by Liz Talley
Silence met his demand.
“Karen?”
“What?” Defensiveness crept into her tone. She was hiding something. “Laurel’s not here.”
He clenched his teeth. “Why not? I thought she had a fever and sore throat.”
“Well, she did. Yesterday. She felt much better today so I let her go to Zack Reilly’s Halloween party. All the kids were going and she didn’t want to be left out.”
Now he got the picture. Laurel wasn’t sick. She just didn’t want to miss the party to spend time with him. And that hurt. What had he done that was so wrong? The divorce was the result of Karen’s betrayal. Tyson hadn’t thrown his family away. Karen had. So why was he getting the business from his thirteen-year-old daughter?
He tried to shrug off his hurt feelings. “We didn’t talk about going to boys’ parties. Why did you make this decision on your own?” He couldn’t keep the anger from his voice.
“Don’t be upset, Ty. The party is well-supervised and I will be picking her up and bringing her home. You know I wouldn’t allow her to go to something inappropriate.”
This he did know. Karen was overly cautious with Laurel, but that didn’t change the fact she hadn’t consulted him. And they had agreed to discuss all the big steps in their daughter’s life. A party involving boys was one of those.
“Fine. Next time let’s talk first, okay? And I do want Laurel in Oak Stand next weekend. It’s long overdue.”
“We’ll talk later this week about the particulars. And, don’t forget, she will be spending Thanksgiving with you and Gramps, too.” Karen’s voice had shifted into sweetness. Placating. Syrupy.
He hated that tone. When they were married, Karen had often used it to butter him up so she’d get her way. In the beginning it had been cute. But her manipulative nature grew old quickly. Now, his first response to her wheedling was anger. But he let it go. No need to pick a fight. His focus was on Laurel. He wrapped up the conversation and ended the call. As exasperating as Karen had been, at least he felt better about his stance on Laurel’s visit.
How was he supposed to show Laurel how good life in Oak Stand could be if she wasn’t willing to come here? And how could he fix what was wrong between them? His girl had gone from daddy’s princess to Tweenzilla. He didn’t even recognize her anymore. She rolled her eyes, texted on her phone and insisted on having pedicures. It baffled him that the girl who’d trailed after him even when he mowed the yard had turned into…a real teenager.
Movement through the kitchen window caught his eye. Dawn. Another complication in his life. He knew that his play for friendship wasn’t working. He thought about her way too much for her to be only a bud. Her clever jokes and sweet smiles paired with the lushness of her curves had rendered him smitten. He was tired of fighting it. Thus the invitation for tomorrow. He wanted to push her a bit, see if there could be something more than what they’d been pretending for the past few weeks. And nudging her was hard to do with the clients of Tucker House lurking around every corner with bright eyes and hearing aids tuned to the highest setting.
He made his way through the back door to tell Dawn he was leaving. He needed to slip home for a while to check on Gramps…and maybe talk the irascible old man into visiting the center tonight.
The house smelled yummy. Obviously the sugar cookies hadn’t burned. He paused inside the mudroom and watched as Dawn pulled the baking sheet from the oven and plopped it onto the burners of the stove. The pan shifted and slid into her wrist.
“Ow!” she yelped.
He started for Dawn, but Margo appeared first.
“You okay?” Margo asked, setting a brown paper bag on the counter, and breaking a piece of aloe from the plant sitting beside the kitchen sink. “Here, put this on it.”
“Thanks,” Dawn said, taking the plant piece and dabbing it on the welt. She looked at Margo. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“What? Aloe?”
“You know damn well I’m not talking about aloe. I’m talking about Tyson. I should have said no.”
“Why?” Margo said, propping her hands on her hips.
“You stupid or something? You ain’t screwin’ him, girl. You’re going to ride a four-wheeler. That won’t make your panties hit the dirt.”
“Well, my panties aren’t going to hit the dirt. Or anywhere else. If I’m going to have a relationship, it’s not going to be based on sexual attraction.”
“Who said anything about sex?” Tyson said, stepping into the kitchen. He couldn’t skulk and listen to the conversation like some Peeping Tom. Though the conversation had been interesting.
Dawn spun around and banged her ankle on a bottom drawer that was sticking out. She yelped then hopped around on her good foot.
“Uh-oh,” Margo said, “I’m outta here on this one.”
“Coward,” Tyson said, stooping down and lifting Dawn’s foot into his hands.
Dawn’s traitorous friend disappeared swifter than a cat with the family goldfish. Tyson ignored the discomfort of the moment and focused on the reddening mark on Dawn’s ankle. He tried to not notice how sweet her ankle was or how he wanted to slide his hand up her smooth calf to sample the curve of her leg.
She tugged her foot from his hands. “It’s fine.”
He looked up at her and smiled. Her face was red and it had nothing to do with the heat still radiating from the oven. “So what was that all about?”
“Nothing,” she said, straightening and testing her weight on her ankle. “It was nothing. Just girl talk.”
He rose, all the while trailing his eyes over her from the top of her braided hair to the tips of her tennis shoes. And he lingered on a few spaces in between a bit longer than necessary. “So, did you just say you wanna have sex with me?”
Her eyes widened, and the color on her cheeks deepened.
“Don’t answer that. I’m overstepping here. We agreed to be friends. Friends without benefits. Plus, sex on a four-wheeler would be uncomfortable. Though I’ve never really tried it before,” he said.
Dawn closed her mouth. She looked cute, like a confused puppy. “Oh.”
“Listen, I’m heading out to the house to check on Gramps. I’ll get the strings hung for the doughnut dunk before I go. See you tomorrow at 1:30 p.m. For the, uh, friends thing.”
He stepped out into the cool autumn day, feeling much better than he had after getting off the phone with Karen. He had a date with Dawn. Or what had they called it? An outing.
Anticipation built at the thought of having her to himself for the afternoon. It might not result in anything. But then again…it might give him another horizon to explore in his fresh start.
He whistled all the way to his truck.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE LONGS’ RANCH HOUSE sat on a lovely hill of goldenrod. Dawn thought the pretty yellow flowers were the only thing that saved the house from being declared condemned.
Shutters tilted drunkenly, the porch sagged and bright plastic toys littered the drive. It could have been a nice house if someone razed it then built another one. But, Dawn ignored the condition of the house because as Texans often said, “They’re good people.”
Emma Long appeared on the drooping porch and waved, a bright smile affixed to her round face. “Hey, Dawn, don’t come too close. Bailey’s got the stomach flu and done give it to Avery.”
Dawn stepped from her car and shaded her eyes against the sun. “So we aren’t going?”
“Heck, no. Well, I ain’t, but you and Tyson can still go. Head on around back. He’s back there, getting a four-wheeler ready for you.” Emma kicked a plastic pail off the porch and picked up a few old newspapers sitting on the steps.
Dawn hesitated.
Because now her outing felt more like a date. Well, maybe not a steakhouse-and-movie date, but close enough to make her wish she’d passed on the four-wheeling thing. But then again, maybe she was being plain silly about the whole thing. She could resist Tyson.
Plus, he’d shown
he didn’t want to bother with delving into the abnormal attraction they tried to hide from each other.
Okay. No big deal.
So she pulled her sunglasses from her purse, grabbed a piece of gum and locked the doors. Then she headed around the side of the house to look for the object of her somewhat disturbing dreams—dreams that pervaded her thoughts at random moments, dreams she tried to suppress.
She found him bent over a bright red four-wheeler that looked much too big for her to handle.
“Surely, you don’t think I can drive that thing?” she said.
Tyson stepped back and critically assessed the machine in front of him. “I think you can handle her.”
“You can handle ’er, Dawn. I ain’t known you long, gal, but I’ve seen you in action. Anyone who can get my old man to spit out his chaw before comin’ inside Tucker House can handle a little ol’ four-wheeler.” Avery Long stood on the porch in a T-shirt and jogging pants. He did look a bit green round the gills, but his words were friendly as ever.
“Okay, I trust you, Avery,” Dawn called with a friendly wave.
“Y’all have fun,” Avery called, before disappearing into the house.
“But you don’t trust me?” Tyson asked, wiping his palms on the front of his jeans. Jeans that were a bit too tight on his butt, but Dawn wasn’t complaining. Just noticing.
“I won’t answer that,” she said. The words should have teased, instead they felt potent. Was it him? Or herself she didn’t trust?
Probably both.
Tyson’s gaze met hers and something passed between them. She’d be crazy to put a definition to exactly what it was, but it made her itchy in her skin. And likely Tyson felt the same.
He turned toward the other four-wheeler, which sat under a Texas sweetgum tree festooned in orange and gold. The green ATV was even bigger than the red one Dawn would be riding. “Let’s get going. It’ll be dark before we know it.”
Dawn eyed the red ATV warily as Tyson set a few items in the storage compartment on his four-wheeler. Then he patted the seat of hers, assisted her onto it and showed her the handbrakes, off/on switch and gave her a rundown about shifting her weight when climbing hills. She dutifully reiterated his instructions before pushing in the brake and thumbing the ignition switch.
The machine roared to life beneath her.
Her heart leaped the first time she hit the gas, but after a minute or so, she discovered driving a four-wheeler was similar to the go-carts she and Andrew raced when he was younger. The scenery rushing past her and Tyson as they steered onto the dirt trails carved into the hilly Texas countryside was much more attractive than the oversize mouse heads she and her son had sped past at the Family Fun Zone.
She redirected her gaze from the view of Tyson’s appealing backside, and enjoyed the lacy stalks of wild-flowers and the fading green of the expansive stretches of pasture surrounding them. Soon they entered a quiet patch of forest. Branches brushed against her shoulders as the pungent smell of pines, so fresh and primeval, invaded her nose. Light fell through the trees in soft patterns and the lush green was interrupted only occasionally by the surprise of autumn color.
Peace settled inside her as her body melted into the drone of the machine. Perhaps all those silly folks who splashed through Texas on loud four-wheelers knew something she did not.
They rode for thirty minutes before Tyson slowed and pointed toward a path that broke off from the one they were on. It disappeared around a curve as if swallowed by hungry trees. She nodded and followed him as he charged into the unknown.
A few minutes and a couple of near decapitations later, they emerged into a clearing bordering a pond. The still beauty of the sparkling water made her catch her breath.
Tyson rolled to a halt and killed his ATV. She did the same.
For a moment, neither spoke. They simply took in the awesome beauty before them.
“A hidden pond,” Dawn breathed, aware of the freshness of the air she took in.
“Not so hidden. I think I fished here as a boy. We’re on the Pattersons’ property.”
Dawn slid from the seat. Her legs felt a bit shaky as she stepped onto the dying grass. “So we’re trespassing?”
Tyson swung off his seat and strolled toward the water’s edge. “No. Avery said several of the property owners carved these paths out so they could do exactly what we’re doing. We’re good.”
Dawn joined him at the edge of the pond. Small minnows darted into the murky depths as she stepped beside him. Birds cawed overhead as squirrels scampered in the heavy brush skirting the water. Again, peace nestled within her.
“I brought some iced tea. Want one?”
Dawn shook her head. “I’m trying to break my afternoon caffeine habit. Not sleeping too good lately.”
“Jeez, that’s what an old person would say,” he said with a smirk.
She propped her hands on her hips. “You calling me old, mister?”
“Well, if the shoe fits and all that,” he said, digging around inside the compartment under the four-wheeler seat. He pulled two bottled iced teas from the depths, along with a couple of red apples. “This one’s decaffeinated.”
She took the bottle and waved off the apple. Her hands felt dusty, and left small streaks of muddy water against the chilled glass. It was hard not to request a wet wipe.
Tyson popped the lid on his drink and held it aloft. “To our friendship and a fine autumn day.”
She clinked her bottle against his, suddenly wishing the tea were a glass of wine, that this was a real date and they were toasting each other in a nonfriendship way. Damn.
She couldn’t help herself. What the hell was wrong with her? Couldn’t she forget about wanting to run her hands up Tyson’s naked chest? Or tracing his earlobe with her tongue. She was seriously whacked. That was all.
Her eyes slid to Tyson as he gulped the tea. Heck, even his throat moving as he swallowed turned her on.
She lifted her own bottle and took a sip. It was good tea. It didn’t help quench her true thirst at all though.
“Look,” Tyson said, breaking the silence. He pointed toward scrubby brush a few feet away. A small brown hare sat perfectly still before twitching an ear in their direction. At her slight intake of breath, it hopped into the tangled brush.
“I love rabbits,” Dawn said, her eyes searching the woods for another trace of the hare. “I used to have little decorative rabbits all over my kitchen.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Why do women do that?”
“Do what?”
“Decorate with stuff like bunny statues. That’s weird.” He drained the last of his tea.
She snorted. “And men aren’t weird? You spend all Sunday monitoring your fantasy football teams, key word being fantasy. And don’t make me bring out the fact men sit on a toilet for, like, hours.”
“To get away from women,” he said.
“Well, don’t get a woman if you don’t want to deal with her. You could save your kitchen from being attacked by bunnies and never worry about putting the toilet seat down.” Dawn grumbled, digging the toe of her sneaker in the scattered pine needles. She silently drew her initial in the sandy soil.
“I can think of better things to do with a woman other than get away from her.” His words were sensual, implying fulfillment of her naughty dreams.
It was a temptation she couldn’t resist.
“Oh?” she said. “What kind of things would you do to a woman?”
Her eyes finally met his. The golden depths betrayed the desire within. She played with fire, but like a pyromaniac she couldn’t stop. She kept lighting matches. And she knew why. She wanted him too much to stop.
“I’d start with her earlobe. I’ve always like a woman’s ear. So delicate.” His gaze followed her hand as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He took her half-filled bottle from her and set it beside his empty one.
Dawn could feel her breath speed up.
“I like to trace the outside
with my tongue. Just the barest of touches, like a butterfly’s wings. Soft. Then I like to suck the earlobe right into my mouth before kissing my way down to that pulse beating in her neck.”
Dawn swallowed as his gaze dipped to that very spot which had quickened in tune with her breathing.
His eyes returned to hers. They had darkened and she wanted to step closer and look deeper into the whiskey depths, to find the true man beneath the outer toughness.
But she didn’t have to because he stepped toward her. She held as still as the rabbit who’d leaped into the woods. But she was aware. Oh, so aware.
His hand touched her cheek, the barest of caresses, before cupping her chin and tilting her head back.
“Then I focus on the mouth. I do love a mouth like yours, Dawn. Sweet and ripe like cherries. Corny, I know. But true. It makes me want to taste. To immerse myself.”
She forgot how to breathe as his lips brushed against hers. Again, it was soft like a wisp of gossamer. He did it once. Twice.
She didn’t allow a third time, for she lifted on both toes and pressed her mouth to his, fully and not so gently.
Tyson didn’t seem to mind. He took her lead and curled his large hand beneath her head, angling her head so he might sample her lips fully.
And it was good. He tasted like warmth, crackling fire and butterscotch schnapps. She couldn’t stop tasting him. Her hands slid to his shoulders and threaded through his hair, bringing his mouth down harder.
He hauled her closer so her breasts pressed against him. Her stomach nestled against his hips and she felt his hardness. A dam broke inside her and need came gushing out, flooding her body. The woods faded around them. All that existed was this man, this incredible man who did incredible things with his mouth.
He cupped her face and drank of her, and she’d never felt anything like it. Ever. She wanted to crawl inside him. Have him crawl inside her. Or thrust inside her. Take her to dizzying heights. New peaks.
One of his hands snaked down her back and cupped her bottom, bringing her against his erection, rocking her against him. A frenzy built as she absorbed herself in Tyson.
