Dylan checked his heart rate monitor, then kept pounding the trail toward the summit of Baldy Mountain.
“How long?” Logan huffed from behind him.
“One mile.” Dylan’s lips twitched at the groan he heard. “You’re out of shape.”
“I’ve been running nearly forty miles a week with you for six weeks. I’m as fit as you are.”
Dylan jumped a log that had fallen across the path, then slowed down to a jog. “It’s just as well we’re not going all the way to the top.”
The only sound he heard from Logan were his shoes, slapping against the dirt trail. He looked over his shoulder and managed a real smile this time. “You’ve been putting on weight.”
Logan grabbed hold of his waist, squeezing imaginary love handles under his t-shirt. “I’ve been eating too much of Tess and Annie’s home baking,” he moaned. “Each time I go to the café they want me to try a new recipe. I think they want to make me as round as a butterball for the wedding.”
Dylan snorted. “You’re going to have to eat a lot more if you want to rise to butterball status. How are your wedding plans going?”
“Tess has got it under control. Mom’s flying out next weekend for a run through of what we’ve planned. All we’ve got to do is choose where we’re going on our honeymoon.”
Just thinking about what a honeymoon involved made Dylan both as scared and envious as hell. There was no way he’d ever be able to go on a honeymoon or a vacation with a female unless he got his touching issue sorted out.
Logan must have been thinking the same thing. “Have you made any decisions on what we talked about the other day?”
He might have been thinking the same thing, but that didn’t mean Dylan wanted to discuss it. “No.”
“Okaaay,” Logan said. “Are you telling me to butt out of your life?”
Dylan came to a slow stop. He put his hands on his hips and took a few deep breaths. “I haven’t got much of a life to butt out of.”
“So who’s the mystery woman that’s going to help you?”
Dylan frowned. “I haven’t asked her yet.”
Logan nodded at the trail. “If you don’t keep moving I’m going to seize up, then you’ll have Tess to answer to.”
“Are you deliberately hinting at what goes on after the café closes?”
Logan started jogging. “No hinting involved. Go and see whoever you need to see. Life’s too short to hide away in a house with pink curtains.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my curtains.” He chased after Logan, dodging the rocks and tree roots scattered across the trail.
“Here’s a newsflash for you. Most men don’t have pink curtains. You’ve been living in your rental for how many months?”
“Eight,” Dylan muttered.
“And have you unpacked all of the boxes in your living room?”
“Not yet.”
Logan swerved out of the way of another runner coming toward them. “You need to make an urgent call to the woman who’s been on your mind. If nothing else, you could do with some interior design advice. Those curtains have to go.”
Dylan didn’t have a problem with pink curtains or unopened boxes in his living room. But Logan might have given him the opening he needed to start working on his other problem. The one that kept him at home, staring at the pink curtains Logan didn’t like.
As they rounded a bend in the trail, Dylan looked at the view of the valley spread out below them. Before he’d moved here, he didn’t know why his boss had wanted to base his company in Bozeman.
All he’d known about Montana was that it was a State with more cows than people, a place full of ranches and rodeos. He’d never lived in a town where people knew your name before you’d been introduced to them. He’d found it hard to get used to the friendly smiles total strangers gave him when he walked down the street. And that went nowhere toward his shock when the sales assistant at Safeway remembered his name after he started shopping there.
A company based in Bozeman providing high-end security options seemed about as wrong as a vegetarian eating beef. But somehow it worked. Fletcher Security owned a huge warehouse on the outskirts of town. They employed a small team of people to coordinate their operations and more staff than Dylan had met to work on the security contracts they managed.
On the flip side, Bozeman had a lot of things going for it. The small town had space. Dylan didn’t get jostled when he walked down the street and he could run for miles without meeting anyone else. For the first time in a long while he felt as though he could begin to make a normal life for himself.
“Have you heard from your folks?” Logan asked.
Dylan blinked sweat out of his eyes and kept running. “They’re okay. Mom keeps threatening to come out here on vacation.”
“You don’t sound too happy about it?”
“Can’t say I am. I’m trying to convince her that Christmas is soon enough.”
“Good luck with that.”
Dylan hoped he didn’t need luck. Five years ago his mom and dad had moved from Texas to Los Angeles. They were still working, spending more time apart than together. They had an income and lifestyle that suited them. He’d tried to convince his mom that a vacation in Montana would spoil her plans for their big European tour. He was counting on a walk up the Eiffel Tower beating an afternoon hike at Bridger Bowl.
He looked over his shoulder. “Are you going to keep up with me or talk all afternoon?”
Logan’s eyes widened. “Watch out for the…”
Dylan’s foot collided with something on the trail. Before he knew what was happening, he fell sideways, rolling onto his shoulder. He stared at the sky for a few seconds before moving his arms and legs.
“You all right?” Logan looked down at him.
Dylan blew a wildflower off his face. Pain stabbed across his collarbone and down his back. “I knew I should have stayed in bed this morning.”
“You’re telling me this now?”
Dylan sat up and rotated his shoulder. The bruising was nothing a hot shower wouldn’t fix. “Did you have something better to do with your morning?”
Logan stuck his hands on his hips and grinned.
Dylan wasn’t going anywhere near the answer to that question.
“Come on old man.” Logan held his hand out and pulled Dylan to his feet. “Let’s head back to your place. I’ll make breakfast.”
“As long as you make pancakes, you’ve got a deal.” And this time, Dylan made sure he missed the rock jutting out of the trail.
***
Annie tried to ignore the table on the far side of the café. Dylan had eaten his way through lunch and was halfway through his third coffee. At the rate he was going he’d be jumping around Bozeman on a caffeine high for the rest of the afternoon.
But that wasn’t the reason she was avoiding him. Dylan had spent most of his lunch break watching every move she made. At first she thought it was her imagination. She wasn’t doing anything remotely interesting unless clearing tables and ringing up orders could be called interesting. Dylan obviously thought so.
She walked into the kitchen and looked at Tess’ bent head. “While you’re pondering wedding cake options, Mrs. Dickinson would like one of your vegetarian omelets with a side order of fries.”
Tess closed her recipe book and quickly broke three eggs into a bowl. “What do you think about a chocolate cake on the bottom with another tier of banana cake on top?”
“Everyone likes chocolate, so you can’t go wrong. I didn’t think you liked banana cake?”
“It’s Logan’s mom’s favorite. She had a banana cake for her wedding and Logan thought it would be nice to have one at ours, too.”
“That’s sweet.” Annie opened the pantry doors and started putting clean glasses onto a tray. “Dylan’s still in the café.”
Tess put a dribble of olive oil in an omelet pan and added some sliced potato. “And?”
“He said he likes my hair in a braid.” Annie didn’t know
what to make of Dylan’s compliment. He hardly ever talked to her and he’d never said anything so weird.
Tess had a smile on her face. “It does look kind of cute.”
“But don’t you think it’s odd that he’d say something about my hair. And he keeps watching me while I work.”
“Maybe he’s bored?”
Anne picked up the glasses and headed toward the kitchen door. “Dylan’s never bored. The man doesn’t know how to sit still. Maybe he’s coming down with the flu or something.” She pushed open the door and glanced across at Dylan’s table. He was still there, except now he had a newspaper in front of him.
She walked into the café, stacked the glasses beside the water cooler and rearranged some of the food in their glass display counter. Most of the lunch crowd had left, which suited Annie fine. They’d been rushed off their feet for the last two hours and a break in the flow of customers was a welcome relief.
While she was deciding if they needed more muffins, Dylan appeared in front of her.
She looked at him and frowned. “I don’t think you should have any more coffee.”
Dylan blinked once, as if contemplating what she’d said. The man was as hard to read as a stone. “I don’t want another cup of coffee. I was…I was wondering if you had a few minutes after your shift ends to talk to me?”
“Talk?”
Dylan stared at her. If she wasn’t so confused, she might have paid more attention to the blush working its way over his cheeks.
“I’ve been told talking is an ancient form of communication.”
“Are you making fun of me?” she asked softly.
For the first time since she’d met him, Dylan’s face actually gave away what he was thinking. He was horrified. “No…I didn’t mean it that way. It was a joke.”
“Oh.” Annie didn’t know he did jokes either. She looked around the café. Mrs. Dickinson had pulled her knitting out and was busy making baby booties at the table in the front window. Geraldine Carter had her nose in a book, and a man she didn’t know was about to leave.
“You can talk to me now if you like? There aren’t many people in the café.”
Dylan looked at the almost empty tables. He stuck his hands in his pockets and stood perfectly still. “Tess said you helped choose the paint colors in her apartment?”
Annie didn’t know why that would have come up in a conversation, but he was right. She’d looked at nearly a dozen paint samples with Tess and helped her narrow down the options. “The final choice was hers.”
He nodded. It was the serious kind of nod you used when you were thinking about the meaning of life, not paint colors.
Dylan cleared his throat. “I want to paint my living room. Can you help me choose a color?”
Annie frowned. He didn’t seem the type who’d be indecisive about anything. “What’s wrong with the color of the walls now?”
“I’ve got orange walls and pink curtains.”
Annie winced. “Sounds interesting.”
“I took a photo.” Dylan flicked through some images on his phone, found the one he wanted and showed Annie.
She looked at the photo.
“There’s more.” Dylan flicked through three more shots all taken from different angles.
The room itself was lovely. Big French doors opened onto what looked like a deck. A big fireplace took pride of place on another wall, and leather couches filled the space that was left. “Do you want to keep the pink curtains?”
Dylan focused on his cell phone. “They’re not too bad. I think the orange walls make them look worse than they are.”
“Why are there boxes stacked in one corner? Are you still moving in?”
Dylan hesitated before answering. “I’m renting. I’m deciding whether to stay or move into town.”
“Do you think it’s worth investing the time and money into painting the room if you won’t be there much longer?”
Dylan looked at her in the solemn way she was beginning to understand. For someone who stood out as much as he did, his self-confidence was seriously dented.
Annie didn’t know what had gone on in his life, but it must have been huge. “What’s stopping you from deciding where you want to live?”
“I’ve seen a few properties, but they’re all the same. I don’t know what I’m looking for.”
The kitchen door opened and Tess carried Mrs. Dickinson’s omelet and fries across to her. She smiled at Dylan as she walked back to the kitchen. “How’s your shoulder?”
Annie frowned. “You hurt yourself?”
Dylan picked up his cell phone and slipped it into his pocket. “I tripped on a rock when I was running with Logan. My shoulder’s fine. Thanks for lunch.” He turned to leave.
“What about the paint colors?” Annie asked.
He pulled out a pair of dark sunglasses and put them on. “You’re right. There’s no point painting the walls if I’m not staying. Have a good day.”
Annie watched him leave the café.
Tess leaned against the counter. “What was all that about?”
“I don’t know.” Annie glanced at the door. “But I’ve got a feeling it didn’t have much to do with painting his living room.”
“Maybe you need to find out what he really wants?”
Annie glanced at her watch before heading toward the kitchen. “I’m too busy. If I don’t leave now, I’m going to be late for Adam’s first afternoon appointment.”
“You haven’t had lunch.”
“I heard there’s a great boss at Angel Wings Café. She makes awesome chicken sandwiches for her employees.”
Tess laughed. “It’s just as well your boss is also your friend. Go and get ready. I’ll have lunch ready for you in five minutes.”
Annie headed toward the bathroom, throwing her apron in the laundry bag on the way through. Her afternoon job at a local lawyer’s office helped pay her rent and build up her savings. Dylan’s paint issue, that wasn’t a paint issue, would have to wait for another time.
Adam had a full appointment schedule at Osborne and Sons. A late receptionist was the last thing either of them needed.
***
After Annie finished work she decided to go for a bike ride. It was a great evening, the sun was still shining, the birds were tweeting, and she wanted to see Dylan.
She hadn’t been entirely oblivious to what he’d been feeling. Something had been churning inside of him, something more important than the silent observations he usually made of the world. She knew better than most how those feelings could bubble up inside you, looking for someone who understood.
Choosing the paint color in his living room could have been a decoy for what was really going on. But if she was wrong, if the only motivation for his long lunch had been paint, then that was fine, too. She had a talent for putting colors together, mixing and matching the most oddball combinations and coming up with awesomeness.
She didn’t even know if Dylan would be at work. He could have left for another job, or be at home, staring at his orange walls and pink curtains. As she rounded the corner into Front Street, she slowed down to appreciate the building Fletcher Security had bought two years ago.
The historic red brick building had been built in the 1860s as Montana’s first flour mill. The arched windows and decorative cornices softened the exterior. They made the building less intimidating than it would have been, if the architect had stuck with a plain box of a building. But what really set the building apart were the landscaped gardens.
Even from the street, Annie could see the time and effort that had gone into creating an area that the employees could enjoy. Aspen, birch and maple trees stood tall and proud alongside pretty shrubs and flowers. Everywhere she looked, Annie saw something that made her smile.
A guard was standing in the booth at the main entrance, watching her pedal toward him. She rode over the first of three speed bumps and stopped in front of a red barrier arm. She smiled at the guard. He was staring intently at he
r green bike with its purple basket, so she flicked the little bell on her handlebars. He didn’t appreciate her friendliness.
She widened her smile. “Hi. Can you tell me if Dylan Bayliss is still at work?”
“Who would you be, ma’am?”
At least he had manners, even if his face hadn’t twitched one smile muscle. “I’m Annie O’Leary. I work at Angel Wings Café.”
“You work with Tess?”
“You know, Tess?”
The guard nodded. “She helped my cousin with some bridesmaids’ dresses.”
Annie beamed at the guard. She didn’t care if he didn’t smile back. “That’s me, too. We started The Bridesmaids Club. What’s your cousin’s name?”
“Connie. Connie Thompson, before she got married.”
Annie sighed. Connie’s wedding had been happy and sad at the same time. Connie’s mom had died from cancer not long after the wedding. Even though it had been a terrible time, everyone had been so grateful that they had special memories of the last time they’d been together.
“It was a beautiful wedding,” Annie said.
The guard cleared his throat and turned toward a desk. “I’ll call through to the office. You’ll need to wait here.”
Annie nodded. She wasn’t sure how fast the guard thought she could move, but it wouldn’t have been as fast as his ability to call for reinforcements. She’d never really thought about what they stored here. It must have been pretty important given the amount of effort that went into keeping people out of the building.
She got off her bike and wheeled it closer to the door of the guard’s station. Mr. Smiley turned and frowned at her, so Annie took a small step backward, but not before she saw exactly how many cameras he was monitoring. Two computer screens each showed four different views of the fence around the outside of the building. That was eight cameras. Eight reasons why she was glad she’d come to the main entrance and not tried to find a side door somewhere.
“Mr. Bayliss will meet you in the main reception area, Ms. O’Leary.” The guard pointed across the yard to the biggest entrance doors Annie had ever seen. “He’ll be waiting behind those doors. You’ll need to leave your bike outside. I’ll make sure it doesn’t go missing.”
Loving You (The Bridesmaids Club Book 2) Page 3
