed up when we did.”
“Where is everyone now?”
“Well, my brother Carson was killed in the service. Afghanistan. After he died, things went sideways and my parents sold and moved down to Yuma. Colton moved with them but returned every summer, working on Kenny’s ranch as a hand. Dad died of a stroke a couple years later and Mom just decided to stay down South.”
“Oh, Dillon. I’m sorry. Losing a brother and your father. That must have been rough.”
Dillon’s gaze roamed the room as if he was seeing something that wasn’t there. Finally he said, “Let’s get out of here.”
There was nothing Gloria wanted more than to continue to explore the abandoned house where Dillon had grown up, but by the look on his face, the memories were too much.
Once back on the porch, Gloria said, “Thanks for bringing me here.”
He gave a one-shoulder shrug as if to say it was nothing. But if it was nothing, why was his jaw so tense, creating a hollow in his wide cheeks? Why did he keep opening and closing his hands into fists and why couldn’t he meet her gaze?
Which begged the question, why had he brought her here in the first place?
* * *
“WHAT DO YOU THINK?”
They emerged from a single track path through the woods into a meadow filled with natural grass and wildflowers, a bunch of bright yellows and reds belonging to plants that Gloria was unfamiliar with.
“It’s beautiful.” She gazed around. A small crystal clear lake was at the center of the meadow. “And this was your backyard?” She smiled. “How terrible it must have been.”
“It’s not bad.”
Not bad? If he only knew. When her mom was alive, their backyard had been filled with flowers and quirky garden sculptures. Gnomes and birdbaths and little signs and whatnots. Cluttered but usable. In the years that followed, the outdoor space was filled with junk, and then more junk. It was claustrophobic and the only time she’d felt as if she could breathe was when she was sent away to camp.
After tramping down a section of grass, Dillon spread an old patchwork quilt on the ground and together they unloaded the contents of the basket: jam from 2005—she hoped it was still good—pickles from about the same era. Leftover sausages from breakfast and the buns she’d baked that looked more like pancakes because the yeast must have been too old.
“I know it’s not much. And if you don’t eat the buns, you won’t hurt my feelings.”
“It’s fine. Better than fine.”
She reached inside the basket and withdrew the iced tea she’d made and poured it into two plastic cups. “We keep this diet up and we’re going to get scurvy.”
He laughed. “Don’t worry. We’ll go to town for supplies in the next day or two.”
“Will the bridge be fixed?”
“Nah. Probably won’t be until sometime this summer. We’ll wait for the water level to recede some more and then there’s a place I can cross with my truck. Just need the mud to dry a little more.”
“Oh.” The thought of returning to her tiny hotel room in Half Moon Creek took some of the zest out of her.
“You won’t be able to drive the car back, though. Even if it is fixed. You’ll have to ride with me, every day.”
Gloria kept her gaze down in order to hide her smile. Why the thought of driving to and from the ranch with Dillon every day made her smile...
Really, genius? Maybe because you like him. Duh.
Snarky conscience.
Yes, she liked him. Probably too much. In fact she was going to have to be careful because this job would be done and over before she knew it.
You could always stretch it out. There’s plenty of work to be done. Maybe see if there’s other work in the area...
Gloria quieted the voice in her head by filling paper plates for herself and Dillon. It was a habit that she’d formed living alone with her dad. He was always so preoccupied with everything, he oft
en forgot to eat.
“So,” she asked, “how long have you been riding bulls?”
“Since I was sixteen.” Dillon put a hand to his lower back, as though the thought of his profession made his back ache. “But professionally? Since I was nineteen.”
“And, you can make a living, doing it?”
“Yep. You’ve got to follow the circuit, rodeo after rodeo. But, you can make big money. If you win.”
“So? Do you win?” Gloria gazed up at him through her lashes, a coy gesture, she realized. But there was something about sitting on a blanket, wearing a dress, having a picnic with this stoic, proud man, that made her feel as if she and Dillon had been whisked back in time and were courting, old-fashioned-style.
As if they hadn’t just had wonderful stuck-in-a-cabin-so-let’s-do-it sex last night and wild, tipsy my-best-friend-just-got-married-so-let’s-do-it sex three months ago. Though parts of her body were continually reliving those moments—in vivid detail—throbbing and pulsing in blissful remembrance, her emotions were somewhat more chaste.
“You should come watch sometime.”
“Huh?” Gloria gave her head a shake, bringing her back to the present day.
“The county fair and rodeo is coming up. You should come watch.”
“I’d like that.”
“What about you? What made you decide to go into interior design and staging?”
She should have known that the conversation would turn to her, so why did she feel so unprepared to answer? Maybe because Dillon had shared so much of himself today—taking her to his old house, showing her his room, telling her about his brother’s and father’s deaths, though there was more said in body language and subtext than in actual words.
A part of her wanted to open up to him, to tell him the truth about what happened after her mom died, but Gloria couldn’t bring herself to do it. Tugging on a loose thread on the quilt, she said, “I like things orderly. I know it’s weird, but it makes me feel good to organize things.”
“Yeah, I can see that about you.”
She glanced up. “So, why’d you give me such a hard time at the fund-raiser last year?”
Big Sky Seduction Page 10
