by Julia London
Ruby didn’t answer.
Kyra clucked her tongue. “I’m speaking to you, Ruby Ellen.”
Ruby dropped her hand and looked at the window. “I didn’t brush my teeth.”
“I know. I just told you I’ll be back, but I need to talk to Mr. Bishop first. Stay here.”
“Okay, Mommy,” she said and reached for an orange crayon.
Kyra returned to the kitchen and discovered Dax had cleaned up the pizza mess and collected the beer bottles. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said.
“I kind of did,” he said with a lazy smile. “Thanks for the pizza. That saves me from having to heat a frozen dinner.”
He looked like he was going to leave, and Kyra wasn’t ready for him to go yet. “Thank you,” she said.
Dax held up a hand. “You have to stop thanking me. You’ve said it, I get it, but you’re saying it too much.”
“I can never say it enough, not after what you did today. Will you at least stay for one more beer? It’s so nice tonight. We could sit on the porch if you like.”
He pondered the invitation. “Sure,” he said.
Kyra smiled with that tiny rattle of giddiness in her again. “Just give me one minute, will you? I’m going to get Ruby’s teeth brushed and put her to bed.”
He nodded; Kyra practically dashed to Ruby’s room. Ruby had colored half a page orange and had just started in on green. She protested when Kyra pulled her up to brush her teeth and wash her face, but she was tired and came along willingly, then sank into her bed and closed her eyes without complaint.
Kyra returned to the kitchen. Dax had already gone outside. She got the beers—her last two, she noticed, and mentally calculated when she could go for groceries again—and went out to join him. She pulled her two folding chairs up to the railing, and they sat and propped their feet on it, both of them staring out at the lake and the kaleidoscope of color the setting sun cast on the surface.
Neither of them spoke at first, but after several moments, Kyra couldn’t stand the empty air around them. “So,” she said very casually, “what’s your story, Dax Bishop?”
“Haven’t got one.”
She laughed. “Everyone has a story. Like, do you have any siblings? Where are your parents?”
“I have a brother,” he said. “He’s in the army and stationed in Germany right now. My parents are in Phoenix. What about you?” he asked.
“It’s just me and my dad,” she said. “My mom died when I was twelve.”
“Wow, that sucks,” he said. “Car wreck?”
“Brain tumor,” Kyra said. “Cancer.”
He winced. “I’m really sorry, Kyra.”
She smiled softly. “Thanks. It’s been a really long time now, but I still miss her so much.”
“Where is Grandpa?” he asked.
“Florida,” she said on a sigh. “Tampa area.”
Dax took a good drink of his beer, then began to peel the label. “Mind if I ask when your husband died?”
“My what?”
He looked up from his work on the label. “Your husband. Maybe I read too much into Ruby’s story of a car wreck and amputated legs and how he now rides a skateboard to train big cats in Africa, but I figured the car wreck might have been real.”
Kyra didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Laugh, apparently, as she suddenly had to bite one down. In fact, she doubled over trying not to guffaw.
Dax grinned. “It’s the skateboard, isn’t it?”
“My daughter has a very vivid imagination,” Kyra said and couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. “Her father is very much alive. Or at least according to Facebook, he is.”
Dax looked surprised. He shook his head. “For the record, I didn’t buy the cat training.”
Kyra laughed.
“You’re divorced?”
“No, not divorced,” Kyra said. She always hated this part when the subject of Ruby’s father came up. “I’ve never been married. It was one of those things—I met her father at a destination wedding in Mexico. I knew him for a total of like, three days.”
Dax’s expression remained impassive, but nevertheless Kyra could feel herself coloring. “What can I say? It was a superfun weekend,” she said, trying to sound light and airy. “But . . . he failed to mention he was engaged.”
“Yikes,” Dax said and turned his gaze to the lake.
“It’s embarrassing,” she admitted. “But, you know . . . life happens.”
“It sure does,” Dax agreed. “I take it he’s not involved with Ruby?”
“Nope.” Kyra drank more beer.
“Does she know he exists?”
“She knows about him,” Kyra said. “It’s hard to explain to a child, you know? I’ve told her that sometimes daddies don’t live with their kids for whatever reason. But of course it’s hard for her to understand, and I guess she fills in the gaps.” Kyra looked away from him, remembering the times Ruby had asked her pointedly about her father. Can he come visit? Does he know my name? She’d tried to be as truthful as she could, but she guessed Ruby would always have questions. When she was older, maybe she’d understand.
And then again, maybe not.
“Can we please talk about you again?” she asked, feeling uncomfortable with the topic. “So you’ve been in the army, and you are a furniture maker.”
“I was a paramedic in there, too,” he said.
“Really! Where was that?”
“Teaneck.”
Kyra didn’t really know where that was, other than somewhere near New York. “How’d you end up in Teaneck?”
He put down his beer bottle on the porch and looked at Kyra. “My wife wanted to move to the area.”
“Oh,” she said. “A wife.”
“Ex-wife.”
“How long?”
“That I’ve been divorced? Or that I was married?”
“Both.”
He glanced down. “Both a while.”
He obviously didn’t want to talk about it, and Kyra found the silence between them a little awkward. She could talk about Josh, offer him up in the spirit of situations gone bad. But the truth was that it had taken her several years before she could explain the situation without feeling a little sick, and now she just felt ashamed.
Dax’s phone beeped. He fished it out of his pocket and looked at it. “Great,” he muttered and shifted his gaze to Kyra. “I need to go.”
Kyra wondered if that was Pretty Girl.
He stood up. She did, too.
He paused and looked at his phone. “Maybe I should get your number in case . . . in case something comes up again,” he said.
“Good idea,” she said and put out her hand for his phone. He tapped into his contacts list and handed the device to her. She typed Kyra the Neighbor and entered her number before handing it back to him.
He stuffed the phone in his pocket. “Thank for the pizza and the beer,” he said. He smiled a little and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“You’re more than welcome. Thank you—”
“No more thank-yous, remember?” He started down the steps.
Kyra smiled, far too brightly. “Thanks for the car—oops, I forgot. Oh geez, wait, Dax!” she said suddenly. “I forgot to pay you.” She darted inside to her purse, and when she returned to the porch, Dax had gone down to her car. Kyra joined him there and held up the money. He moved as if to take it from her, but Kyra yanked her hand back. “Before I hand this over, I’m going to need some proof that the car is working.”
“I like that,” Dax said, nodding. “Always make sure you got what you paid for.” He opened the car door, got in, turned the ignition, and it started right away without a single grind. Frankly, it purred.
Kyra gasped with delight. “It’s like Christmas,” she said. “A new car.”
He shut down the car, got out, closed the door, and held up her keys. “That put you back two seventy-five,” he said.
Kyra counted out the cash and handed it to hi
m. He folded the bills and put them in his pocket. Kyra put her hands on her keys, but he didn’t let go—his thunder-blue eyes locked on hers. One corner of his mouth tipped up in a droll smile. Kyra could feel things stirring in her, swirling around. Lustful, yearning things. She could feel a little heat tingling under her skin and her own smile slowly emerging.
Dax let go of the keys and brushed her hair from her face. “You’re looking at me in that hungry way again.”
“Am I?”
He nodded and caressed her cheek with a knuckle.
“Well, don’t worry. I’m not going to kiss you.”
“Yeah, well,” he said, shrugging before he slipped his hand to her nape, “I’m going to kiss you.”
His lips softly met hers. His tongue moved along the seam of her lips, then slipped into her mouth. It was a simple kiss, but it was so erotic to Kyra that she had to grab his waist to keep from flittering away.
He caught her chin in one hand and angled her head so he could deepen the kiss, and a sizzle began to creep through Kyra’s body. That kiss was a shock wave of desire, electric and pulse-pounding, and her body was revving up, ready to take off.
He pushed her up against the car and slid his leg between hers, pressing against her. Kyra made a sound in the back of her throat that was really a desperate cry for sexual release. She was kissing him like she’d never been aroused in her life until now. Her skin was flush, and the air was slipping out of her, making her feel heady. She was rising up on her tiptoes to return his kiss with all that want, holding his head in her hands now. She forgot that she’d promised she wouldn’t kiss him, forgot that he was dating someone else, forgot that she had only a half hour ago imagined how their neighborly friendship might unfold . . . but not like this.
There was nothing like this, and boy oh boy, she was going to lose her mind.
Dax tasted and felt so damn good, and she was imagining how he would feel inside of her, and she was certain this was going to lead to some of the best sex of her life—
And then Dax lifted his head. He ran his thumb over her lip, then her cheek.
She sucked in air, trying not to pant. “That . . . was much better than last night,” Kyra said. “I mean, if you’re judging kissing on a technical scale.”
“Agreed.”
“So . . .” she said, still staring into his eyes, “is this a thing?”
Dax chuckled. “Nope.” He tucked her hair behind her ear.
“I didn’t think so,” Kyra said. It was crazy how much she hoped it would be the start of a thing. It was like a spigot had been turned on in her, spewing desire and wanting this guy to stick around. Not just tonight, but for . . . longer. Days, maybe. Weeks and months. Kyra really liked Dax. Really liked him. She adored how he treated Ruby with respect and affection. She admired how he was a no-nonsense but tender kind of guy. And she damn sure liked the way he kissed. She would probably make herself raving mad thinking about how much she’d like whatever else he wanted to do with her.
Dax softly tugged on her earlobe, then dropped his hand and started across the yard. “Don’t forget to fire that old woman,” he called over his shoulder.
“Yep,” she said dreamily, but she was certain he didn’t hear her.
She was going to do something about that old woman, but first she was going to have a bubble bath and imagine all the places that kiss might have gone while she soaked.
Chapter Eleven
He had to stop kissing that girl, that’s all there was to it. Now, because he’d kissed her, and he’d kept thinking about kissing her, and he’d been off his game, Dax had managed to get himself stuck hosting a small barbecue. He’d rather guide a canoe over Niagara Falls, but that’s what happened when a woman distracted a man—he said and did dumb things.
It happened the day after that kiss. He was up early. He hadn’t slept well because he’d been thinking about it all night. And he had some furniture to deliver that morning and was worried the varnish hadn’t dried.
He stopped in at the Green Bean to devour a bear claw and read the morning paper, starting with page one and then concluding with the MLB box scores, none of which he retained thanks to Kyra and her lips, then headed over to John Beverly Home Interiors.
He pulled around to the back just as Wallace was arriving at work in his red roadster. Wallace was wearing bright yellow pants today with a pink polo shirt, a belt with pineapples dancing across it, and boat shoes. It was a little blinding.
Wallace lowered his mirrored Ray-Bans to look at Dax. “What a treat for my morning eyes,” he said. “Wouldn’t I like to wake up to you every morning.”
“Yeah, well, the feeling is not mutual,” Dax said.
“So cruel,” Wallace said, smiling. “What’d you bring me, handsome?”
“A dresser,” Dax said. He opened the gate of his pickup and brought it down, putting the drawers in so Wallace could inspect it.
“Beautiful,” Wallace said as he ran his hand over the top.
Not only had Dax cut a top with wavy edges, he’d distressed the whole piece to give it a rustic look. People up here liked that look in their lake houses. As if they’d salvaged their furniture from pioneers.
“It looks like a piece right out of Alice in Wonderland. Or The Wild Wild West,” Wallace said.
“Huh,” Dax said, looking at the piece again.
“Either way, I adore it, as usual,” Wallace said and sighed longingly as he glanced at Dax again. “To think of all that talent bound up in the body of one tight T-shirt. Come in, let me write a check.”
As Wallace retreated to the office to cut the check, Dax examined a vase with some paper hydrangeas, his thoughts drifting back to last night. He was so distracted by those thoughts, so caught up in remembering how her mouth had felt against his, and her body had felt against his, and how much he’d liked it, that he missed the approach of Janet and didn’t see her until she popped up right in front of him. “Well?” she demanded. “How was your date?”
The kiss business was bad—Dax had forgotten all about Heather.
When he didn’t answer immediately and effusively, Janet punched him in the arm. “Come on, Dax—how’d you like Heather?”
“She was nice,” Dax said. Maybe he should ask Wallace to start mailing his checks to him so he wouldn’t have to come in at all.
“She really liked you,” Janet said, waggling her eyebrows at him. “She said she was hoping you’d go with her to this new jazz club in Black Springs Saturday. I told her I was sure you’re free.”
“Why would you say that, Janet?” he asked, annoyed.
“Because I’m sure you are,” she said with an indifferent shrug.
“Well, I’m not.”
“Why not?” Janet demanded.
Why had he ever let himself be talked into this mess? “I’ve got a thing Saturday.”
Janet stared. And then she laughed. “You don’t have a thing. Come on, Dax, don’t make me laugh. You don’t have anything but that dog. You shouldn’t be so shy. You have to get out there and meet people—”
“I’m having a barbecue, that’s why,” he blurted before Janet could browbeat him into a jazz club.
Janet gasped. And then she laughed harder.
“What is so funny?” Beverly McCauley Sanders, the owner of the shop, came in through the front door as Janet was practically writhing on the floor in a skirt that was just too short.
“Dax is hosting a barbecue!” Janet wailed.
“What?” Wallace screeched as he came out of the office with a check.
This was Dax’s own damn fault for having opened his mouth. “What’s the big deal?” he asked irritably. “I’ve got new neighbors. I’m being . . . neighborly.”
The three John Beverly employees looked at each other. And then howled again.
“What?” Dax demanded irritably.
“Don’t mind them,” Bev said soothingly as she fought to contain a huge smile. “Where are you having this barbecue, sugar?”
“In your hobbit hovel?” Wallace squealed with delight.
“It’s not a hovel, it’s cozy. And it’s a small barbecue,” Dax said defensively. “Just some folks living near me.”
“You know what?” Bev asked. “John and I will be at my mom’s on Saturday. We’ll come by, too.” Bev’s mom and dad were Mr. and Mrs. McCauley, who, he’d also forgotten, would be included in the general folks living near me. Dax should have thought of that complication, but no, he’d turned his head to mush by kissing a very attractive woman.
“We’ll all come by!” Janet said.
Dax began to panic. “That’s not what I had in mind.”
“It’s not a big deal, sweetie,” Bev said, waving her ring-heavy fingers at him. “Just throw some more dogs on the grill. I’ll bring my famous potato salad.”
“It’s not famous,” Wallace said. “It’s right out of Betty Crocker.”
“I don’t have a grill,” Dax said.
Wallace gasped. “What is this, some sort of Boy Scout cookout? Hot dogs on sticks?” He pressed a hand to his throat.
“It’s a small group,” Dax said.
“Darling, you still have to have a grill,” Wallace said. “I have a tabletop grill. I’ll bring it. But I am not eating hot dogs. Do you know how processed they are? We need turkey burgers.”
“I can bring turkey burgers,” Janet said.
“This is really not what I had in mind,” Dax said again, sounding pretty hopeless even to himself.
“Don’t you worry about it,” Bev said and gave him a pat to his cheek. “It’s going to be fine. It’s a barbecue, not brain surgery. Shall we say four?”
“Sounds perfect,” Janet said.
“Great! Now, let’s get to work!” Bev said and whirled around, her silky tunic swirling with her.
That’s how Dax was stuck with planning a barbecue for Saturday. He hadn’t actually grilled anything in years, and he hadn’t exactly had people over in at least as long. This was going to take some planning. He’d have to make a list or something. He’d have to get things he’d never use again, like pickle relish and charcoal.
He returned to Number Two and sat in his truck, thinking about this damn barbecue and the predicament he’d gotten himself into. But he had to hand it to himself—he’d given himself the perfect excuse to see Kyra again.
