Dylan (19 page)

Ronnie rinsed out the sink while she answered, “In the bread crumbs.”

“I'm hungry.”

This time she walked over to stand beside him and placed her good hand on his back. Not a tentative touch but the touch of someone who was familiar… like a lover. It was a start—a damn good start.

“Are you always hungry?”

He shrugged. “Mostly.” He eyed the crisply browned chicken pieces as Ronnie splashed white wine into the pan and covered it. “Is that dinner tomorrow?”

She smiled and handed him an empty plate and nodded toward the dish. “No. I made it just for you.” She set the timer and turned the flame down under the pan. “It'll be ready in five minutes. Help yourself.” Dylan watched; he hadn't really watched a woman bustling around a kitchen since he'd been a kid. “What were you doing when you tried to slice your knuckles off?”

Her back stiffened, the only indication that she'd been affected by his question, but he didn't know if it was in a good way or bad. He'd have to ask.

“Washing dishes and thinking.”

“It must have been some serious thinking, or else you wouldn't have cut yourself.”

She surprised him by agreeing. “Sometimes my mind wanders and it takes awhile to get it back focused on the job at hand.”

“What were you thinking about?” He watched the way her eyes changed from a soft spring green to brilliant emerald. Her cheeks flushed and her breathing became shallow. Lord what a picture his woman made when she was aroused. Moving in, he took the spatula from her hand and set it on the edge of the dish and pulled her into his arms.

“Kiss me back, Ronnie.” He dipped his head and immersed himself in her taste, her scent, her need.

She pressed her agile body against his until there wasn't a breath of air between them. He wished he wasn't so noble and hadn't already decided to go slowly because the need to rip the clothes from her body had him clenching his hands into tight fists.

Ronnie traced the tip of her tongue along his bottom lip and moaned softly into his mouth. When she nipped his lip, he slid his hands to her curvy backside and plundered.

He needed her… now. He slid his hands back up to the collar of her T-shirt and grabbed a fistful with each hand, ready to rip.

“Ronnie, are you upstairs?”

She jolted at the sound of her name being called and eased back from him, forcing him to either let go or rip her shirt in half. He sighed and let go.

Mavis Beeton walked into the kitchen and said, “I, um, ran out of mas—oh, sorry,” she said with a nod toward Dylan. “I didn't realize you weren't alone.”

“My tools and my truck are right outside.” He wondered why the older woman was blushing. Imagine Mrs. Beeton blushing. “Is everything all right?”

“Oh, just fine.” She turned toward Ronnie. “May I have a word in private?”

“Sure, we'll be right back.”

Dylan watched the two walk down the hallway toward Ronnie's bedroom and felt the knife of need slice deeply. He wanted to take that particular walk and be the one going with Ronnie to her room.

Emotions roiled in his gut. Lust tangled with need and got all mixed up with an intangible feeling that he'd never felt before—something that he'd never experienced with Sandy, but was a part of his parents' marriage and it scared the shit out of him. Needing to get a grip, he picked up the plate and the spatula, serving himself chicken instead of kissing Ronnie. He skewered a forkful, blew on it, and took a bite. Tenderly cooked meat, perfectly spiced and lightly browned, had his mouth watering for another taste. “God, the woman can cook.”

He was on his second piece when he heard the women coming back.

“Thank you, my dear,” Mrs. Beeton said, gripping the brown paper bag with both hands as she walked out the door. “Now don't forget to keep that cut dry for a couple of days.”

“I will,” Ronnie promised, watching Mavis leave.

Taste buds humming, Dylan yanked her close. Her honey-sweet flavor mingled with the Italian spices, half of which he couldn't name, but the combination went to his head like three fingers of Irish whiskey. His tongue tangled with hers and his brain shouted
More!

Hands urgent, mouth latched onto the side of her neck, he gave silent thanks as she went pliant in his arms, giving herself to him on this most basic level. Lust had him by the balls and tied up in knots. “Ronnie, darlin', ask me to stay.”

She pushed against his hold. He wanted her so badly, the claws of need raked through his gut and left him raw and bleeding, but he wouldn't force her. He eased his grip and she slipped out of his arms.

“I can't think straight when you kiss me.”

“And that's a problem because…”

“I'm not sure I'm ready for this.”

He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Which part of this? Me staying over, or me making love to you until your eyes cross and your head spins?”

Impossibly, she laughed. He was as serious as a heart attack and she was laughing. He frowned down at her, needing to make her understand that this was no laughing matter. Before he could speak, she held up both hands. He froze.

“I want you so bad I've been on the brink of an orgasm since the other day at your ranch. If you think that's easy, you'd be wrong.”

The image of Ronnie walking around with the female equivalent of a hard-on had him grinning. “That a fact?”

Her eyes flashed the split-second warning before she had her hands on his chest, shoving him backward.

But he was ready for his filly's temper. He grabbed ahold and pulled her with him. The table jumped and the chairs rattled as they hit the floor. The air rushed out of his lungs and his back ached like a sonofabitch, but he protected Ronnie within the shelter of his arms.

“How long are you gonna make me wait, darlin'?”

She laid her forehead against his and sighed. “How long have I got?”

He slid his hands down the length of her spine to his favorite handhold, her curvaceous backside. Torturing himself, he stroked her rounded cheeks before splaying the palms of his hands on the apex of her curves and pressing down.

Her breath caught and her eyes flashed with desire.

“Time's up.”

She matched his grin and lowered her lips to his. The first kiss was a tentative foray, like a lover's first kiss… chaste but sweet.

He groaned and she deepened the kiss, adding the tip of her tongue, amping up the torture, stoking the fires of passion burning inside of him. “Darlin', you'd better be sure before you go any further. There won't be any stopping this time.”

***

Ronnie's mouth opened before her brain fully kicked into gear. “Do I have to worry about you lassoing my best friend and branding her too?”

Hurt flashed in his eyes, but before she could take the words back, he shifted her weight and slid out from beneath her. He stood looking down at her and opened his mouth to speak, but then must have thought better of it. Raking a hand through his hair, he blew out a frustrated breath, spun on his boot heel, and stalked out of the kitchen.

The sound of his footsteps echoed on the staircase. She'd ended a good thing before they'd gotten started. Tears filled her eyes, but she couldn't bring herself to blink them back. She'd done the unforgiveable… judged, tried, and hanged a man before he had a chance to defend himself.

Shifting onto her side, she curled up into a ball, but the memory of the hurt in Dylan's eyes wouldn't leave her. Funny thing was, she felt worse than the night she'd discovered her ex–best friend was having an affair with her ex-husband. This time it felt as if her heart were being ripped out of her breast while someone scraped her insides raw before pouring acid on them.

“Drawn and quartered,” she murmured. “Just the punishment I deserve.”

“You gonna tell me what's eatin' you?”

Dylan ignored Jesse, grabbed another bale of hay, and tossed it down off the truck. He hurt, inside and out, like he'd had the ever lovin' shit kicked out of him and then rolled over so the black-haired filly could stomp all over him.

“Never even got to the good part,” he mumbled. He sunk the hayforks into another bale, yanked up the bale, and tossed it down at his brother. Jesse swore as the bale hit him in the chest, but his brother's anger didn't faze Dylan. Not much would until he could figure out just what he'd done wrong last night. He hadn't made any promises that he'd broken… hadn't cheated on anyone, yet she'd all but accused him of it.

Hell, he felt worse than the night he'd walked in from putting in a full day riding and mending fences and bumped into Sandy on her way out the back door, bags packed, one in each hand. Shock had held him immobile while the woman he'd been planning on marrying carefully placed her bags into her trunk and slammed the lid and turned back to him. She'd had tears in her eyes, but she blinked them away and reached for him, hugged him tight promising to write once she reached her destination in Egypt, and asked him to remember to listen to the next woman who was lucky enough to have him in her life.

That was nearly two years ago and counting. She'd written letters and sent a couple of postcards, but he'd never written back. He didn't know what to say.

“Never told her I loved her.”

Jesse paused and looked up at his brother. “Did you?”

“I just told you I didn't.”

Jesse snickered. “No, Romeo, did you love Sandy?”

Dylan kept working, the movement kept his brain from short-circuiting over the green-eyed siren who'd pulled the rug out from beneath him last night. “I thought I did. We grew up together, spent so much time together, and made plans—well, that is, I made plans. She had other ones that I guess I didn't believe. I never thought she'd actually want to leave Pleasure. Life's close to perfect out here. Why would she go?”

Jesse shrugged. “Texas isn't for everyone, Bro.” Wiping his sleeve across his eyes, his brother asked, “So what's eating you?”

“Siren-green eyes.”

“Ahh.” Jesse took off his gloves and slapped them against his jean-clad leg. “That makes sense.”

Dylan snorted.
Didn't to him
. Hell, he still couldn't believe he'd been accused and convicted without ever having the chance to prove himself. “Women.”

“Can't live with 'em,” Jesse said cheerfully, walking over to the jug of sweet tea he'd left by the corral. Taking a swig, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and lifted the jug and shook it.

“Not yet,” Dylan said, declining the offer of a cool drink. “Why do women do what they do?”

Jesse shrugged, pulling his gloves back on. “Why do men keep fallin' for 'em?”

They looked at one another and grinned. “'Cause they think with their johnsons,” they said simultaneously.

“Was Grandpa ever wrong?”

“Not yet,” Dylan answered, forking and tossing another hay bale down to his brother.

They finished off-loading the pickup before Dylan stopped for a drink. “You make this tea?”

Jesse shook his head. “Emily did.”

Dylan tilted his head back and drowned the dust in his throat with a gulp of sweet tea. “She's getting better at it.”

Jesse snorted. “Yeah, last time she used ten tea bags.”

Dylan snickered. “Jesus, I thought she'd killed me.”

“Big Bro would have if he caught you laughing at his woman.”

“Love's got him by the throat.”

Jesse agreed. “But it works for him.”

“She works,” Dylan added. And for the life of him, he couldn't understand why Ronnie had struck out at him last night. “You understand women?”

His brother tilted his head and thought about it. “Enough to know some shoot to peak faster than others and that some have this sweet little spot on the side of their neck—”

“Not what I meant… but good to know you're learning.” Dylan tilted his Stetson to the back of his forehead and rubbed at the line of sweat, adding a swipe of dirt. “I mean about the way they think, why their minds work ass-backwards.”

“Nope.” Jesse put his gloves back on and headed toward the barn, calling out over his shoulder. “Emily's in the kitchen. Ask her.”

“Hell.” He couldn't ask what he wanted to. How could he phrase it so she wouldn't take a swing at him with the frying pan or other implement of destruction found in their kitchen?

“She should know,” Jesse said, turning around, walking backwards toward the barn. “Let me know what she says.”

He brushed at the bits of hay clinging to his shirt and legs and stomped onto the back porch.

“Wipe the pasture off your boots!”

“It's not Tyler,” he answered, pulling the door open.

Emily put her hands on her hips and frowned at him. “Don't care. Wipe your feet before you track God knows what in. I just scrubbed the floor.”

Embarrassed, Dylan backed up and did as he was told.
Women.
But maybe Emily would be able to help him understand how Ronnie's mind worked. “Emily?”

“Hmmm?” Her back was to him while she stirred a bowl filled with what smelled like chocolate cake or maybe brownies.

“What're you baking?”

“Brownies.”

He'd heard from Tyler that she baked brownies when she was stressed. “Is everything all right?”

Emily looked over her shoulder at him. “Not sure how the new guy's working out.”

Dylan's stomach clenched. “Doesn't he show up on time?”

“Most days.”

Tyler's girlfriend had become a part of their family and didn't normally speak in one-word sentences. Something was on her mind. Wanting to help, he asked, “Is he giving you ladies a hard time?”

“Not exactly.”

The need to pound on something started bubbling to the surface. His brothers weren't handy, so he suppressed the urge and tried to get to the bottom of the situation. “Then what's bothering you?”

“It's hard to put into words,” she said, setting the spoon on the countertop. “I've got a bad feeling, but it isn't fair to fire him without giving him a solid reason, other than he makes me twitchy.”

Dylan nodded. “Agreed.” Watching her open the oven and slide the pan of brownie batter inside, he waited until she closed the door and turned back around.

Their eyes met and she asked. “Something bothering you too?”

His shoulders slumped. How did he ask a woman to help him figure out one of her kind?

“Is this about Ronnie?”

Her question had his gaze snapping up from his boots to meet hers. She tilted her head to one side waiting for him to answer. He shrugged and finally said, “She doesn't trust me.”

“Why not?”

“I have no idea.”

“Did you do anything that would give her a reason not to trust you?”

He shook his head.

“Then maybe it's not about you.”

Irritation flared inside of him. “Then who?”

“Someone in her past taught her not to trust.”

“Thanks.”

Emily's words swirled in his head and he remembered Ronnie's question. Putting the pieces together as he walked through the kitchen, he suddenly changed direction and headed toward the second floor. He hadn't intended to go into town this early, but now that she'd put the thought in his head, it all started to make sense. What if he'd reacted differently to her question? What if he'd simply moved forward the way he wanted to, smoothly talking the woman into bed? He might not have spent the entire morning spoiling for a fight.

He grabbed a clean T-shirt and the deodorant stick he'd tossed on the bed just that morning. Ready to tackle the job he'd left unfinished last night and the woman he was ready to butt heads with so he could get tangled up with her later, Dylan bounded down the stairs. He waved at Emily on his way through the kitchen.

She had her hands in a sink full of suds. “Aren't you riding out to the western pasture with Tyler this afternoon?”

He shook his head, “Jesse'll do it for me. I've got things to take care of in town.”

Emily smiled at him. “Good luck, Dylan.”

He went with his gut and pulled her into his arms and hugged her. “I'm going to need it.”

She smiled at him. “Give her a chance to confide in you.” She patted his shoulder as he released her. “She needs a reason to trust you, Dylan. Whoever hurt her before did a number on her. It's not easy to lay your heart on the line after it's been stomped on.”

“If Tyler ever changes his mind…”

Emily laughed and shook her head at him. “Not in this lifetime. Now get going!”

Dylan found Jesse out by the corral. “Hey, I've got to go to town early today.”

His brother looked at him but didn't say anything.

“Tyler's headed out to ride fences later—”

“I've got your back.”

Dylan opened the truck door and started to get inside, but Jesse's question stopped him. “You coming back tonight?”

He looked over his shoulder. His brother didn't look as bad as he had the day before. The desperate look in his eyes was gone. Good thing—his knuckles were still sore from punching Jesse in the face and he didn't think he was up to fighting with him tonight. “Not if things go as planned.” He paused then said, “Thanks, Jess. I'll pay you back.”

“Damn straight.”

Putting the truck in drive he wondered if Ronnie would kick him out if he showed up at her door in the middle of the day. As he got out to open and then close the gate, he realized he couldn't blame her after the way he'd left last night. Hell, he was acting like a female. Emotions were not his department; their youngest brother had the lion's share in their family and had dealt with that sort of thing more often. He and Tyler didn't. Up until recently the oldest Garahan had pretty much kept to himself since his ex walked out, but then Emily burst into his life and everything changed.

Dylan acknowledged that he had a similar experience and hadn't been the same since he'd lassoed a green-eyed lady with long black hair.

What was it with Garahans and women walking out? Driving into town he mulled over that thought until he'd crossed into the town limits. He wasn't sure and would have to ask Tyler, but he wondered if their inability to voice their feelings had anything to do with the women leaving them. Then again, Jesse talked all the time and Lori still left him high and dry—twice, for the same loser!

Making a left onto North Main Street, he wondered if maybe it was the women they'd chosen the first time around and not so much something that was inherently wrong with the men of the Circle G. After all, if the women didn't fit, was it any wonder that he and his brother had trouble telling the women how they felt?

Pulling up outside of Guilty Pleasures, an ugly thought hit him. He might actually be headed down the rocky road to love alone. He parked, got out, and leaned against his truck. Up until they tussled on the floor, Ronnie seemed to feel the same way he did. They'd fallen asleep while she'd cuddled on his lap, like a couple that had been together for a while. She'd been right there with him, kiss for kiss, until he tugged her down onto the floor with him… maybe she really didn't like being manhandled.

The memory of the way her expressive green eyes went from pale, spring green to desire-filled emerald shot through him, having him shifting his stance to accommodate the tightness behind his zipper. She hadn't minded the manhandling that first night. What had changed?

“This isn't getting anything accomplished,” he grumbled, pushing off the truck. “I've got work to do and then some.” He looked both ways and strode across the street toward the shop. Odd, but it didn't look like anyone was there.

He knocked, but no one answered. Concern slithered through his gut. He knocked again. This time, he tried the door; it wasn't locked. Stepping inside, he shut the door behind him and called Ronnie's name.

Something was definitely wrong. Disturbing thoughts filled him, remembering what had happened over at the Lucky Star. His brother had been there to protect Emily during a break-in. Maybe someone had broken into Guilty Pleasures and Ronnie was upstairs… and in trouble.

His gaze swept the room. Nothing seemed out of place and everything looked exactly the way he'd left it last night. He headed for the stairs, focusing on one goal: protecting the woman he'd walked out on.

***

Ronnie breathed deeply and bent in half, letting mind and body work in tandem, allowing the deep stretch to work muscles that had spent the night knotted. She usually didn't take a break midday to exercise, but she needed it today. Following Shannon's suggestion, the soothing sound of harps filtered through the tiny ear buds attached to her MP3 player.

She stretched forward, walking her fingers out in front of her until she'd stretched out fully. Concentrating on the movement and the mystic music flowing through her head, she walked her fingers back until she was touching her palms to the floor.

Strong hands grabbed ahold of her waist, shredding the calm she'd worked so hard to achieve. Instinct had her drawing in a breath to scream, but the air burst from her lungs when she was tossed over a muscled shoulder. Panic morphed into fear as a large hand splayed across her backside.

It took every ounce of nerve she had not to give in to the fear. She pounded on the man's back with her fists and, just as she realized she recognized his scent, was tossed into the middle of her bed. Down but not defeated, she brushed the hair out of her eyes and pulled the headphones out of her ears.

“You scared the ever-loving crap out of me!”

Dylan's nostrils flared and his eyes darkened with need until she could see her reflection in their depths. He stood towering over her, vibrating with a potent combination of need laced with anger.