by Jane Porter
“My pleasure.”
“I’m serious,” she said quietly, grateful.
“So am I.”
Her head jerked up and she met his gaze, and his long black lashes fringing eyes that looked like dark amber in the hall light.
“Truce?” he said.
Her brow creased. “We were never fighting.”
“Come on, babe. You’ve been furious with me.”
“Not furious—” she broke off, held her breath as her eyes burned and prickled. She didn’t know if it was the endearment, babe, or the fact that he didn’t understand. He didn’t know what it felt like to go from so excited to so shut down. It had been such a wild rollercoaster of emotion. Either way, it was behind her. Behind them. It didn’t really matter. “Tell me about Sam. You talked to him. Did you find anything out at your end?”
“Not much,” Dillon admitted. “Which is why I’d like to talk to Tyler. Can I?”
She looked up, searched his eyes, trying to see what he was thinking. “I don’t know if he’ll tell you anything. He’s proud.”
“No surprise there.” His deep voice dropped even lower and the corner of his mouth lifted. “He is your son.”
There was something so knowing and intimate in his voice that she exhaled hard, heat rushing through her.
She didn’t want to like Dillon this much...didn’t want to be attracted. He was too young, too handsome, too rugged, too sexy, too everything.
“We’re about to have dinner,” she said, stalling, uncomfortable about the idea of him talking to Tyler, uncertain what Dillon would say.
“No problem. I won’t stay long.”
Still she hesitated, chewing on her lip. “I’m not sure.”
“Why not?”
“I’m worried about him.”
“I am, too. He took quite a licking back there this afternoon.”
“I know. And what concerns me most, is that he could have avoided it.” She swallowed hard and looked up at Dillon, her gaze meeting his. “Tyler’s smart. Really smart, but he’s got...pride...and I’m concerned he didn’t back down from the fight.”
“You would want him to back down?”
She ignored his tone. “Of course. I don’t want to see him hurt.”
“Neither do I, but you can’t encourage him to run from a fight. He’ll just end up being someone’s punching bag—”
“He already was!”
“So teach him to defend himself, and hold his ground, and it will help him in the long run. Tyler might be small, but he’s obviously tough, and that’s a good thing. Not something you want to squash.”
“But if he can’t win a fight...?”
“Then he’ll at least go home with his pride.”
“I hate this,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I’m not sure, either, but I’d like to talk to him.”
Dillon could see the indecision in Paige’s eyes. She didn’t hide her emotions well. He made her nervous, and he knew why. It was the same reason he’d gone home Saturday night instead of heading upstairs to her bedroom. She was dangerous. She wreaked havoc on his control. What he felt between them Saturday night was unusual. He didn’t have that intense connection with others. There had been an energy between them, an awareness, that made the air crackle and hum.
Even now the air crackled and hummed.
It was her. She had this effect on him. She made him want things—want to do things—he couldn’t feel and do with her.
Saturday night as he drove back home to the ranch, he’d had a good twenty-five minutes to regret not going into the house with her. He told himself if he’d just done it—had her, taken her—this need would be gone. The desire would be met and the itch satisfied.
But as he followed her down the hallway, his gaze lingering on the line of her back and the swell of her hips, he wasn’t sure one night would have been enough.
Because this attraction wasn’t just about the way she looked. It was the way she talked, and listened, and laughed, and smiled.
It was the way she ran the diner, and her generous support of every Marietta fundraiser and community event. It was her affection for McKenna and the way she’d acted as a second mom to TJ whenever McKenna needed back up.
She was down to earth, and funny. Loyal, loving, and protective of her family and friends.
And damn easy on the eyes, too.
Best of all, she’d felt amazing in his arms. Like she fit there. Belonged there. Even though she was a slip of a thing and needed four inch heels to even reach his shoulder.
No, he didn’t want to let her go. He hadn’t wanted to walk away from her.
But Dillon didn’t commit. He didn’t do long term, and yet with her, he found himself wondering...what if?
What if they weren’t in such different places and phases...?
What if he wasn’t leaving Marietta?
What if he did have work here?
But the questions didn’t help. They just made things worse. He was leaving tomorrow. His things were packed. He was ready to get on the road and start the drive. It was going to be a long drive, too. Twenty-one hours if the weather held up.
She stopped abruptly, turning to face him, blocking the doorway to the room beyond. “Just don’t take it personally if he doesn’t open up,” she said, her voice low. Her brow furrowed as she glanced over her shoulder into the family room. “Because it’s not personal. He’s not much of a talker. He’s my thinker...my dreamer.”
Dillon looked past her, into the sitting room and spotted Tyler in a chair frowning at his computer screen. “I get it.”
Dillon watched the boy for a moment. Tyler didn’t seem to be enjoying himself much. “What game is he playing? Doesn’t seem as if he likes it much.”
“Oh, no, he’s not playing games. I wish he would. I think he’s working on his science fair project.” Her expression softened. “He’s trying to figure out what to do this year and the entries are due in a week.” She shrugged. “What can I say? He loves science. And math. Not my best subjects, but they’re definitely his.”
In the family room, Paige swiftly scooped Addison from the couch, muted the TV, and after shooting Dillon a last, uncertain glance, headed out, leaving Dillon alone with Tyler.
For a second Dillon just stood inside the family room, taking in the swirling burgundy and green wallpaper—a Victorian pattern, no doubt, and ugly as all heck—and the thick crown and trim around the windows and doors. The TV had been mounted on or against the big wooden oak sideboard....or was it a hutch, and the furniture looked to be period pieces as well, and not comfortable. How could it be when the damask silk couch had a high curving back, and lots of buttons?
The uptight sofa had been paired with an ornate coffee table and two diminutive armchairs. Tyler sat curled in one chair. He was as petite as the chair and fit in it. Dillon couldn’t imagine a man ever being comfortable in such a chair.
Dillon’s gaze rested on Tyler’s bent head. The boy continued to scowl at his laptop, and Dillon wasn’t sure if Tyler was ignoring him, or truly oblivious of what was going on around him. He supposed it didn’t matter.
Dillon took off his coat, dropped it over the arm of the couch and sat down at an angle to put his legs somewhere. “How are you feeling, Tyler?” he asked.
The boy’s head jerked up, and he looked at Dillon with surprise. So he hadn’t been ignoring Dillon. He truly hadn’t heard him enter.
“H-h-hello,” Tyler stuttered, saving his work and closing his laptop. “When did you get here?”
“Just now. How are you feeling? Did your mom get you some ice?”
Tyler shook his head. “She did give me some Jr. Tylenol.”
“I found your glasses.”
Tyler brightened. “That’s good. I need them. I had to make everything really big on my monitor to see.”
Dillon had to check his smile. Tyler was an odd but endearing little kid. “So, I talked to Sam Melk and his dad. I don’t thin
k Sam will be picking on you in the future.”
“That is good.”
“Yes. But at the same time, I don’t think you should let yourself take a beating like that again. You’ve got to do a better job protecting yourself. Get the hands up near your face, and keep them up.” Dillon closed his hands into fists and positioned them in front of his face. “Are you right or left handed?”
“Left.”
“Me, too. So that means you protect your face with your right hand, and use your left for jabbing. Now show me your fist.”
Tyler made a weak fist. Dillon shook his head. “What is that? Make a good hard fist. Wrap your thumb around your fingers. Don’t clench so tightly your hand goes numb. But you’ve got to mean business. Fighting is serious.”
Tyler glanced down at his fist and then sighed. “I don’t really like fighting.” He looked at Dillon. “It’s not fun.”
“No, it’s not. But some boys fight. And sometimes you’re going to get into a situation where they’re going to want to fight you, so you should know how to protect yourself.”
“Like today.”
“Exactly.”
Tyler reached up and gingerly explored his bruised forehead and then patted around his nose, ending with his split lip. “I don’t think I even got one punch in,” he said, dropping his hand.
Dillon said nothing.
Tyler leaned forward. “How did Sam look? Did he have any bruises?”
“No.”
Tyler sagged back into his chair. “I knew it.”
“If you’re as smart as your mom says, learn from this. Don’t let it happen again. And I can help you with that. I’m leaving town tomorrow, but I’ve a brother here who is a very good fighter, and he’s a dad, and has a little boy a couple years younger than you—”
“TJ.”
“Yes. You know TJ?”
“I know TJ’s dad, too. And I know who you are. You’re TJ’s uncle, Dillon Sheenan. You were at his birthday party last year.”
Dillon looked at the boy intently. “Would you want to learn how to defend yourself?”
“Yes. Sir.”
“Okay. Good. I’ll talk to Trey and see what we can arrange. But it’s not so you can start a fight. It’s so you can finish it.”
“Yes, sir—”
“And you don’t need to call me sir. Dillon’s fine.” He nodded to the laptop. “So what have you been working on? You were looking pretty serious when I entered the room.”
“I’ve been trying to decide what I’m going to do for my Science Fair project.”
“You do a project in second grade?”
“It’s not mandatory until fourth grade, but you can do one every year. I entered a project last year and took 2nd in my school, and 5th place in the county.”
“In the county?”
Tyler nodded, expression serious. “So this year I have to do even better. I want to take 1st in my school and 3rd or better in the county.”
“I’m impressed. What did you do it on last year??”
“On chickens, and grain preference. I used two different flocks of hens, Buff Orpingtons and Leghorns. I want do another poultry experiment. I like working with chickens but we had to get rid of our coop. The neighbors complained about the noise.”
“You used to have a chicken coop?”
“Yeah, but Mrs. Bingley didn’t like it. I can’t say I blame her. Our rooster, Mr. Red, was pretty loud. Especially at five in the morning.”
Dillon smiled. “You’re a farm boy at heart.”
“More of a scientist really. I just happen to like studying poultry because people need food. We need to eat, and chickens give us eggs and meat.”
“So what is your project for this year?”
“I haven’t decided. That’s the problem, because I’m running out of time. Our entries are soon and you have to say what your experiment is going to be on your form, and I can’t choose.”
Dillon checked his smile. Tyler was not your ordinary second grader. Didn’t most kids procrastinate when it came to science fairs and projects? “But you have ideas?”
“Lots of them.”
“Let me hear them.”
“Do you know anything about chickens?”
“Used to keep them. And one of my brothers did a science fair project with one of our flocks. Can’t remember what it was. Something to do with a clicker or treat or something like that.”
Tyler’s eyes widened. “I read about one called Clicker Training Chickens. Do you think that was it?”
“Maybe. I know there are a number of different experiments out there. Lots of the 4-H and FFA kids do them every year for the county fair. So what do you have in mind? Especially as you are running out of time?”
“I was thinking about trying the experiment where you test a chicken’s reaction to a hawk versus a swan shadow.”
Dillon’s eyebrow quirked. “The famous 1937 hawk and goose experiment by Lorenz and Tinbergen.”
“No. Not hawk and goose, hawk and swan. You cut out these shadows and fly them overhead and record the chick’s response.”
“Right. And in 1939, Oskar Keinroth did a similar experiment to Lorenz’ and Tinbergen’s and discovered that domestic chickens are more alarmed by short-necked, long-tailed birds than by long-necked ones.”
Tyler looked crestfallen. “So the experiment has been done a lot?”
“It’s been tested over the years, but I still think it’s a great experiment to do. Especially since you are interested in poultry and you live here in Montana and you want to know if it’s true. What would be your test groups? I’d think you’d want three or four.”
“I was thinking newly hatched chicks, two-week-old chicks, and older hens.”
“Sounds good. One-day-old chicks, two-week-old chicks, and what...two-year-old chickens?”
Tyler nodded. “That would be good. And I’m going to film the experiment, too, so that way I can have a recording to study later. Last year I didn’t have anything for backup and I think it hurt my data.”
Dillon hid his smile. “Smart plan.”
“Hey, you guys about done?” It was Paige, back in the doorway, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “Dinner is ready, Tyler, and Addison is already at the table.”
Tyler glanced from Dillon to his mom. “Can TJ’s uncle stay for dinner?”
Paige’s brow knit. “Um, I don’t think—” she broke off, looking to Dillon. “You have plans, right?”
Dillon saw the look she was giving him. It was one of those meaningful looks, the kind that dared him to disagree with her. He didn’t know why, but it amused him. She was so determined to get rid of him. So determined to shut him out.
His upper lip curled and it crossed his mind that he wasn’t at all sure he wanted to be shut out. “I actually don’t have plans,” he said, smiling at her, feeling a perverse pleasure when her blue eyes sparked at him and her jaw tightened. “I’d love to stay.”
“I don’t know that we have enough,” she protested weakly.
“I’ll share with him,” Tyler answered. “And let’s face it. Addison never eats her dinner anyway. There should be more than enough.”
Paige was so aware of Dillon sitting across from her at the kitchen table that she could hardly eat. She felt like a kid, out on her first date, which made chewing hard and swallowing harder. She gave up trying after awhile, and focused on getting Addison to eat instead.
Tyler and Dillon ended up doing most of the talking, and talking to each other about last year’s science fair and what won the top prizes. Of course Tyler remembered who won and with what, and Dillon then wanted to know what Tyler thought of each of the experiments.
Paige had always known that her quiet, introspective Tyler was something of an old soul, a boy more interested in how things worked than who-was-doing-what on the playground. Since preschool he’d struggled to fit in and make friends with kids his own age, but it was still eye-opening for her to hear him discuss various experiments and p
rojects with Dillon without betraying an ounce of self-consciousness. Tyler could back up his opinions—and there were many—with data and research. He liked arguing with Dillon, too, confident in his point of view.
Addison was the one who tired of the dinner conversation first, stirring impatiently in her seat and asking if she could please go finish her show.
Paige glanced at the Bavarian wall clock and was shocked to see that it was already almost eight, nearly the kids’ bathtime. “It’s time for bath and bed. We’ll finish the show tomorrow, Addy.”
Addison slumped in her chair. “But you promised me!”
“Tomorrow,” Paige said firmly, reaching for the dinner plates and stacking them together. “Because tonight we have stories, and we’re on the last chapter of A Little Princess and you want to find out how it ends, remember?”
Addison immediately perked up. “Okay. But tomorrow I can watch the rest of my show?”
“Yes.” She was reaching for the last plate when Dillon took it from her, their fingers briefly brushing.
“I’ve got these,” he said. “You go take care of them.”
“What?” Paige asked, blinking at him as her fingers curled into a fist. Her skin tingled from where their hands had touched. She tingled.
He lifted the stack of plates and carried them to the sink. “I’ll do the dishes, and you can do whatever you need to do...give the kids their bath, put them to bed. Don’t worry about me. I’ll finish up here and then head on out.”
She didn’t know what was sexier...the fit of his old faded Levis, or the fact that he’d just offered to do the dishes. “You’re going to do the dishes and then just leave?”
“Yes. Unless you want me to stay.”
Just like that her stomach flip-flopped, the blood surging in her veins.
His gaze met hers and he smiled at her, and whatever was left of her serenity was gone. The man was far too hot, and far too dangerous to her peace of mind.
Addison grabbed at Paige’s hand and tugged on it. “Let’s go, Mommy. Read me the story.”
Paige glanced from her daughter to Dillon, who was now leaning against the counter, hands in his front pockets, shoulders taut, stretching the thin knit fabric so that it hugged his torso and the hard muscles of his chest and arms.
